Storm winds buffeted and driving rain lashed Mount St. Hilary and the Ark embedded within it. The rain water had turned the ground outside the entrance into a thick, muddy pool that rippled ceaselessly with every drop of water that pelted it from the dark grey clouds above. Fog rolled off the grassy banks in thick white-grey strands, wrapping around everything in its path. The weather made driving quite unpleasant, if not dangerous, and therefore, those Autobots on patrol duty away from the Ark chose to wait out the storm either in the cities, or under what ever natural shelter they could find, rather than risk the drive back to headquarters.
Back at the Ark, apart from those on monitoring and communications – Red Alert and Blaster respectively – the others decided they'd rather keep themselves occupied indoors rather than venture out through the muddy quagmire that was previously their front driveway.
The Minibots spent most of their time down at the training bay working on their melee skills since, being a lot smaller than the average Autobot made them perfect targets for the much larger Decepticons. So there was no such thing as too much practice to them. Some mechs like Trailbreaker, Mirage and Smokescreen decided to catch up on some much-needed recharge, while others like Prowl, Skids and even Optimus Prime took this time to catch up on their reading material. Those like Wheeljack, Grapple and Hoist chose to spend their free time in their natural habitats – the lab and the maintenance area – working on personal projects. The remaining Autobots gathered in the lounge to play video games – in the case of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker – , watch TV or just sit around and chat.
"Are you sure its ok for you guys to sit around and relax like this?" asked Chip Chase, one of their human allies, who had decided to spend the day with his Autobot friends.
"Yeah," Bluestreak replied. "I don't think any of the Decepticons would like to go flying around in weather like this. All this wind and everything could be kinda dangerous for the Seekers to fly around in, and I don't think they'd wanna fight in the mud any more than we do." He gently lifted Chip from his wheelchair and carried him over to one of the couches where he set him down on a big, fluffy cushion.
"Besides, if any 'Cons did show up, ya'd hear ol Red screamin' bloody murder," Jazz added from his spot on another couch where he was watching a sitcom with Tracks and Ironhide.
"If they value their little pretty-mech paint jobs they'll stay right where they are," Ratchet growled as he stalked into the lounge and plonked himself down on the couch on Jazz's other side. Tracks stood up and went to share Chip's couch, allowing the other three mechs to sit more comfortably.
"Well I sure as hell am not going out into all that dirt and grime," Sunstreaker muttered.
"Me neither," Tracks agreed. "It took me two hours to get this finish and I'm not going to ruin it just for some Decepticons." He patted his shiny cobalt-blue chestplate.
"But mud's supposed to do wonders for your complexion, and Primus knows the two of you could use all the help you can get," Sideswipe piped up with an impish grin.
"You're the one who needs help right about now Sides," Sunstreaker replied. "Seeing as how I'm kicking your aft and all."
"Your optics are malfunctioning Sunny. Everyone knows I kicked your sorry skidplate three games in a row."
"In your dreams slagger."
"I doubt it. If I was dreaming I wouldn't be looking at your ugly mug."
"We're twins you dumb fragger. My ugly mug is your ugly mug."
"Aww, will you two pipe down 'fore I weld yer traps to the slaggin' floor," Ironhide spoke up.
"I'll help you," Ratchet muttered.
The brothers frowned at Ironhide, but knew better than to so much as twitch an optic ridge at the Chief Medical Officer. Sunstreaker tossed his game console onto the tray as Sideswipe switched to a single-player game. Tracks shook his head.
"Twins," he said. "You're both the same."
The yellow mech snapped his head up. "Hey, I am NOTHING like my brother."
"So nice of you to finally say that Sunny," Sideswipe replied, an evil grin on his face. "I knew you'd eventually get round to admitting it."
Sunstreaker aimed a kick at him. "Frag you, pig-slagger."
"Jealousy's an ugly trait bro, but then I'm sure you know all about the ugly part."
"Why I oughtta…"
"If the two of ya are gonna get physical, I suggest ya take it outside. I'm sure everyone else'd love ta watch a mud-wrestlin' match," Jazz said.
"And don't even think of coming to me for repairs afterwards," Ratchet said. "So the two of you can either stop your stupid bickering or I'll throw you in the fragging mud myself."
The medic fixed the Twins with a look that promised certain death if either one of them dared to try him; and the Twins, knowing full-well that he would love nothing more than to make good on his threat, wisely remained silent. Sideswipe turned back to his game, this time joined by Bluestreak, while Sunstreaker lay back on the floor, stretching himself out with his head pillowed on his arms.
