Fun for the Whole Family

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod recording.

Hot Rod: [Deep, staticky inhale] We have been fragged to absolute scrap. Those RATS at the Decepticon base brought down our comms satellite last night, and what’s more, those NUMBSKULLS crashed the stupid thing into their own receiver tower. So I guess nobody’s getting logs from either of us now. [muffled, no longer facing the microphone] ARE YOU HAPPY ONSLAUGHT??? I FRAGGING HOPE SO!

 Anyways, if they weren’t crossing enough wires as is, apparently those freaky jets they’ve got didn’t get the memo that the cons trashed their own comms tower, because NOW they’re acting like WE were attacking THEM. [background noise, knocking on door.] This is just my luck. First my comms are out, now I’ve got fragging seekers up my aft so far they’re knocking on my TEETH. [The knocking becomes more urgent] Like really, is this it for me? Stupid fragging problem after stupid fragging problem, rusting away on some pitiful rock- 

“HOT ROD OPEN THE SLAGGING DOOR!!!” 

Hot Rod groaned and indignantly shut off the recording. Craning forward in his chair, he smacked the door lock release button and allowed First Aid to enter. “Status?” The Captain asked, rising from his seat and grabbing his sidearm off the control panel. 

“There’s a fire in the energon warehouse, the north hangar wall has a gaping acid hole in it, which has also caught fire, and the secondary shuttle has been crushed by a support pillar again.” First Aid said curtly. Hot Rod ground his teeth together and loaded an energy cell into his blaster. 

“And? How’s the defense team doing?” He asked, quickly rushing out of the command room and down the hall. 

First Aid fell fluidly into step beside him. “Whirl is engaging the seekers on his own and Chromedome is in the secondary turret.” 

Hot Rod sighed. “Naturally.”

“Vortex is also attacking the seekers.” First Aid added, his words accompanied by the distant sound of a strafing jet engine. 

“What? Why?”

First Aid shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know. My job isn’t recon.” 

Hot Rod shot him a look, one they’d exchanged many times. The ‘I KNOW. I GET IT’ sort of look when you’ve had an argument half a dozen times even though there’s nothing to be done about it. “Alright, what the hell is everyone else doing?” 

“Keeping the base from catching fire or being dissolved by acid I assume. Oh, and Brainstorm is in the observatory.” First Aid explained, briefly stumbling as the building shook concerningly. 

Rounding a corner onto the breezeway between main base and warehouse, Hot Rod cupped his servos around his optics, squinting into the kicked up dust and smoke through the window. 

The seekers were flying in formation over the open field in front of their hangar, drawing strafing loops and dives in the air, disappearing into the smoke before reemerging for another volley. Hot Rod tensed, watching them streak concerningly close, only for Vortex to zip out at them, crashing through their formation and sending them scattering for a moment before regrouping. Behind him, Whirl was in close pursuit with guns blazing, indiscriminately firing at rotors and wings alike.  

 “Primus he really is fighting them, what the hell?” He muttered. Turning back to First Aid, Hot Rod opened his mouth to speak before another rattling boom sounded from the warehouse. 

It was apparently at that point that First Aid decided talking with his superior officer was no longer important, as he immediately rushed through the rest of the breezeway into the warehouse with Hot Rod in stumbling pursuit. It was, indeed, on fire, despite Swerve and Beachcomber’s valiant attempts to quell it with fire extinguishers. 

Fighting back another sigh, Hot Rod took the third auxiliary fire extinguisher off the wall near the breezeway entrance and slid down the handrail of the staircase to join them. Wordlessly he pulled the pin and sprinted over, squeezing the handle and firing a thick coating of flame retardant into the blaze. 

“CAP! THANK PRIMUS- THERE’S A FIRE!” Beachcomber shouted from beside him, only now recognizing his presence. 

Hot Rod blinked at him. He glanced between the roaring flames and his own fire extinguisher, then back at Beachcomber. “Uh. I gathered that.” 

“What’s going on out there?” Swerve panted, engines wheezing from the heat and smoke. 

