Writing is hard

What fucking sense did this world even make.

“Done.”

Walking into base while it was quiet was extremely uncommon, and Snapjaw was not too proud to admit he intentionally tried to avoid it. The lab where Akinator was commonly found was empty. His computer left on, and unattended. “Uh, Snapjaw?” Horizon’s hushed voice came from behind him as he continued walking in. The little shuttle had been increasingly jumpy since his capture by the Misfits. “Shouldn’t we wait for him to come back?” Snapjaw looked over his shoulder, looking briefly at the others before making a call. He smiled as reassuringly as possible. “Hey come on, inputting data reports into files won’t be that hard. He probably has a log on there for it.” The computer was needlessly large, especially for someone of Akinator’s size. The screen was segmented, but the times Snapjaw had been in here it tended to either be turned off for his arrival, or showing one large picture. Which it currently did, an ellipsis blinking across the screen as he approached. “Are you sure, Snap?” Skyline crept up to him, her head poking cautiously past his arm to address him. “What if he gets mad?” “He’s not going to get mad,” he rolled his optics as they reached the computer. “We’re just inputting  data. That’s nothing he’s gonna get mad at.” When he reactivated the computer, the screen flashed to show a list of options. Some, Snapjaw could make sense of. Finances, Base Operations, Personnel Files, Data Log, something called ‘Project O’. But then there were the two he couldn’t make sense of. “Uh, Snap?” Waterjet stage whispered. “I don’t mean to be rude, nor presumptuous, or any other weird adjective the guy might yell at me that I can’t make sense of; but what kinda mech has ‘Allies’ and ‘Threats’ on his loading screen?” Snapjaw opened and closed his mouth for a minute before resetting his vocaliser with a quick shrug. The entirety of Sigma team seemed to stare at the options, before looking at each other. Snapjaw didn’t dare voice any opinions. This looked… suspicious, to say the least. Even someone, as a paranoid neutral on uneven ground, shouldn’t really be keeping a literal checklist. They shouldn’t be looking at this, he realised. And yet it sat there, tauntingly. Menacingly. A secret not meant to be heard, a box meant to remain unopened. He recalled a human tale. Pandora’s Box, with all its darkness and evil kept locked inside until someone opened it. Perhaps, unlike within the tale, they should keep it closed. “Snap, I think we should check.” He turned his head quickly, as did most others, to look at Seadown, about to ask her if she’d knocked a few screws loose before she explained herself. “If Akinator doesn’t see us as allies, we shouldn’t be working with him. We don’t know who he would determine a threat. And if he sees us as one, who’s to say he won’t do something about us the second we’re no longer needed?” “But he wouldn’t! He’s not mean, he’s probably just scared- this war’s been hard on all of us!” Skyline looked to Snapjaw imploringly. “Right…” He nodded, decisively. “Right- he asked us to bring the members of The Commune in alive. I don’t think he’d intentionally hurt anyone himself.” “Of course, that’s why he builds weapons.” “Waterjet!” “I’m just sayin’!” He held his hands up in mock defence. “It’s not like we’ve seen them or anything. And I doubt he organised a trip home for ‘em. Or a tea party.” Snapjaw wished he could snark back, but instead just settled on a glare, before turning to Horizon for his opinion. The little shuttle shuffled for a bit before resetting his vocaliser and voicing it. “I think we should. Just to be on the safe side.” The leader of Sigma team nodded and taking a deep breath, clicked on the file named ‘Threats’. Instantly, pictures flashed on screen, A few seconds passed and Snapjaw felt his insides freeze as he heard a few of his teammates gasp behind him. Name after name, picture after picture, mech after mech and femme after femme, Decepticons and Autobots alike flashed up on screen. Their name, their fraction, a brief description on how they were a threat. And then a large, red TERMINATED, over their picture. He watched them flashed by, sickened. He felt Skyline grip his hands, shaking. A few names Snapjaw tried to memorise once the shock had passed. Uplink, an Autobot, intel runner, security risk. Terminated. Clutch, Decepticon, weapons smuggler, ‘knew private information’. Terminated. Heat-Coil, Decepticon, weapons manufacturer, security risk and threats made, terminated. Floodlight, Autobot, Anti PCC, terminated. He forced himself to look away for a moment, to the others. While Waterjet was undecipherable, Seadown was clearly horrified. Horizon seemed unsettlingly unsurprised. Skyline still clung to him like a terrified sparkling. Snapjaw looked back to the screen. Names still hadn’t stopped coming. Overheat, Decepticon, former Commanding Officer, Terminated. Cooldown, Decepticon, Anti PCC, terminated. Welder, Bot, developed enhanced PCC weapon drones, terminated. Solar-Shield Bot Anti PCC terminated. Steam-Force, killed ‘Full-Throttle’. Terminated. Orbital-Strike, killed ‘Full-Throttle’. Terminated. Mega-Hurt, Terminated, Terror-Bit, Terminated, Short-Circuit TERMINATED. It seemed like the list went on and on and on, with no end in sight. But he began to notice a theme. With each passing name, certain words seemed to stick. Anti PCC. Former Officer. Threatened. Knows. Akinator was hiding something, a secret big enough for him to demand the death of anyone who knew about it. When the list of those dead ceased, Snapjaw was all but ready to leave and pretend he never saw anything, but Seadown’s shaky voice interrupted his thoughts. “That’s just the list of people he’s killed. We still