"I've often wondered," Chip spoke up. "Why are Transformer twins so rare? Are they difficult to create?"
"Not really," Ratchet replied. "Transformer twins, like these two menaces, come about when a spark splits in two – sort of like how you humans get identical twins – only we call them spark-twins. They may not look alike, but they share the same spark."
"Alright, but why are they rare?" Chip asked.
Sideswipe turned to look at the human, all traces of humor gone from his face which now took on a deadly serious expression. "Because we're bad luck." Even his voice was devoid of its usual light-hearted tone.
Ironhide snorted. "Well ya got that right."
"Seriously Sideswipe, why?" Chip asked again.
"He's not joking," Sunstreaker added. "Twins are bad luck."
"Oh please!" said Tracks. "You don't mean to tell me that the two of you, of all mechs, believe that fable do you?"
"Its true!" Sideswipe insisted.
"Its just a silly superstition."
"What superstition?" asked Chip.
"There's an old Cybertronian legend that whenever twins are sparked, somethin's gonna happen – usually somethin' bad," Jazz said. "I dunno if I believe it or not, but I've heard too many stories from folk ta just dismiss it as pure fable."
"Aww c'mon Jazz," Ironhide argued. "Y'know as well as I do that its all a buncha slag. If there were something wrong with twins, Prime woulda never signed these two clowns on in the first place."
"Its not slag!" the Twins said in unison.
"It is too."
"Oh for the love of Primus, will the three of you just shut up!" Ratchet snapped.
"So what are these stories, Jazz?" the human asked.
"They're not stories!" Sideswipe protested. "They really happened!"
"I said, shut the frag up," Ratchet growled.
"Shut up! Jazz, tell the story."
"Oh c'mon Ratch, ya cant be serious…"
Ratchet levelled Ironhide with a death-glare that stopped the red mech in his tracks. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"Well, I ain't sure where ta begin," Jazz said.
"Try the beginning," Ratchet replied.
Jazz shifted and settled himself more comfortably on the couch, as Sideswipe and Bluestreak put away their consoles and turned to listen. Jazz's visor all but glowed as he looked at his audience.
"Once upon a time," he began, and some of the others rolled their optics. Jazz grinned. "Oh alright, alright." He cleared his throat. "Well this goes back to a time before Cybertron was even Cybertron. At that time, there were in existence, two gods: the god of Order – or Primus as we call him – and the god of Chaos."
"What was his name?" Chip asked.
"I don't quite recall," Jazz replied.
"Doesn't matter, go on," said Sunstreaker.
"Anyways," the black and white continued. "Some folk claim that the two gods were infact brothers themselves. As time went on they began ta have different opinions on how the universe ought ta be run. Order, Chaos, I don't think I have ta explain. Y'all can probably guess what each guy wanted. Eventually the brothers fought and the Chaos god was defeated. Now some stories say that Primus trapped him in a black hole for all eternity, while others say that he was banished to an alternate universe. Far too many stories ta choose from, really."
Chip stroked his chin. "What happened to Primus?"
"Again, the stories vary. Some say he transformed himself into Cybertron. Others say he created Cybertron. Basically, its believe what ya want."
"I've heard that after Primus' battle with the Chaos god, he was so tired that he went to sleep somewhere in the depths of Cybertron," Bluestreak said. "He's probably a very heavy sleeper, I mean what with the war going on above him and everything, you'd think he'd have woken up by now and told everyone to knock it off."
Everyone else smiled at that and Bluestreak grinned sheepishly.
"Uh, guess you can continue now Jazz," he said.
Jazz chuckled. "Alright. Well, the Chaos god was gone, maybe for good, but apparently he'd left a small part of his – lets just call it 'essence' shall we – behind. And Primus, just before he went ta take his nap, was said to have trapped that essence somewhere within Cybertron where no one was ever supposed ta find it."
"And let me guess – someone found it?" Chip asked. "I still don't see what it has to do with twins being bad luck though."
"Whoa now," Ironhide spoke up. "yer gett'n' ahead o' yerself. Let the story-teller do the story tellin'."
Jazz leaned back and crossed his right ankle over his left. "Hmm… lets see…. Not long after Primus decided ta go all Rip Van Winkle, the first Transformers started ta appear on Cybertron, and among them, the first twins. No one knew who created 'em, they just kinda showed up one day."