“They’ve got it covered out there for now, just focus on keeping the energon from going up.” Hot Rod assured. He swallowed the feeling his own assessment of the situation was incorrect and kept his eyes forward, even as sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He could just tell himself it was from the fire. 

Before he could get further in depth with that thought though, Hot Rod was slammed against the front wall of the warehouse by a pressurized blast of water. The jet of the firehose turned away as quickly as it had hit him and left him spluttering and soaked on the floor.

“SORRY, CAPTAIN!!” Tailgate yelped as Hot Rod peeled himself off the ground. His engine revved loudly in annoyance, flaring hot enough that the water that was making itself at home in his plating burst out in gouts of steam. 

“NO SWEAT, ROOKIE.” Hot Rod gritted out with a plastered smile at the cleaning bot. Tailgate’s visor squeezed in an apologetic smile briefly before he went back to swinging the arc of the firehose haphazardly back and forth. 

Hot Rod let his smile drop as he glared at First Aid, who was standing near the on/off lever for the water pressure with a decidedly satisfied glint in his visor. Despite the mischief, First Aid smoothly followed after Hot Rod when he rushed out of the warehouse.

“I’m gonna check with Chromedome, you go find out what Brainstorm is doing and tell him he needs to get out there and help keep Whirl from getting himself killed.” Hot Rod barked, jogging through the hallway not nearly fast enough for his liking. 

“Understood, Captain.” First Aid said. There was a pause for a moment, and Hot Rod so desperately hoped it was the end of it, before the medic added, “The medbay is prepared by the way. For when you need me to do my actual job.” 

Hot Rod nearly shivered at the icy tone. “Acknowledged, thank you.” Hot Rod replied, internally kicking himself at how meek the words slithered off his glossa. It was a relief when they split up, not only that he could avoid First Aid’s Glare, but that he could transform and speed off without leaving the medic far behind him. 

It didn’t take long to reach the secondary gunner’s turret. He found Chromedome within, visor fixed tight on the digital sights showing the outside. Hot Rod cupped his hands around his optics, squinting at the larger viewing screen as the reticle tracked the formation of seekers above. 

It was hardly a formation at this point, all dipping and scrambling around the pair of helicopters in the middle. Whirl shot up, cutting through the formation with his chainguns blazing. Vortex was quick to pursue him, abandoning his own seeming sabotage to dogfight with the other chopper. The jets swept back into a more legitimate formation, the blue one at the back teetering a bit with a slightly damaged tailfin. 

Chromedome’s frame tensed as their flightpaths locked onto the view of the camera screen. Another volley of laserfire was enough to keep them at bay, turning them up for another loop around to strafe past the unmanned battlement on the opposite side of the base. Their phasers lit up, blasting another set of fiery pockmarks in the hangar roof. Somewhere inside, something burst, and flames began to pour from the hangar with even more fervor. Both Autobots staggered as the impacts of the phasers shook the base.

Finials flat and visor scrunched, Chromedome slammed his fist down on the comms button. “WHIRL, I COULD REALLY USE ANOTHER GUN DOWN HERE IF YOU’RE DONE PLAYFIGHTING WITH THE NEIGHBOURS!!!!!” 

On one of the secondary screens, Hot Rod caught sight of Whirl again. At this point all pretenses of protecting the base had been abandoned in favour of chasing Vortex around the no man's land, or maybe sky, between the two bases. 

The comms speaker crackled to life, “IT ONLY LOOKS LIKE A PLAYFIGHT TO A SKIDMARK LIKE YOU, CHROMEHEAD.”

Reaching down and cranking the turret to the side to fire off another round through the growing cloud of smoke, Chromedome muttered, “... it’s not even a good insult. He doesn’t even grace me with his B material.” 

Hot Rod reached across the control panel to press the comms button himself. “WHIRL! FOCUS ON THE SEEKERS!” He snapped. “WE DON’T HAVE THE AMMO TO SPARE ON FRAGGING VORTEX, GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!!!”