don’t know about us.” Snapjaw was about to voice his opinion anyway when Waterjet interrupted him. “She’s right. And judging by the size of this list, we really need to know.” The leader of Sigma team swallowed hard. A search bar sat tauntingly at the top of the screen, and he clicked it, haltingly typing in his own name. Snapjaw- Autobot- Leader of Sigma team. Ally. He felt relief run through him and was about to call it as that when he noticed the looks of the others. Snapjaw needed to check their names too- it wasn’t comfort enough knowing just he was safe. Seadown- Autobot- Member of Sigma Team. Ally. Waterjet- Autobot- Member of Sigma Team. Ally. Skyline- Autobot- Member of Sigma Team. Ally. Horizon- Autobot- Member of Sigma Team. Threat. Associated with members of ‘The Misfits’, may feel suspicious or rebellious under orders to remove them. Snapjaw stared disbelievingly, and then turned hurriedly to Horizon, who stood shakily under the scrutiny of his teammates, near tears. “I-is he going to kill me?” “No, no I’ll make sure of it.” Snapjaw grit his denta, optics flashing in a slight panic. Just meeting with the Misfits made Horizon a threat? “Maybe we should… check the other people we know here?” Waterjet almost seemed afraid, body language defensive as he almost crept closer to Horizon, as if ready to protect him. “To get an idea of how paranoid this little scientist is, I mean.” Wordlessly, Snapjaw spun back around to the computer, typing in the glyphs for the others they knew around the base. Reload- Decepticon- weapons master. UNKNOWN. Waterjet whistled and Seadown hissed air between her denta. “Ouch. I thought they were friends.” Snapjaw said nothing, and instead continued typing. Wireframe- NOT FOUND This one seemed to shock them all the most. Skyline actually blurted out a hurried sentence. “But- they- I- I thought they were Conjux?” “That’s… admittedly very unsettling. Particularly if it doesn’t even recognise him on the Allies list.” “Maybe you spelt his name wrong?” Snapjaw gave a short thought to this, and then proceeded to type in five variations on the spelling of Wireframe, but still turned up with nothing. Then they continued. Liege- Decepticon- Current Co-Commander of Base 407265. Threat. Knows too much. Snapjaw felt his spark stop beating for a moment. Not even a neat and clean justification like the names before. This secret deemed too large for Akinator to even acknowledge peoples uses past their threats. Snapjaw would have hated to be one of the people to know it- particularly now. “Well… we’ve already gotten this far,” they all turned to Waterjet with faces between curiosity and dread. “Might as well figure what else he’s hiding on here.” Snapjaw had to agree, and nodded slowly, turning back to the screen. He exited the lists of Allies and Threats, and looked though the list once more. Finances spoke on obvious levels, Base operations could probably be looked at on a later date, Personnel Files interested no one, and Data Log was what they came for in the first place. But Project O. It sat pretty under the two lists. It didn’t have any hint of what it could mean, and Snapjaw had heard of no such project. And besides, what Project was so important, that it wouldn’t be covered under Base Operations? Time almost seemed to slow. Sigma team seemed to take a collective breath. Snapjaw scrolled almost painfully slow, as if asking for a way out. As if stalling. Seconds passed like minutes. Even as he hovered over the choice, he debated changing his mind. What if this got them all to be threats? He clicked, and the screen changed. Five ‘Phases’ appeared on screen, with no further explanation. A brief glance back to his team had him take another deep breath. He clicked Phase One. “What are you all doing in here?” The entirety of Sigma Team jumped, spinning away from the screen to see Akinator standing in the doorway, a data pad under one arm. As Snapjaw stuttered an excuse, Akinator looked up to the display screen. His face contorted from a moment. Optics wide and lips filled back. The data pad clattered on the floor, and before anyone could look to see what had Akinator so… afraid, the first real form of emotion they’d ever seen on his face aside from snide irritation, he had shot past them all, a crack of mental on metal telling them he’d just about punched the off button for the display screen. “Did no one tell you not to pry into matters that were not your own?” The snarl his voice took, almost glitched and contorted beyond what he had ever sounded like, and his optics a sudden low crimson rather than their usual orange, had Snapjaw jumping back, away. He’d only ever felt threatened enough by a commanding officer to want to tell his team to retreat one other time. And it was by a mech almost twice Akinator’s height, with a truck for an altmode, and had more than just commanding power over him. But the smaller mech very, very quickly collected himself. And although the ominous and deadly look stayed on his faceplates, he appeared outwardly calm. “I shall assume you are here for reports- and I will ask you kindly locate and tell Wireframe instead, as I am currently unavailable. Should you be unable to find him, please redirect yourselves to Reload, as he will relay the information to me at a later time. Now if you please, get out of my lab.” The majority of Sigma team tripped over themselves a little upon leaving, Snapjaw one of them. But he moved with intended slowness and falsified grace. As he exited, he looked behind him, to see Akinator. Not working. But watching them leave. Only when the doors began to slide shut did the scientist move. And through the crack of the closing door, Snapjaw saw something he wished he hadn’t. “Phase Three: Spark Extraction and Preservation”.