The Twins stirred, but said nothing. Jazz and Ratchet glanced at them before Jazz continued.
"No one bothered to ask 'em though, since they were nice mechs – always helpful and quite friendly with other folks. They were quite competitive with each other however, especially when it came ta racin'. Those boys lived for speed…."
The silence of the Cybertronian night was suddenly broken by the sound of high-performance Cybertronian engines revving at maximum output. Two streamlined, ground-hugging hover-cars shot out of the darkness at break-neck speeds, all but flying over the smooth, steel road that stretched like a bright silver ribbon before them, looping and curving occasionally. The cars were both rust-brown in color, though one was darker, the other lighter. Their speeds were identical, neither getting an advantage over the other. Then, as they neared a bend, the darker of the two began to pull ahead.
"C'mon Burnstorm, what's the matter?" he called back to the lighter. "Am I too fast for you?"
"Not at all Blindside," the other replied as they reached the corner. "But you might want to remember its dangerous to over-take someone at a bend."
Blindside responded with a laugh and shot ahead. He saw the large sign-post only a moment later and slammed on his brakes, which slowed him down, but not enough to avoid hitting it altogether. Burnstorm rounded the bend gracefully and decreased speed as he neared the other mech.
"I warned you," he said.
"Don't rub it in alright," Blindside replied.
"But it takes all the fun out of it if I don't," Burnstorm chuckled. "By the way, are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Why don't you go on and finish the race?"
"What's the point if I have no one to race against? C'mon bro, don't cop out on me now. You'll just affirm that all along you've been nothing but a wimp."
Blindside revved his engine. "Oh its competition you want eh?" He backed away from the sign-post. "I'll give you competition!" He shot off down the road again.
Burnstorm shook his head mentally. The bot just didn't learn sometimes. He began to drive after the other. They were brothers, true enough, but more than brothers too – they were twins. Alike in so many ways, yet different too. Blindside had always been the more impulsive one, while Burnstorm was usually the calmer and more level-headed. Still, competitive as they were, they did love each other and neither would ever let any real harm come to the other.
"Hey 'Storm! Where the slag are you? Don't tell me I gotta tow your sorry aft to the finish line!"
Burnstorm picked up speed and soon drew level with his brother again. "In your dreams."
"That's impossible. Your ugly face is never in my dreams, only my nightmares."
"We're twins, you skidplate. If I'm ugly, so are you."
"Oh will you can the chatter and race. The finish line's just up ahead."
Sure enough, the lights of the city soon came into view, indicating the end of the race. The first one to pass the city limits marker would win. Burnstorm revved his engine and picked up speed, pulling a little ahead of Blindside.
"I'll wait for you at the finish line 'Side," he said, and raced on. "Don't take too long!"
"Frag… you…" Blindside replied as he strained his systems to try and catch up with his brother.
Both cars shot past the marker and the small group of bots standing next to it, and entered the city – Burnstorm half a body length ahead of Blindside. Both transformed and screeched to a halt simultaneously. They walked back to where the group of bots were, and as they neared, the others came forward to surround them, patting them on the back and congratulating Burnstorm on the win. A black and white mech, with specks of silver here and there, approached the twins, and on seeing him, they broke away from the rest of the group.
"Nice racin' you guys," he said, slapping first Blindside's hand, then Burnstorm's.
"Nice of you to turn up to watch Requiem," said Burnstorm. "You'd think anyone else would have got tired of watching us race by now."
Requiem shrugged. "How could I tire? The two of you would never forgive me if I did. But what happened to you?" He slapped Blindside on the shoulder. "There were a fair amount of credits on you to win tonight."
"And I would've won too if it hadn't been for that slaggin' sign-post," Blindside replied.
"Ah, that explains the dent," Requiem said, grinning.
"I still don't like the idea of bots making wagers on us," Burnstorm said. "We're not obligated to win just so a mech can make a few extra credits."
"Bots' gotta amuse themselves somehow."
"How much did they bet on me anyway?" Blindside asked.
"Is it really important to know?" asked Burnstorm
"What's wrong with me knowing? Or are you actually surprised that for once mechs may have bet on me more than you?"
"Blindside! You know its not like that at all! We race for the competition, not for the credits."
"Yeah, whatever 'Storm." Blindside shrugged off Requiem's hand. "I'm going home. Enjoy your victory party." He transformed and sped off.