“GET IN THE OTHER TURRET AND HANDLE THEM YOURSELF, THIS IS PERSONAL!!” Whirl snapped back, barrel rolling down for a moment before righting himself to spray Vortex with more painfully wasted ammunition.

“It’s ALWAYS fragging personal with you two, who FRAGGING CARES!!!!!!” Hot Rod shouted. “TWO WORDS, WHIRL, COURT. MARTIAL.”

“TWO WORDS, PER. SO. NAL!” 

“Here’s EIGHT MORE, SPIKEHEAD, I WILL FRAGGING BURY YOU IF YOU DON’T!!!” Whirl groaned, reluctantly beginning to right himself on a path towards the Seekers. Vortex followed just as quick. 

Then, suddenly enough that Vortex shot several yards past him, Whirl stopped in the air, nose tilted up to the sky through a clearing in the smoke. 

“What is THAT?!” He shouted after a moment, as if he had forgotten how to respond to his comms. 

Hot Rod squinted into the screen. “CD, point us up?” He muttered. 

Chromedome obliged, turning the turret dutifully to face up towards Whirl’s line of sight. Through the growing blur of smoke and cinders, there was a massive shape coming into view along the edge of the atmosphere. A ship of some kind?

“Can you zoom in further?” Hot Rod asked.

“I’m as far in as I can get, Cap.” Chromedome mumbled, seemingly also trying to discern the shape. 

Hot Rod frowned, leaning back and pressing a finger to his audial. “Brainstorm, is the telescope still functional?” 

“Fit as a fluorite fiddle, Captain! Is it about the big ship breaching the atmosphere?”

On screen, Vortex had whipped around and thrown himself, in cybertronian form, at Whirl.

Hot Rod sighed as Whirl spiralled downwards. “Yes, it's about the big ship.”

“So it’s pretty big, yeah, hold on I’m zooming in closer.” 

Helpful, Hot Rod thought bitterly to himself. Whirl righted himself and spun, tossing the Decepticon off his tail and zipping off into the smoke cloud towards the seekers. Vortex disappeared below a wall, then reappeared in helicopter form, racing behind in hot pursuit.

“Good lord, the thing is massive. I’m seeing Autobot insignia though.” Brainstorm hummed, half in thought.

Hot Rod perked up. Autobot? An Autobot ship? A big one, not just a cargo tanker? 

“Oh, that’s Autobot High Command Insignia…” Brainstorm added with apprehension.

HIGH COMMAND?! Hot Rod could have soared.

Distantly, over Brainstorm’s end, the sound of a door opening could be heard. “Oh it looks like it’s waiting just above the cloud layer, they must be hailing you Captain!” 

“Oh good,” said a decidedly frigid, very out of breath First Aid in the distance, “Glad I took the stairs. Glad I came here in the first place.”

Hot Rod nearly broke a hole in the door in his haste out of the gunner’s turret and down the hall towards the commander’s room. A command ship, a real high command ship, he hadn’t seen one in over a kilocycle! He dared to dream, could it be Prowl, second in command to the Autobots and leader of the wreckers, his old superior officer coming to finally see how far he’d come? Maybe the High Enforcer Ultra Magnus? To reassign him somewhere prestigious on Optimus’ behalf? Perhaps, and his spark nearly popped from its swirling, it could be Optimus himself, finally ready to assign him something better than this.

Hot Rod bounced on his tires down a short flight of stairs, drifting into the command room with a screech of rubber on tile. Popping out of his alt mode, Hot Rod nearly sobbed with joy and relief at the hailing message on his screen. Ultra Magnus’ Ship… it was Ultra Fragging Magnus!! 

Hot Rod quickly swept away the windows cluttering the screen, clicking frantically on the accept hail button. He waited. 

And waited.

And the screen bloomed with a red error message. NO SIGNAL.

Right. Long Range Comms satellite. 

Dead.

Hot Rod wanted to scream and scratch the paint off his helm, but instead, he sank into a deep, steely, stoic, and perhaps even heroic determination. 