“This is not a game!!” Megatron hissed, nearly spilling his glass across the spotless sheets as he surged forwards, offended by the Quintessons implications. “Ah, but what better way to endure eternity?” Death laid back in his throne, throwing a single hand out to gesture over the table, filled with foods he would not eat and drinks he would not pour. Not once did he raise his own glass, nor take a bite of the meat, despite the fact that he had so cleanly proven it was not poisoned. “For this, little Prince, is the greatest game.” He stood slowly, taking measured and careful steps along the length of the table. He ran his claws over the fabric, eyes tracing the cut he left behind. “Light, versus dark. Hope, versus despair. And all the worlds fate,” he stopped merely a metre away from where Megatron had risen, and flicked graceful fingers out to curl around a wine filled goblet and lift it as if in the form of a toast. “Hangs. In the balance.” Megatron stared at the shining metal, holding the strangely strong smelling wine out in front of him. It reeked of a scent he could not place. But soon he grabbed the cup from the slender fingers, snarling. “Then it will be my great pleasure to disappoint you.” Death raised both hands as he almost floated backwards, movements of his feet hidden by his extravagant drapes, yet amplifying them in such a way it was almost intimidating. “Drink,” he stared at the taller man, smile wide and voice crooning and honeyed as Megatron stared into the golden cup, and its sickly red contents. “And let the games begin.” Megatron was unsure why he obeyed. Perhaps it was the sharpened teeth sliding out of pressed lips, perhaps it was his presence, intimidating through pure existence. But the second the liquid touched his lips he knew something was wrong. It was too much flavour for too little liquid. It was like a punch to his seances, a mixture of harsh iron and thick salt, like seawater and copper, with the consistency of wet bread. Nearly sickened by the broth he threw the cup aside before realising he had drank it all. The dark carnelian dripping from his teeth and to the tiles of the floor, where is stood out like rust on silver. “What now?” He choked out between breaths, staring up at the man in disgust. “Now?” Death made a slight face of contemplation, turning in one graceful movement, amusement in his tone. “You die.”

“He worries about you, you know.” Ywetlah stopped, glass millimetres from their lips as the voice reached their ears. Lowering the glass, they looked at the ex-sith leaning against the doorway, squinting as they put the glass down. “What’s that to you?” Teenamock shrugged, taking a few steps into the room before shoving his hands in the pockets of his cape. “I’m just saying. He worries about you, your bad habits included.” “You don’t seem too worried. And it’s not like he’s my dad.” “No, he isn’t. But he is your friend. And isn’t that enough?” Ywetlah scoffed, rolling their eyes. Irritated, they went to take another drink from the glass, only to have it stopped once more as Teenamock’s hand covered the rim, forcibly lowering it. “What’s your problem?!” “What’s your problem? It’s all you do! Drink, take drugs, go out partying, do things you regret and things you know people don’t like you doing, and then spend the next few days being quiet and irritable. I thought when you were with me you were just acting up, but as it turns out- no. It’s how you normally behave,” Teenamock glared, lifting his hand from the glass and backing off by a few steps. “What is it? What makes you so desperate to drink yourself to ignorance, to ignore the teachings of your master, the words of your friend, and to keep doing this?” He stayed silent for a moment, but after about a minute passing without him receiving an answer, he moved to sit opposite the younger human. He placed his hands down on the table, where they could be clearly seen and not interpreted as a threat. “What are you so afraid of, that you have to completely take your mind off it? Why do you run into things unprepared, uncaring for its outcome? Why do you run away when there might be a confrontation that isn’t physical? Are you afraid of yourself, is that it? Are you scared to show your true strength to people who never believed in you, who were afraid of you?” Again, he questions went unanswered, and Ywetlah remained quiet. Teenamock sighed, staring at the still full glass of multicoloured liquids, stacked on top of each other. “Why drink the bad ones too? You don’t like the taste. Is it just because it gives you the effect faster, for longer? Because it drags on the effect after the initial reaction has worn off?” “Why are you still here.” The question took Teenamock off guard slightly, eyebrow raising as his head tilted slightly. “I’m sorry?” “Why are you still here- you didn’t have to stay with us, you probably would have been safer alone. You could have made yourself a new, untraceable life. You didn’t have to stay. So my theory is that you stayed for him,” Ywetlah looked up from the glass, glare almost deadly. “You stayed for him, and it makes you angry that I don’t appreciate him the way I should. That I treat him like shit despite very clearly caring for him. It confuses you, but at the same time, it makes you angry because you know he doesn’t deserve bad treatment, right?” Teenamock went to open his mouth to answer, but was cut off with an extravagant and dramatic hand gesture. “But it doesn’t matter- you’re going to cover it up with false concern for me instead. You don’t care about me, but it’s a convenient excuse to not admit you care about him. And the effect I have on him.” “You don’t think I care about you?” “Don’t start,” Ywetlah pointed an accusing finer at him, jabbing forwards slightly with their head low. “I know you don’t. You don’t need to start up pretending you have morals about the life of others now. Maybe I effect him, maybe I don’t. But I don’t think he cares about me either. I doubt he cares for me any more than he does most other living creatures. I’m not all that important, we both know it. From the start I was leverage to you. Leverage to him. I’m just middle ground. Another stepping stone.” “You have a very poor outlook on yourself.” “No. I have an honest outlook on myself. I have no more worth than any other living creature does- I’m not an idiot.” Teenamock was silent for a moment, before a look of pity crossed his face with a sigh pressed through clenched teeth. “You still haven’t answered a single one of my previous questions.” Ywetlah merely scoffed, once again going to take a gulp from their drink, and yet again being stopped. Their glare turned murderous, their voice raising. “Do you mind?!” “Maybe not,” Teenamock let go, standing and going to leave. “Maybe I only care about you through him. But that doesn’t stop the fact I do care about you. And it certainly doesn’t stop him worrying about you.” They snorted, purposely avoiding eye contact by staring into the liquid in their drink as Teenamock stopped in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. “He’s not my dad.” Their voice was perhaps a little weaker, a little more lost, but the ex-with didn’t dare bring attention to it. “He’s still your friend.” As he left, Ywetlah gave a small bark of a laugh, muttering something under their breath in a language he didn’t recognise. He didn’t look back to see them lift the drink once more. But it meant he didn’t see them pour it down the sink either.

