#ion storm

• ‘Nothing to worry about. Just a precaution,’ they say in the harried tones of someone trying to rush someone else away from their vicinity before a meltdown can occur. ‘You’ll also need decon showers after your sessions with them,’ they add. “Them?” You repeat, the weird material rasping against itself in your hands when you adjust it against yourself. How many aliens are you getting? Barely want one. “Decon?” You’re beginning to get an inkling why they’d had you sign extra liability waivers and you’re not liking that inkling. And you’re being shoved out of the building into the sun. ‘Only use stall 37, it’s the only one equipped for them.’

• “We really doing this?” Acid Storm asks as he flicks his wings, wandering about the oversized stall they’d been assigned to. And it’s so strange to imagine letting some tiny alien court them. Servos flexing, he glances at the other two. Nova can at least control his abilities. Ion sort of can unless he’s upset or excited. But him? Denta gritted, he reaches out to press a servo against the concrete wall and grimaces as the stone pits under his touch. Knows what his touch can do to metal and stone, but flesh?

• “They’ll change their mind after seeing us,” Nova Storm mutters, wings twitching in a shrug. Once you see what they can do, you’ll back off. Pick someone else. Someone with less drama to deal with. Isn’t ashamed of their abilities, but the fact that they’re toxic to anyone who’s not them is a well known fact. At least to other Cybertronians. Isn’t sure why a human chose them, but he knows better than to get his hopes up. ‘Primus,’ Ion hisses and Nova turns. And stares at the little organic hidden in full body coverings dragging a cart into their stall.