Frantically gasping through panicked vents, Hot Rod ripped the emergency kit from under his desk and snatched forth the mandatory distress hail emitter. He was baffled by his own ability to remember the thing. Adrenaline pumped through him as he stowed the hail emitter in his subspace and rocketed down the hallway. Sweeping around a turn and up a ramp, Hot Rod blasted past the hacking pack of minibots escaping the blaze within the hangar bay. It seemed they had attempted to quell the flames there after successfully putting out the fire in the energon depot. 

“THE WHOLE HANGAR IS SLAGGED-!!” Swerve wailed after the captain as he drove. But Hot Rod didn’t slow down, he couldn’t slow down. He had a base to protect and a ship to guide. Finally, he’d made it to the roof. Smoke poured from the hangar’s remains. Above him the roar of jet engines and helicopter rattle was deafening. The plume had covered the sky almost entirely. Coolant beading on his plating from the heat, Hot Rod sprinted across the roof towards a clearing in the smog. 

Then, from the cloud emerged the seeker formation. They locked onto him almost immediately, starting up their phasers with a whine before carving dotted lines out of the roof towards him. Bursts of flame and rubble erupted in their wake. Hot Rod tucked and rolled, pressing himself under a massive vent as they shot past him. Further, he had to press further, there wasn’t enough clear view. Whirl and Vortex hurtled over him, almost in a formation of their own after the trio of seekers.

Dropping down to a lower portion of roof, then running to the edge, Hot Rod could finally see the barest sliver of blue. He set it to long distance, and aimed the hail emitter up, laser pointer indicating a straight shot through the clouds. Perfect. He fired, and the flare module rocketed upwards, up high through the smog and further, out of sight for a moment, before bursting into a massive explosion of bright red, blazing phosphorus. The sheer size of the blast could easily be seen from that height, right?  

Hot Rod swallowed, staring through the sliver in the smoke at the ship, begging, pleading for it to turn. It was still for a long moment, then, finally, its nose began to turn, slow and steady, towards their bases. Relief washed over him. This was it. It was finally happening. If he was lucky, he might not even have to fix the base before he, and hopefully his crew, but mostly he, was out of there. 

He staggered towards the nearest roof entrance, before the seekers soared out above him. He squinted after them. “Where the hell-” 

No.

No way.

NO WAY. 

They couldn’t possibly be-

The stupid pack of turkeys were trying to attack AN AUTOBOT FLAGSHIP.

Hot Rod stayed put, cupping his hands over his eyes and peering up at the flagship. The Seekers strafed and shot, and nothing happened. Another strafe, another volley, and still the ship, seemingly impervious just lowered and lowered, down and down and down towards the land between their bases. 

THE LAND BETWEEN THEIR BASES! 

Hot Rod rushed to the frontside of the base’s roof, watching as the Decepticon troops had begun pouring out of their laboratory. His frown turned to a grimace as he recognized Onslaught staring up at the ship through the smoke, probably already beginning to comm the two combaticons not already at his side.

Hot Rod smacked a hand to his audial. “WHIRL I NEED YOU, HELP ME DOWN OFF THE ROOF RIGHT NOW!” 

The helicopter collided with his back and knocked the wind out of him. Wheezing, Hot Rod slid off his nose and threw his arms precariously around Whirl’s landing gear. He whizzed down towards the ground, tossing Hot Rod about before finally coming to a halt and flinging Hot Rod free of his landing gear with an unceremonious clunk. The captain coughed and panted, grabbing his back in agony. 

After a definitely very short period of writhing in pain on the ground, Hot Rod staggered to his pedes and opened comms to the whole crew. “EVERYONE OUT ON THE FIELD, ARM YOURSELVES, WE NEED TO KEEP THE LANDING STRIP CLEAR. WHIRL, KEEP VORTEX SEPARATED FROM THE REST OF THEM!” 

“With PLEASURE.” Whirl beamed, immediately disappearing into the smoke.