So reaching the end of the war, the Decepticons are losing. In a desperate last ditch effort, they attempt to make a new cybertronian. These new cybertronians are made up of salvaged code and parts- to prove they can be built from the dead on either side of the battle. They are meant to be an obedient drone that learns the habitual orders of their holder and how their skills can be applied in battle. A final element is added of a bezerk mode, in case of a situation where they are captured it's going to be resolved as a kill or be killed result. So decepticon scientists piece together a mech able to do three things- take orders, learn, and kill. They're meant to be a drone, one that's intelligence is only useful in carrying out orders faster and putting casualties in their favour. Then they need a spark. Well, they can make a fake one can't they? Like how humans have pacemakers. So they create the spark of a drone and do their best to infuse it with the elements of a mech. Enough for it to be able to learn. Except it backfires tremendously. When the mech is first brought online, the coding reacts and rebells against itself. The weapon is unable to recognise the decepticon insignia and by extension, their owners. Newborn, starving, and working off base instinct, the newly formed mech devours their surroundings in bezerk mode, as they were made to do. By the time the coding sorts itself out, and it is no longer starved, there's no one left. Confused and alone, the drone wonders. Until something comes from the sky. The fraction is recognised. The drone imprints. Their owner and handler asks for its name. They look up their build. "I am Armalite."

Why do you follow me if you don’t like anything I do?

Nightbeat, in his time of hanging around Breakdown, had discovered many things he didn’t intend on finding out. Some about their country, some about the Decepticons and the workings of the gang, and some about Breakdown’s family. But the weirdest things he had discovered were about Breakdown himself. For one, the man slept in a onsie. A legitimate footie pyjama onsie. He claimed it was for the betterment of whether or not he needed to run- saved him time if he needed to get out of the house quickly. Protected his feet (because of course he’d have a onsie with soles attached) from street contaminants. The second thing he’d discovered was that Breakdown was actually extremely organised. All his files were filed into subject matter, then into year of creation, then date of creation, then further into alphabetical order. It was meticulous, ridiculous, and irritatingly helpful. Breakdown had a ridiculous amount of original files, and then even had a cabinet filled with boxes (subject matter) containing edited files of the originals. Thirdly, he was horrifyingly uncomfortable with physical contact. He carried around a bunch of things to help with that though. Including leather gloves, hand cream, antibacterial hand cream, and a few wipes. The list of little habits Breakdown had could go on. The countless locks on every door, the meticulous cleaning, the precise routines and planning, the random outbursts of ideas, carrying that little notebook with scribbles and decent sketches inside that he never let anyone look at, keeping everything on a collection of memory sticks, his computer harddrive, and on a paper copy, when thinking too hard or angry or irritated his accent would switch from a more Lower District Tarnian accent to a mixture of that and a Junk one- which would get extremely annoying. Marina and the Diamonds. But never before had he accompanied Breakdown shopping. He’d never had to before, really. But after staying with him for a few weeks, he had some things to say about his diet. Seeing as he was willing to pay, he steered the shorter man venomously away from the quick foods aisles. If Nightbeat had to suffer through one more bowl of pot noodles he was going to kill someone. So he directed him mostly towards the vegetables and meats. They grabbed a decent amount, although Breakdown winced now and then. At the spinach, the nuts, at the pomegranate. Didn’t object so much to other fruits, like the apples and oranges. They grabbed some chicken, a few different kids of fish, some prawns, a few cheeses, some mincemeat and tomatoes. Spaghetti and pasta. Celery, carrots, salads, it all went down vaguely well. But then Breakdown actually refused to get broccoli. “You’re kidding me, right?” Nightbeat stared at the apparently flustered man disbelievingly. “What, did your dad tell you they were trees or something? Do you refuse to eat them on terms of ‘the government’ the same way you keep files on three copies?” “N-no, I- I just. I don’t like bitter foods.” Nightbeat had let it go. He wasn’t about to call Breakdown out in the middle of a store. It’d kill the poor guy for one. But then when they had gotten home, his totally-not-faked-powers-of-perception had kicked in. Breakdown took his coffee with half the cup as milk and three sugars. Any less and he’d make a face. Sometimes he added a spoonful of honey to milk. He happily took bites out of apples but winced at pomegranates, grapefruits, and cranberries. He wasn’t a fan of nuts, but delighted in the savoury taste of Nightbeat’s homemade bolognese. He liked sushi but made ad odd wheezing noise when Nightbeat offered the vinegar like flavouring. Breakdown genuinely hated bitter foods. He brought it up again when Breakdown was sipping at his coffee, staring disdainfully at the mug now and then. He had sighed in response, leaning back. “I just. Actually don’t like it. I really can’t stand it.” “And broccoli?” He actually made a noise of disgust, nose scrunching up in an unfairly adorable way. “Bpabpa used to make me eat it because it was really good for me. That and spinach. I hate them both. Well, spinach is alright if you wrap it up in an omelette- it takes the taste away, or covers it or something. I just really can’t stand bitter foods.” Nightbeat nodded, ignoring the blatant switch into the heavy LDTA accent, then left him to it. But no matter how much he tried to hide and deny it, he did find himself picking out more savoury things than bitter. Breakdown seemed to appreciate it at least.