"Blindside!" Burnstorm started to go after him.
Requiem stopped him. "Let him go. He needs to cool off a bit. Talk to him tomorrow."
Burnstorm sighed. "I suppose you're right."
"C'mon, lets go have a drink."
"And that was how it all started," Jazz said.
"All over a race? And money?" Chip asked.
"Chip, you should know by now that money of any kind – Cybertronian or Earthen – can sometimes corrupt even the most steadfast mechs and men," Ironhide replied.
"But they were brothers. Surely they were above all that petty jealousy."
"Hey, I get jealous of Sunny sometimes," Sideswipe admitted.
"And I get jealous of Sides," Sunstreaker said. "Mainly 'cause he got the stupid jet-pack."
"I knew it!" Sideswipe pumped a fist in the air.
"Oh give it a rest," said Tracks.
"Yeah," Ratchet agreed. "Jazz, get on with the story."
"In a minute." Jazz got up and went to pour himself a can of energon. He sipped it as he came back to the couch and sat down. "Okay, where was I?"
"You said that was how it all started," Bluestreak replied.
"Ah right…. Well, sad ta say, things just got worse from there on. Blindside started racin' fer the credits after he found out that he could earn himself a small percentage of the winnings. He resorted ta winnin' at any cost, even if it meant 'accidentally' hurtin' his twin. Burnstorm put up with it for a good long while until one day he decided that enough was enough…".
Burnstorm picked up speed and pulled a good three body-lengths ahead of his brother before transforming abruptly in the middle of the road. To avoid hitting his twin, Blindside was also forced to transform, flipping over Burnstorm and landing on his feet behind him.
"What the slag are you trying to do?" he asked as Burnstorm turned to face him.
"This has to stop," Burnstorm said. "Its getting out of hand 'Side and I cant do it anymore. I wont race just because others expect me to. I wont race for credits."
"Hey, its not like we're stealing from these bots alright," Blindside retorted. "So you don't have to be all righteous about it. You just cant handle the fact that I'm beating you."
"Blindside, I don't care how many races you beat me in, as long as its for the sole purpose of racing and the spirit of competition, not for the prize-credits at the end."
"They expect me to win!"
"At what cost? Your twin? Yourself? You're getting addicted 'Side, and so help me Primus, if I have to give up racing to knock sense into your head, I will."
The darker brown mech looked horrified. "What!"
"You cant be a winner if you have no one to win against."
"You wouldn't! You cant! You know you love racing just as much as I do."
"But not more than I love you. And if this is the only way to help you – so be it."
"You're selfish!" Blindside yelled. "Just because you're not winning anymore, you don't want me to have any fun!"
"You call this fun!" Burnstorm asked, his own voice rising a little. "The last time you nearly ran me into a wall! Was that fun to you!"
"It was an accident!"
"Was it? Was it really?"
"Well frag, its not like you died or anything. Requiem fixed you up just fine."
Burnstorm shook his head. "This stops now. I'm dropping out, and you can tell the others there will be no more racing from me until the gambling stops." Having said that, he transformed and drove back the way they had come.
Blindside watched him go, still too much in shock to go after him. When realization finally sank in he let out a snarl of frustration and kicked at a piece of metal lying by the side of the road. He heard it clang twice on the metal ground before hearing a crack and then a faint hollow thud. The mech frowned, and curiosity getting the better of him, went to investigate. Several meters from the main road he found that the piece of metal he'd kicked had broken through some sort of thin metal layer covering what seemed to be a hole. Blindside knelt, pulled back the rest of the broken covering and switched on his headlights, but they were able to pierce the darkness only partially.
A part of him knew that he should just leave it all alone and go and try to reconcile with his brother, but a part of him was still bitter. The stubborn side of him insisted that he had done nothing wrong, that Burnstorm was jealous and overreacting. If he went back now they'd probably just fight again, so why not check inside the hole and see what was down there?
He sat on the edge so that his legs dangled into the opening and let himself drop. He landed on solid ground, knees automatically bending into a crouch to absorb the impact. Then he straightened, looked around and cursed. The hole was just that – a hole. Not a hidden chamber or a tunnel leading to one, just a plain, deep hole, and the stench inside was over-powering. He wanted out.
Blindside crouched, then sprang up, hands and fingers stretching to grab the edge of the opening. He missed and landed back. He kicked one of the walls in frustration and the stench grew stronger. His optics stung, and in an effort not to inhale any of it he kept his mouth and olfactory senses firmly shut, thus disabling his only means of calling for help. Again he lept for the opening, again he missed, but this time he'd come closer.