Hot Rod trained his sights on the cons. Onslaught, Brawl, Blast Off, all accounted for. No Slipstream, which meant she’d already probably taken off. No Deadlock, which meant-

Hot Rod ducked just in time for Deadlock’s alt mode to spring over him and skid away in the dirt. Transforming, the Decepticon drew himself up tall, battlemask up and eyes trained on him with laser focus. His hands dangled over either side of his hips at his blasters for a moment, eyeing Hot Rod’s already in hand blaster. 

“Friends visiting?” Deadlock rumbled condescendingly, not moving.

“You’re chattier than usual.” Hot Rod muttered, trying to ignore the still thrumming pain in his lower back. 

Deadlock lunged at him. Even at point blank range, the slagger moved quick enough that the blaster glanced off his shoulder armour rather than making contact with his vitals. Hot Rod could only think ‘Oh come on’ before being once again slammed into the dirt. He was getting this a lot today, was it a sign or something?

Locking his arms around Deadlock’s waist and scrambling to get his knees under himself, Hot Rod drove up and forwards, satisfied by the sound of the con’s pedes skidding in the gravel as he muscled back to his feet. The two of them wrestled, scuffling and punching and clawing at each other.

 The doors to the Autobot base slid open and out came the cavalry, laying down covering fire to keep the cons back. Hot Rod distantly heard the sound of Vortex being crashed into above by Whirl.The dull thrum of the flagship’s engines grew louder and louder. 

In his absentmindedness, Hot Rod failed to block a jab from deadlock, who a right hook right into the tanks. The captain gagged from pain, then slammed his knee up into Deadlock’s pelvic plating, eliciting a similarly undignified groan of agony. The two of them reeled back, both bent forward by their wounds. Blearily, Hot Rod saw Deadlock’s hand drift to his side, about to grab a blaster. Hot Rod put a stop to that in much the same way Deadlock had begun this little altercation.

Now once again on the ground, Hot Rod grappled with the eel-like gunslinger, straddling his waist and pummeling his jaw with his fists. Delicate protometal split in Deadlock’s lip and bloomed with deep pink energon. The triumphant sneer on Hot Rod’s face was smeared into breathless torment as Deadlock drove both knees up to slam into the Autobot’s already damaged lower back. 

Frag. At this rate he’d be walking with a cane by next week.

Hot Rod slumped off him to the side, but before Deadlock could continue to fight, a dustcloud had begun to form. The shadow that Ultra Magnus’ flagship had nearly completely blotted out their base, and the cloud of dust and smoke almost completely obscured it as it landed. The ground shook as the landing gear made contact. Facing him, the exit hatch of the ship split open, it’s airlock pouring disinfectant mist out over the extending ramp. 

And there, covered in grime, clutching his back, with a base on fire, Hot Rod watched the angelic, hulking silhouette of The High Enforcer, Ultra Magnus. 

He seemed at once terribly imposing and surprisingly confused to be standing in a warzone. Dutifully, the broadshouldered saviour began his descent down the ramp, thunderous footsteps picking up speed and sending his cape fluttering majestically behind him. Hot Rod could have cried, but instead he nabbed his blaster and scrambled to his feet, then rushed forward to meet him as his crew joined his descent down the ramp. “MAGNUS- ER- ULTRA MAGNUS, SIR, QUICK, WE NEED TO GET YOU TO COVER!”

Magnus looked down at him, expression puzzled. Well, his expression hadn’t changed, he had seemed puzzled ever since he came into view. “Well- yes- but- Captain Hot Rod, why in the name of cyber-”

“YES GREAT COME ON!” Hot Rod shouted, wheeling his arm in a circle. The ship’s crew, bewildered, rushed past after their commander, gathering at the end of the exit ramp. Ship now empty- hopefully- Hot Rod primed his blaster and began jogging with his new group of allies back behind a pile of debris. 

It was at this point that he could get a better look at Ultra Magnus’ crew. A femme, looked like some kind of watercraft, with a bug eyed expression as she stared out into the warzone, a rookie if he’d ever seen one. A blue mech he’d never met before, but who seemed to be handling this much better, his own sidearm unholstered in his hand from the second they exited the ship. A tiny, colourful minibot with a lens at the front of his helm. And-

RATCHET?? PERCEPTOR??? 