Ambulon was missing. It irritated Ratchet when he vanished. He did it every now and then, and he always ended up finding him out in the back room, nervous and twitchy. At first he put it down to coming off drug addiction, but now he wasn’t so sure on the state of things. It’d been long enough now that he’d gotten a few other hints. The cutting was the key point, but Ambulon’s disappearances had never been too worrying before. Except he’d never been gone for longer than half an hour before, and now they were treading dangerous grounds. Dangerous in the terms of Ambulon, and nothing else. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, making sure that he wasn’t going to relapse or anything. During working hours he was Ratchet’s responsibility, It never really occurred to him where he went when he wasn’t working. That was a question to ask at some point. He went up each floor, searching back and forth, checking on the longer patients, making sure everything was ok. Still no Ambulon. And it was starting to push limits on the time allowance of ‘breaks’ before Ratchet had to legally call the police for a search. Parole wasn’t fun, and he really didn’t want to punish him for privacy, but rules were rules. And Ambulon had agreed to them. When Ratchet realised the roof was the last place to check he felt his blood run cold for a second. And then shook it off the best he could. Ambulon wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. It wasn’t like him to do that kinda thing. But he’d thought that about stealing bandages and cutting too. His track record wasn’t the cleanest. And neither was his criminal record. Ratchet wouldn’t confess to rushing up the stairs, hopeful that he wouldn’t see the dyed red and yellow hair, the black of his natural colour creeping in at the roots, and the doubled up shirts to hide his fading weight and the scars on his wrists that weren’t quite from the gangs. Maybe he’d just missed him, and he wouldn’t see the scratched and scraped up clothes, torn and crudely sewn back together with a few patches that weren’t quite the same colour. But he was. Ambulon stood at the edge of the roof, past the protective fence although gripping the flimsy thing. His hair had been pulled out its normal ponytail and blew loosely in the wind. He hadn’t noticed ratchet yet. Probably a good thing, considering the way he was shaking. He’d probably jump at the slightest noise. Ratchet did his best to walk quietly, although noticeably. His footsteps unnaturally heavy, but he couldn't have stopped it if he had wanted to. The entire situation was weighing down on him like a sack of bricks and he couldn’t have remembered what he was supposed to do if he tried. A part of him hoped, pleaded, begged, that Ambulon was just messing around. That he wasn’t about to do what he thought he was. But that hope was dashed very quickly. “I hope you don’t plan on trying to stop me. It’ll just get messy, and no one wants that.” It almost unsettled him, the way that Ambulon seemed so at peace with this decision. Like it was nothing to him, no big deal. “Not really. Not if you’re serious about it. I just want to talk a little while.” The twenty three year old laughed, hollow and bitter, looking over his shoulder to look at Ratchet with a horrifyingly blank look on his face. “Talk? What, you hoping for some pretty last words? I’d thought you’d know as well as I do that they can’t all be winners.” Ratchet hid a wince the best he could, clearing his throat and taking a cautious step forwards. “That depends if they’re last words now, doesn’t it? You sure you want to do this? First Aid was gonna show you some things when he got back here you know, after school.” “He can show you,” Ambulon didn’t turn around, but he kept eye contact with Ratchet. More than he had done in a long time, considering he was usually staring at his feet. “It’s no loss to him.” “He loves you though. I’d hate to give First Aid the whole ‘they’ve gone away for a long while’ speech again. He’s already lost one family member.” Guilt spread across Ambulon’s face, and he turned away slightly. Ratchet rushed to continue on. “Plus, getting a new babysitter he actually listens to will be hard enough. Not only that, but you’ve come so far with your parole, you want this to be how it ends up? Not to mention all the patients who won’t be able to come to the roof anymore. It’ll be closed off.” Ambulon took a step back, and Ratchet took it as a small victory. He thought as fast as he could for things that might help the situation without pushing Ambulon closer. “Plus, who wants about forty five interviews with people who ‘knew you well’, dripping with false sincerity?” They were both quiet for a moment before the younger of the two laughed, looking up slightly at the grey clouds covering what was supposed to be a pretty sunny day. “‘Today I looked down on you all, Today I watched you cry. How dare you have the never to say, I wish they didn’t die’.” Ratchet paused, eyebrow raising in slight confusion. “What?” “Sometimes I write. It’s an old one but. I still remember it.” “You write poetry?” “Sometimes,” He held up a finger, turning around cautiously, leaning forwards on the fence. “I don’t do it often, and a lot of the time its not for anything fun. It’s venting.” And there was the opening. “You want to show me some of it? We can have lunch too- you like Mexican right?” He offered out his hand to help Ambulon over the railing. The younger man stared at the offer for a moment, face contorting strangely as he considered it. For a moment Ratchet debated comforting him, reassuring he wasn’t about to push him off instead. It seemed to be what he was assuming would happen. But carefully, Ambulon placed his hand in Ratchets, allowing himself to be pulled away from the edge to safety. Ratchet smiled, feeling his heart rate drop significantly from the suspended state of fear. He ruffled the poorly dyed hair with a one sided grin, pulling the kid along and mentally noting to change the locks on the roof door. “Come on. Let’s get going. What’s your favourites?”