He coiled a third time, then sprang. This time the fingers of one hand brushed the edge and he grabbed, despite the weight of his body pulling him down again. His fingers slipped. Then something locked around his wrist and broke his plummet back into the hole's depth. He looked up into Requiem's optics.
"Hold on!" the black mech called. A grappling hook and cable extended from his right wrist. "Hold on to that, I'll pull you up."
Once Blindside had both hands entwined in the cable, Requiem released his wrist and, with a grunt, began to slowly pull him up. It took a while, since Requiem was nowhere near as strong as the twins were, but eventually Blindside's head and shoulders cleared the edge. The brown mech grabbed the edge and gasped – inhaling the clean air to cool his systems – as Requiem fell back on his aft with a clang and, with a last burst of effort, Blindside pulled himself clear out of the hole. Requiem pushed himself to his feet, retracted the grappling hook for his hand and went over to help Blindside up.
"You alright mech?" he asked.
Blindside took the offered hand and levered himself up. "I'm fine Requiem, what are you doing here?"
"Got a li'l worried when neither o' you crossed the finish line, so decided ta head back along the route and see if ya'll were alright. Where's 'Storm?"
"Went home. Said he wasn't gonna race anymore till they stopped gambling on us." Blindside scowled darkly. "He just cant handle the fact that I keep beating him."
"That's a little unreasonable ain't it?" Requiem asked. "I mean, he's just tryin' ta look out for ya."
"If you've come here just to take his side, then slag off," Blindside growled. "I'll make him race me again, wait and see."
Requiem frowned as Blindside transformed, headed back onto the road and sped off.
"It was from that point on that things got considerably worse for the Twins," Jazz explained. "Again, the tales tend ta differ dependin' on who you hear it from. Some said Blindside freed the Chaos god's essence, while others think he may have opened a rift in the continuum that allowed the Chaos god to come back to our universe. Either way, they all agree that it had a particularly nasty effect on Blindside."
"So what happened to him?" Chip asked. "Did he ever race his brother again?"
There was a moment of silence. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shifted and exchanged a look. Jazz stared at the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then he looked up again.
"Yeah, they raced again," he said. "Blindside disappeared for some time after that day and wasn't seen again till about two Earth-weeks later. No one quite knows what he did during that time, but one day he showed up again without warning and said he'd come to make peace with his twin."
"I've come to work things out," Blindside said as he faced his brother. "I've been a slagger and I apologize. I know I was an aft, and I understand now - we should race because its something we enjoy doing, not because other mechs want to make cheap credits off us. I'm sorry bro, I don't know what else to say."
Burnstorm shook his head and pulled the darker brown mech into a gentle hug. "Don't say anything bro, I'm just glad you came back. Now c'mon, what do you say to a race? You, me and Requiem, just like old times?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Blindside replied. "Let's go find the old duotone."
… Requiem was more than happy to join the brothers, though he declined to race, being content with just watching from a distance.
"Where're we headin'?" he asked. "Usual spot? Don't wanna go too far, heard there was an electrical storm comin' our way."
"I found a new course we could try out," Blindside said. "It's not far from the city, and we can still make it back if the storm gets too bad."
Burnstorm looked up at the sky above them, then towards the horizons. "I suppose we could make it a quick race, and I wouldn't mind trying out a different route. Lead the way 'Side."
"I don't know about this," Requiem said. "Maybe its better if we stayed to the tried and true just this once."
"If you don't wanna come along then stay behind and don't spoil our fun!" Blindside snapped. "C'mon 'Storm."
Requiem backed up a step. "Whoa, easy there 'Side. I ain't tryin' ta ruin your good time, I'm just sayin' be careful. Electrical storms ain't somethin' ta play around in."
Burnstorm stepped between the two mechs. "Like I said – one race, and we'll we back before you know it."
"Follow me," Blindside said. He led the way, after casting a not-so-friendly look at the black and white.
… The race track, in the end, wound up being farther from the city than either Requiem or Burnstorm had expected. Burnstorm stood for a moment, trying to assess their current situation. Blindside watched him eagerly.
"What's there to think about?" he asked. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can head home."