Thats it?? Where were the troops, the cavalry? Sure, even a ship that big could run off of droids alone if it wanted, but really? It was pretty safe this far out in the galaxy, but primus, was it worth the risk with a war going on?

“Captain, what on earth is going on here?!” Ultra Magnus boomed, deep concern laden in his voice. 

Peering over the debris did little to help get a better eyeline on the enemy, thanks to the ship. It was big enough that it’d take them a second to get around it, but he didn’t have long. The fire could have spread in that time, but it was running out of flammable material to burn, already beginning to smolder. If he could just get them into the side entrance-

“HOT ROD!” Ratchet barked. Hot Rod jumped, whipping around to look at them. 

“YES- Right- The Decepticons brought down our comms satellite last night- but they crashed it into their own base, and their ‘new hires’ took it as a declaration of malicious intent, so to speak, so now they’re attacking the base again.” Hot Rod explained, “I can get you all to relative safety for now, COME ON, we don’t have much time!”

“Captain-” Ultra Magnus tried again, more firmly this time. 

Hot Rod was already running towards the base. It would take a longer to get there out of alt mode, but it wasn’t a risk he could take, not knowing what half of them could turn into. He could hear the rest of them following. 

With some clear huffing and puffing, Ratchet fell into step beside him, face furrowed up in some mixture of annoyance, confusion and concern. “Kid- slow down- hav-“

Hot Rod shook his head, resetting his optics and whipping a hurried glance at him. “SLOW DOWN?? What is with you people!!?? Can’t you see we’re in a slagging war zone?! Just let me get you inside, dammit!!!” Not far from the entryway now- but not close enough either, not with the sound of those seekers overhead strafing the ground kicking up even more dust trying to see through the clouds. Idiots.

“That’s the problem, bolthead- why the hell is it an active war zone?!?” Ratchet snapped back.

“Why is it- DID YOU GET PROCESSOR DECAY SINCE THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU-?!!! RATCHET WE ARE AT FRAGGING WAR!!!!” Hot Rod wailed.

Ratchet just kept looking at him like he’d grown two heads. “Hot Rod- did you not- OUFFF!!” In a split second, Ratchet disappeared from his line of vision. Skidding forward across the dirt, Hot Rod realized with panic that Deadlock had crashed into him. Shit aim, he liked to think his silhouette was more recognizably trim than Ratchet’s, even through a dust cloud.

The two mechs struggled in the dirt for a moment, untangling their forms from one another. Deadlock wheeled a fist back to swing at Ratchet’s jaw- when he suddenly stopped. Optics bugged, his battle mask opened as if in afterthought.

Feebly, in a voice like he could hardly believe it himself, Deadlock breathed, “… Ratchet?”

Ratchet squinted, confused, then stunned, almost horrified clarity washed over his face. “Drift?”

And then, with catlike grace and an extremely menacing “HEEEEEEYAH!!” Rodimus slammed his ankle directly into Deadlock’s head with an expertly performed spin kick. The con crumpled to the ground for a moment, grasping his aforementioned very expertly kicked head.

No time to unpack what all that was about, Hot Rod wrapped his hands around Ratchet’s arm and yanked. “TIME TO GO, GEEZER, I DON’T LOVE BEING BLASTER FODDER!!!”

Ratchet staggered to his feet, stumbling after him with a markedly stunned look on his face. Hot Rod fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now was NOT the time, why were they all acting as if they could stop and chat right now? The scuffle had given the rest of his pack of yahoos- sorry, esteemed high guard crew, a chance to catch up. Finally, home stretch, he slammed into the door of the base, clumsily keying in the door code. 

Ultra Magnus’ hand came down on his shoulder. “HOT ROD, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!?”

Hot Rod’s optics bugged out. “THE MEANING-?! ENOUGH OF THIS- WE CAN TALK WHEN YOU’RE SAFE, DAMMIT!” 