It had happened so suddenly no one had really realised what was happening. One moment they were fighting, the two decepticons unexpected in the base of operations. They had gone up, presumably to find something or to retreat. But someone had gotten in a lucky hit to one of them, who shared a similar build to Wheeljack, first knocking them offline. The second hit had sent them flying out the window, shattering the surprisingly thin glass without any effort whatsoever. And that’s when everything had gone to shit. The smaller one, form messy and undefined to the point no one could really determine their build type or altmode, had screamed out. With a final kick to the person they were fighting (as if it could be called that- all they were doing is dodging and getting hits in the best they can), they jumped after their fallen through the shattered glass. The autobots flocked to the window almost instantly, surprised at the fact they had even gone after them, or even if the intention was suicide as they were aware they couldn’t get away from this unscathed. But the fall was long- there had to have been at least 20,000 floors. Sure the hit on the ground would be deadly, but there was no need to go to such an extent to get into one of the tallest buildings to jump out of it. It was about that point that the smaller bot grabbed the other and stabbed their leg into the wall of the building. The sudden jolt of friction and pressure as they slowed at an execrated rate, the screech of joints and the cry of pain, the slight splatter of energon from injured parts as wounds were agitated, the majority of autobots winced. It wasn’t too gruesome, but the scream was the decisive factor. A pained, static laced scream escaping the smaller mechs mouth as metal scraped through metal to slow them down, still weighed down by their second member. Held awkwardly just to keep their grip as they fought to keep it together. Red hot from friction, splattered pink from energon bleeding from them. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t the worst anyone had seen. A groan of pressured joints, a small gasp from the apprehensive audience who heard even from where they stood, and a sudden snap and crunch as the leg tore loose. Silence rang out, pain surpassing their ability to express it. The autobots watched in mixed fascination and horror as they fell away from the building, only about halfway down. A sudden blast of an engine, and they were back at the wall, and their only remaining free limb stabbed itself into the metal. They slowed down once more, though the effect was not as jarring as the time before, and their makeshift audience could only watch as they grew smaller and smaller, screams and screeches fading out of their audio range. They looked at each other, and in unspoken agreement rushed to the security feeds to continue watching the falling Cons. It was a brief search- not hard to find a camera with view of the lower half of the building. The screams were mostly static now, but they had almost slowed down enough to survive their fall. But the joint was giving again, already weakened from the earlier fight, and their servos slipped on their grip of the other as they struggled to hold them together. They were nearly sobbing, desperate to hold them, desperate to keep themselves connected to the wall. They managed it. They slowed down, just enough that the fall wouldn't effect them at all, as their only remaining leg snapped and shattered, letting them fall to the ground in a small puddle of their own energon, still clutching desperately to the larger mech as they sobbed out in pain. No one reacted fast enough to be able to get down there before two other cons flew in. One sleek, a femme, who did quick repair patches on the smaller mech and gathered them up into her arms, flying away as the larger grabbed the still unconscious con to follow. The autobots kinda looked at each other for a minute, before someone finally spoke. “Should we report that?”