Requiem held back, staying silent, his armor tingling with the static from the impending storm, hoping Burnstorm would hurry and come to a decision. The lighter brown mech glanced at him, then at his brother, then at the road in front of them. With a slight nod, he transformed and took up a starting position on the track. Blindside smiled, transformed as well, and lined up beside him.
Sighing in defeat, Requiem stood in front of them with both arms raised to flag them off. He faltered for a moment, but knew that whether he did so or not, the two would still race. He dropped his arms and the brothers raced past him in a blur of browns.
"Primus help us," Requiem murmured before transforming and following.
Ahead of him the twins drove alongside each other, neither one being able to take an advantage and pull ahead. Electric-blue lightning streaked overhead and static filled the air.
"Maybe we should have listened to Requiem and gone back," Burnstorm said.
"Didn't know you were afraid of a little electrical disturbance 'Storm," Blindside replied.
"I'm not afraid. I'm just a little worried. Even if we can make it through, there's no guarantee that Requiem can. He's not built like us."
"Requiem's a big bot, he can take care of himself. Now c'mon, we got us a race to finish."
Blindside sped up and began to pull ahead. Cursing quietly, Burnstorm accelerated. The road in front of them forked in two directions – one higher, one lower. Before Burnstorm could even ask which way they were going, Blindside turned onto the lower road without any hesitation. Trusting his brother, Burnstorm followed.
Behind them, Requiem saw the fork in the road and suddenly realized where exactly they were. He saw the twins head on to the lower road and his fuel-pump lurched. Swerving, he shot up the higher road and tried to catch up with the pair below him.
Burnstorm noticed the road getting narrower until it became nothing more than a ramp, from beneath which steam rose in thick white columns. He started to slow down.
"C'mon 'Storm, not giving up 'cause of a little steam are you?" Blindside asked.
"I can barely see anything."
"So? Use your radar. Its what it's there for."
"Doesn't seem to be working. I think it may be the storm."
Blindside laughed. "You're just getting old and cranky, that's all."
"I am not." Burnstorm tried to draw level with his brother. He figured the quicker they finished this race, the better, even if he had to let Blindside win. "We'll see who's old."
At that moment, his radio crackled to life and, though full of static, he could just make out Requiem's voice.
"… stop… pits… road is… end."
"I didn't quite catch that Requiem, can you repeat?" Burnstorm asked.
"You… slow… its… ahead."
There was a burst of static. In front of him he noticed Blindside fish-tailing, as if trying to lose speed and move out of the way. Warning bells rang in Burnstorm's head.
"Blindside, where are we?"
The darker brown mech responded with a cackle of laughter. "The Smelting Pits, brother dear. So now you can really live up to your name and burn!"
Requiem's warning clicked into place. There was no end down there except a dead end. Anger swept through Burnstorm's body. It made perfect sense now – with him out of the way, Blindside would be free to do as he wished. Well, not if he had anything to say about it.
He picked up as much speed as he could. A massive thick steel wall loomed up ahead. Just as Blindside was about to swerve away, Burnstorm rammed into him as hard as he could. The impact hurtled both of them towards the wall…
"So they died?" Chip asked.
"The reports were never clear at the time," Jazz replied. "Thus again, the stories vary. From 'they hit the wall so hard that they burst into tiny pieces' to 'they hit and exploded in a big ball of flame' to 'they fell off the road into one of the vats'. Either way, the bodies were never found."
"Some o' the stories say that the twins, or some part o' 'em survived through the years, changing their appearances and showin' up when ya least expected 'em to; seeming to get along at first before goin' for each others' throats," Ironhide said.
Chip gave a nervous laugh and looked at the Twins. "You don't think you two are reincarnations of Burnstorm and Blindside do you?"
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked innocently back at him.
"But… you guys haven't done anything remotely like them," Chip argued.
"Yet," Sunstreaker said.
"You never know," Sideswipe added.
"Well, what about Requiem? He was there, wouldn't he have seen something?"
"Requiem, like the twins, was also never seen again," Ratchet said, with a sidelong glance at Jazz. "Though ironically, apart from the Twins, Jazz is the only other mech to tell the story the same way the brothers do – almost as if he knows it first-hand."
Chip looked over at the black and white sitting calmly on the couch. His visor met the boy's eyes.
"Naw man," he said. "I ain't ol' Requiem if that's what yer thinkin'. I got more style than he had."
Tracks snorted. "Don't let them creep you out, Chip. The whole thing IS just a Cybertronian legend after all."
"Yeah," Chip said. "But all legends have some basis in truth."