“There should BE no unsafety AT ALL!!” Ultra Magnus roared. “THE WAR IS-”

A thunderous, audial-splitting BOOM shook what felt like the entire planet. In stunned horror, Ultra Magnus turned, and saw the back half of his beautiful, regal ship blasted to pieces. Thrusters scuttled, an almost perfectly circular hole had been shot through the back half, exactly where the warp drive would be. The vessel laid there like a wounded animal, its front landing gear straining and dangerously curved from the weight it now bore as the ship leaned at a diagonal with its nose facing the sky. Were Hot Rod a poetic sort, he might have said it looked as if the poor thing were looking up at primus himself, as if pleading. 

Ultra Magnus stood stock still, his crew quite the same, looks of dawning terror on their faces at the destruction of what must have been like a home to them. The dust began to settle, finally, from their landing, and through it, the group of them could see the Decepticon’s group in disarray, frozen in shock much the same as they were. A little tableau of the cause had created itself for them. 

Blast Off, hands gripping at the side of a clearly experimental, now damaged beyond repair, fusion cannon, trying to wrench it free from Brawl’s meaty mitts. Onslaught, with his hands on the back of it, clearly also trying to pull it away from the both of them. 

The sound of jet engines went quiet as the three accounted for seekers came to rest upon the edge of their base, clearly observing their destruction with glee. From the top of the now destroyed ship, Slipstream emerged from underneath an escape hatch, blazing with fury. 

“YOU SHOT AT ME!? YOU TOLD ME TO GO SURVEIL THE SHIP AND THEN YOU SHOT IT!?! WHAT THE FRAG IS YOUR MALFUNCTION YOU PACK OF-”

“I HAVE HAD ENOUUUGH!!!!!!!!” Ultra Magnus boomed, almost louder than the sound of his ship exploding. Had he not been shocked to numbness from the suddenness of the situation and the sheer state of things, Hot Rod could have fainted just from the waves of rage bursting off of Magnus’ unfettered EM field. 

Swinging an arm out, Magnus’ Thunder Hammer slid out of his subspace effortlessly into his hand. The mech moved with a speed Hot rod thought would be impossible for a frame his size to reach, barrelling through the path the cannon had left like a freight train. Blast Off immediately shot backwards, releasing the cannon and scattering from his group. Onslaught pivoted to the side and dropped the canon as well. Brawl caught the topside of Magnus' hammer directly to the chassis and flew backwards with a “WAURGH-!!” crashing through the outer wall of the Decepticon base and leaving behind a perfectly Brawl shaped hole in his wake. It was child's play then, to spin the hammer’s handle in his hand and deliver an almost insulting jab to Onslaught’s gut with the staff end of it. Onslaught crumpled forwards, but Ultra Magnus was not done with him. Grabbing his back kibble and lifting him into the air like an unruly cyberkitten, Magnus shook him as he roared, “THIS IS A DIRECT VIOLATION- A COMPLETE BREACH- THIS IS AN ACT OF WAR!!!!”  

“O-Of course it’s an act of war, you idiot!!” Onslaught choked out in a pained tone. Hot Rod winced. He could practically see a vein pumping on Magnus’ forehead. “We ARE at war!!!” 

Ultra Magnus shook him again, eyes bulging, teeth bared. “THEN WHY IN PRIMUS’ NAME DID YOUR BLITHERING RULER SIGN THAT DAMN PEACE TREATY, YOU IMPUDENT FOOL!!!!”

Stunned silence yet again fell over the scene. Hot Rod cycled his optics, rebooted his audials, and stiffly turned to Ratchet beside him. “We… we aren’t at war?” 

Ratchet shook his head, still baffled. “No kid. I’ve been trying to tell you. We haven’t been at war for three lunar cycles.”

Onslaught’s visor was wide and bright. “You’re lying.” 

Ultra Magnus tossed him into the dirt, still seething with anger. His hand now free, he produced a Hologram projector. 