Touching things was dangerous. You never knew what kind of germs were on them, you never knew when it might be alarmed, and what if you touched it and it broke? Touching people was even worse- some people didn’t wash their hands, some just grabbed, and you never knew their true motive until it was far too late. Bottom line? Breakdown did not like touching or being touched. It was a problem. His dad always respected it though. Even if to that point it was more or less ‘well he’s not as bad as Wildrider so this is fine’. Most people respected it. Even if it was mostly due to the look of mixed disgust and horror he gave when they touched him. The first time Nightbeat touched him was to pull him out of the way of an incoming car. They had been walking to Breakdown’s house to search through his archive at the time. Completely lost in thought he’d done what was probably the stupidest thing in his life and crossed the road without looking first. A perfect opportunity for there to be a little ‘accident’ and for the government to remove any little fish nibbling at bait. Which would have happened if Nightbeat hadn’t caught him. A cry of ‘look out’ had knocked him out his thoughts, just in time to feel the hand grab his arm and pull him back to the curb. He had tripped, falling into Nightbeats chest (ew ew ew!! All those clothes that might not be cleaned and blatant disregard of personal space and pressure all over his front and urGH it was horrible) as he heard a car zoom past, honking its horn violently as Breakdown turned to watch it go shooting off around the corner. Nightbeat had instantly let him go, asking if he was alright and hands hovering as if wanting to touch but waiting for permission first. Appreciated, even it hadn’t been there in the first place. He’d waved him off, a little shaken from the near death experience and the sudden unexpected touch. The second time it had been at Breakdown’s suggestion. He was almost certain they were being followed, and he had suggested ‘displaying affection’ to deter others from looking at him. At them. Nightbeat had looked at him, surprised, and then had laughed. Breakdown was about to snap, when Nightbeats arm wrapped around his shoulders and tugged him in close. They’d gotten home fine, aside from a bit of battered pride on Breakdowns part. But it had been fine. He was fine. It was all good. Touch was still something he set out to avoid. It wasn’t anything he enjoyed, and it certainly wasn’t something he aimed to do. But Nightbeats little hand brushes and pats to his lower back weren’t. Unappreciated. Not to say it didn’t bother him. A little pat to his lower spine had Breakdown nearly jumping a solid metre into the air, and the brushes against his hands had his breath hitching. He lost count of how many idle touches happened before, but the point is it was about two months into their work relationship when Breakdown had pulled Nightbeat down to his level and pressed his lips directly to his. He still swore his face burned every time he thought about it. It was embarrassing for one. You don’t just jump coworkers, and you most certainly don’t make out with them. Secondly, it was gross. Lips and saliva and all that icky stuff and urgh it was just horrible. It was unhygienic and a ridiculous concept of sharing affection. Nightbeat wasn’t that bad tho so he still got kisses. His dad still made that weird wheezing noise whenever he noticed they were holding hands though. He suspected that had something to do with the fact Nightbeat was an autobot. Touching was dangerous. Touching was gross and icky and just generally a nuisance. But touching Nightbeat wasn’t so bad. So he could allow it.

[30/11/2015 00:30:23] Satan, Overlord of Hell: further on the angst: he’s probably there because something happened to Sunny, but because their parents are gross and kinda rude they’re probably like ‘retribution for his ignorance in his studies’ or ‘he had it coming’ or something equally as horrible because i am horrible, so he’s probably ran from his parents snapping and cutting at his brother from every angle and he just can’t deal with it [30/11/2015 00:31:54] Satan, Overlord of Hell: so he’s run to people who might understand, who might care, who care about him, and he just ends up at their hideout soaked to the bone from the rain, snivelling and sobbing like a child who just grazed their knee and no one quite knows how to make him feel better, especially because he isn’t talking [30/11/2015 00:32:29] Satan, Overlord of Hell: so they gently lead him inside, and take away his wet clothes and give him some dry ones, they make him hot chocolate and wrap him in blankets and dry his hair [30/11/2015 00:33:07] Satan, Overlord of Hell: thunderhoof pulls him into his lap and holds him close to warm his up and sideswipe sobs because when was the last time someone who wasn’t sunny held him like this? [30/11/2015 00:33:29] JamieDodger ;P: fuck both are good but [30/11/2015 00:33:33] JamieDodger ;P: angst wins [30/11/2015 00:33:45] Satan, Overlord of Hell: then ill keep going on my tangent [30/11/2015 00:34:40] Satan, Overlord of Hell: because they surround him and hold his hands and hug him, and snuggle up close and they all wrap themselves in blankets and its a huge soft pile of cons and Sideswipe and yeah, he’s sad [30/11/2015 00:34:45] Satan, Overlord of Hell: but he’s not alone anymore [30/11/2015 00:35:30] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he’s safe, for once in his life, he’s safe [30/11/2015 00:36:00] Satan, Overlord of Hell: the only bad part is that sunny isn’t here because primus knows his brother craves the same kinda attention [30/11/2015 00:36:40] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he sobs and he clings to them because please, please don’t leave him alone, not now, not like this [30/11/2015 00:37:02] Satan, Overlord of Hell: and they don’t, they don’t lie and say its ok because they don’t know if its ok and they’re not gonna say it is when they don’t know [30/11/2015 00:37:43] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he falls asleep in thunderhoof’s arms, face buried into his chest and shaking softly in an unsteady sleep [30/11/2015 00:38:37] Satan, Overlord of Hell: They’re all marginally bigger than him, but for once thats not the thing thats threatening him [30/11/2015 00:39:00] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he wonders if its worth running away completely [30/11/2015 00:39:44] Satan, Overlord of Hell: tbh this probably turns iNTO the porn [30/11/2015 00:40:07] Satan, Overlord of Hell: because after all that emotion he just [30/11/2015 00:40:10] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he’s wanted [30/11/2015 00:40:37] Satan, Overlord of Hell: no, no, he can’t, he has to stay an autobot until he can leave home, he has to be loyal, he has to be good he. He has to. He… [30/11/2015 00:40:42] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he’s wanted [30/11/2015 00:41:52] Satan, Overlord of Hell: He presses his lips against Thunders, pouring all his guilt, his sadness, his desperation, his need, into the kiss [30/11/2015 00:42:20] Satan, Overlord of Hell: his arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, legs hook over hips and he grinds forwards [30/11/2015 00:42:58] Satan, Overlord of Hell: theres an emotion bubbling in his chest that he can’t name or explain but he needs this and at least Thunderhoof seems to catch on even if he’s cautious [30/11/2015 00:43:28] Satan, Overlord of Hell: hold him down, take the power and decisions away from him for just an hour or so, please, please just take the choices away [30/11/2015 00:44:34] Satan, Overlord of Hell: for the need for submission, it burns inside him angry and vigorous, flames licking through his veins [30/11/2015 00:45:55] Satan, Overlord of Hell: Sideswipe would sell his soul to him for this to keep happening but he needs to be helpless, he needs to not be in control for ten fucking minutes at least please [30/11/2015 00:46:28] Satan, Overlord of Hell: and yeah he’s careful and he’s gentle but he gives him what he needs and he wants more, more more [30/11/2015 00:47:27] JamieDodger ;P: sideswipe please chill [30/11/2015 00:47:33] Satan, Overlord of Hell: one hand holds both his wrists down as others tease, trailing over sensitive flesh and he writhes and he begs but he doesnt get and that alone is almost a relief [30/11/2015 00:48:39] Satan, Overlord of Hell: and when he presses into him he chokes on his break and bucks his hips and lips press into his neck [30/11/2015 00:49:10] Satan, Overlord of Hell: sooner or later he’s almost lost to it all and he gasps and moans [30/11/2015 00:50:32] Satan, Overlord of Hell: dark sheets, silk on his skin, bright lights flashing in his eyes, maybe from his own vision failing or maybe from that shitty light no one bothers to fix he isn’t sure, sharpened teeth grinning against the flesh of his neck [30/11/2015 00:51:23] Satan, Overlord of Hell: hands hold him down and he feels heavy but it feels so good and he knows he promised himself he’d never step over this line but he never wants to let this go [30/11/2015 00:51:55] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he manages to slip loose, to grip hold of him as a particularly hard thrust makes him cry out [30/11/2015 00:53:43] Satan, Overlord of Hell: he claws in pleasure unknown to him as he attempts to move back against the friction he desires, he needs and theres a tightness in the pit of his stomach he recognises and a broken cry escapes him in shattered pieces as the heat increases and everything gets faster and harder and then its all too much [30/11/2015 00:55:55] Satan, Overlord of Hell: and he screams, he screams Thunderhoofs name as he climaxes and hears his own name growled into his own ear and suddenly he feels so full and he moans and shakes and he’s hot and covered in sweat and his own cum splattered across his stomach and Thunderhoofs and he swallows because what now? what does he do now? but a kiss against his cheek reassures him and a smile reminds him he’s safe and as the fullness disappears the ache settles in and he groans, though its cut off by another kiss [30/11/2015 00:56:56] Satan, Overlord of Hell: his eyes slip closed and a weight settles next to him, a hand pulled over his waist to hold him close and whispered praises in his ear and finally, finally, he sleeps well for the first time in years

“What are you doing here, goggles?” Observer huffed, sliding out of the shadows as silently as he could, walking cautiously on Habit’s grounds, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. “I would have thought you would not have perceived me for perhaps another minute or two. I was just. Thinking.” “On what, the best way to stab my in the neck?” Habit cackled, swinging his body around in judged momentum, a grin on his face as he spun a knife around his fingers his fingers. “What can I do you for? A corpse maybe? A lil’, a lil’ blood a few teeth or somethin’?” Observer made a noise that sounded somewhat like a strangled sigh, and started pacing around. A gesture that could be mistaken for circling, had Habit not been the creature he was close to. This wasn’t anything threatening, particularly not to the likes of Habit. “I didn’t come for that.” “So… what?” Silence fell between them, and unsurprisingly it wasn’t long before Habit lost his patience. “Listen here you little bitch- you don’t come wondering into my house unannounced, sneaking around like a worried wife- too scared to do anything other than tiptoe in case the eggshells shatter under her toes and slice between them! Say what you came for or get out before I come for you!” Observer glared, but spoke up regardless, ignoring the self satisfied smirk spreading across Habit’s face. “I, have been thinking on a scenario of which includes us both.” Observer seemed content to cut off there, but a wave of Habit’s knife had him pursing his lips and continuing. “Involving us doing certain activities with each other.” Habit blinked slowly, laughing and cackling, leaning up across the wall before coughing, clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah I don’t get it.” Oberver almost growled, stepping forwards to poke Habit in the chest. Though he recoiled as Habit snapped forwards to try and catch the finger between his teeth, “You asked me what i came here for. More importantly, you asked what you could do me for. The real answer to that question is free, and it answers itself. That’s why I’m here.” Habit stared again, before moving his head in a jerky movement. “What?” Observer actually cried out in frustration, fingers curling like talons as he leant in perhaps too much into Habits personal space. “You asked what you could do me for- for every deity there is’ sake, just do me!” He suddenly became flustered, and attempted to step back before Habit grabbed him by the shoulders, grinning wolfishly from ear to ear as he leant in. “Of course. You could have just asked.”