A vid-window flickered to life. A pair of podiums on a stage, a Decepticon banner on one side, an Autobot banner on the other, and a magenta banner in the center, marked with an image of cybertron overlaid with two clasped hands. At the podiums, Optimus Prime and Megatron, each proud and regal, wearing magenta ceremonial cloaks. 

“If you have received this message,” Optimus began, “It is our deepest honour and greatest triumph to announce to you that after five million, seven hundred and eighty nine thousand, nine hundred and twenty six years of violence, the war for Cybertron has come to an end.” He turned, gazing with pride towards Megatron. 

Megatron, somehow not moping, not grumpy, not enraged, but proud as well, nodded humbly, and turned to face the camera. “After careful consideration, and many months of peace talks, we have come to the mutual conclusion that our war must end. When it began, it may have once been for a deeper purpose, however, in no small part due to my shortsightedness and anger, we have driven our race to a future of endless and constant suffering. I, and indeed, many of us, may never be forgiven for the harm we have caused, both to our society and the societies of the many others I subjugated in our search for resources. I was foolish, and misguided, and there is no excuse nor punishment that will ever truly begin to make right the wrongs I have committed.” He bowed his head for a moment, face grim, as if gathering himself. “It is for that reason that I have chosen to devote the rest of my lifespan to a goal of peace and reconstruction, not only for cybertron, but for the rest of the universe.”

Optimus was beaming at him, beaming at Megatron. He spoke, “Should we ever hope to restore our home, our focus must return to redemption and reconstruction. While there are those whose crimes warrant punishment, and indeed, abjuration, we must focus first upon the restoration of our home. 

“At the beginning of this conflict, it was the uncertainty of our future- Cybertron’s well of sparks’ stagnance, our dwindling supply of fuel- that brought not only the rise of fascism and functionism, but also its fall and subsequent violence to a fever pitch. Instead of working as one, we allowed our differences to divide us, and let anger control our actions. In all the many years we have fought, we have forgotten what truly separates us as a species amd a culture- our ability to change. We do not have to define ourselves by the blade or the blaster. We have an opportunity now to regroup, to allow the brightest and bravest of our species to put aside our differences in favour of searching for a solution, rather than allowing violence to become the only answer in our minds.

“It is in that spirit that we extend to you, children of cybertron, our final order as commanders, and our first plea as leaders of cybertron: Come home to us.” 

Megatron spoke up then, a reserved smile pulling at his lips. “There is much work to be done, and much forgiveness to be earned. We must not allow ourselves to stagnate and grow complicit in the slow undoing of our species, we must rise up! We must innovate, we must become better than we have been before, and yes, we must change. Our future rests in the hands of peace, not in the turbulence of war. I shall no longer stray from a path of progress in favour of petty hatred and spite, and I shall fight for a united, rebuilt cybertron until my dying breath,” He looked away then, towards Optimus, raising a fist to the sky. “Until all,”

Optimus mirrored him, the smile on his face a mixture of relief, and pride, and joy, and, and- “Are One.” 

The video feed of them cut, leaving only a brief view of a rippling, now magenta, cybertronian flag, before the projector cut out altogether. 

The crowd, both Decepticon and Autobot alike, stood still. Eyes wide, Hot Rod breathed to himself. “It’s… it’s really over?”

“Yes. and… by the looks of it… they might have just scuttled our only possibility of getting to the afterparty on time.” Ratchet muttered. 

Hot Rod took stock. Ultra Magnus’ ship was totaled, so much damage it’d be nigh impossible to fix. The shuttles in the Autobot hangar were almost certainly destroyed, judging by the smoking heap that their fallen satellite had turned the Decepticon hangar into, so were theirs. Both of their bases’ long range comm systems were ruined, and whatever power supply the ship had was probably blown to bits by the cannon blast. The nearest outpost to them was a two month journey away without warp travel, and they had no space bridge to speak of.

They were alone, at an edge of the universe that already took weeks if not months to receive just comms transmissions from cybertron. They were stranded.

Completely, and totally, stranded.

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky.