After like, a million years an update! Yay!

School is evil.

To all my reviewers, you all are love. Thank you for the comments!

Disclaimer. Don't own. Never will. Plot and plot devices are mine though.


The occupants of the room stood silently, observing Ratchet carefully.

"What?" Sunstreaker's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"Prowl stole Cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine from Wheeljack's lab." The medic repeated.

"Ratchet, I don't speak nerd. You're going to have to use smaller words," Sideswipe said in deadpan.

"It's a substance that makes things go boom."

"See? That I can understand." Sideswipe grinned, but it quickly wilted off of his face. "Oh damn. That's bad."

There was silence again.

Jazz was the first to speak, "So, Prowl is trying…"

"…to blow up the Ark?" Sunstreaker finished.

"But that goes against every bit of logic that Prowl has! It's stupid, reckless… It's something I would probably end up doing," Sideswipe argued.

"Well, it's not exactly Prowl's logic circuits in charge now is it?" Ratchet spat hostilely. "It's his battle computer, and his battle computer seems set on taking out the whole Ark regardless of the repercussions because right now, to it, we're a threat."

"But it…" Sideswipe let his finger drop. "Sunstreaker, Ratchet is reasoning with me again," he whined.

"Ratchet, stop victimizing my brother with logic," Sunstreaker started, "I don't think his motherboard can handle the strain."

"Oh Prowl…Why?" Jazz looked to the ceiling, miserably. The situation was losing its fun and becoming dangerous. The black and white mech dropped him self onto the ground in Indian style, folded his arms over each other, and began to think.

"Jazz, what the hell are you doing?" Ratchet cocked an eye ridge.

"Shush. I'm thinking." Jazz pursed his lips as the others stared at him expectantly. "If he is using the explosives you said he was, he's gonna hafta put them somewhere in the B sector. Most likely since that's closest to some of Ark's power conductors while also bein' closer to the Volcano's core."

"How can you be so sure?" Sunstreaker asked skeptically.

"I'm a saboteur. I specialize in sabotage. Knowin' the most effective ways to make things blow up is part of the job description. Let's see." Jazz pulled out a blue rolled up paper from subspace and unfurled it revealing blueprints of the Ark. Ratchet looked over the Saboteur's shoulder and noticed there were several notes scribbled all over the page showing where there were weak spots and holes in the Ark's structure and security systems.

"Jazz, why do you have schematics of the Ark?" Ratchet queried. Jazz looked up.

"For collateral." He grinned

"For collateral?" Ratchet cocked an eye ridge. Jazz, however, instantly became absorbed in the schematics of their base.

"RDX by itself has a high degree of stability in storage. However, when combined with other explosives, oils, or waxes it's one 'a the most potent explosives on this planet. Bee found Perceptor, Beachcomber, Blaster and Huffer in front 'a the weapons bay unconscious meaning that Prowl pro'lly already has the needed explosives."

"I'm impressed, Jazz. You did your homework." Ratchet crossed his arms over and gave Jazz a smug smile, fully knowing that Jazz was way more calculating then he often appeared to be. Especially, when it came to his field of expertise.

"Of course." Jazz grinned, but quickly went back to business. "What form did Wheeljack have the RDX in last ya saw it?"

"I believe it was composition B. Several of Earth's armies use it in projectiles, rockets and land mines."

Jazz's face fell. "In that case Prowl just needs a good block a' TNT to make it go boom. Maybe he'll add a desensitizing agent to the mixture if were lucky."

"Well, I'm assuming since this whole absurd situation is for 'self preservation'," Ratchet made quote marks with his fingers, "Most likely he will create something to delay the reaction so he'll have time to get out. Perhaps he'll integrate the explosive to a timer."

"Well if he does use the comp. B he'll put it here," Jazz jabbed at the map, "At the utility sector under the secondary generator room. That way the explosives' explosion will cause, and feed, off a' the generator's explosions and make a blast big enough to hit the volcano's core…"

"…this would cause a volcanic explosion that would probably completely annihilate the Ark and everything surrounding a twenty mile radius, and that's if the eruption is small. Just wonderful." Ratchet spat sarcastically. "I'm starting to think we should hit Prowl with something very hard, and very heavy just to knock him out. It'll be a lot easier for us."

"They've forgotten about us haven't they," Sideswipe noted dully to his brother as he watched the Jazz and Ratchet immerse themselves in a conversation that only they understood.

"I'm all for it if we ever find 'im. Until then though we've gotta do somethin'." Jazz shrugged.

"Well now we're on a tight schedule. I have to fix Prowl now, even if it means we have to drag him in here half deactivated I don't care." Ratchet whirled around and glared at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, "And I can promise you two will be given hell later for this whole fiasco, understand?"

"They remembered us, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker growled under his breath.

"So now we have a vague idea of what's going to happen. Question is what do we do about it?" Jazz inquired.

The others went silent.

"If I'm going to fix Prowl, I'll need tools," Ratchet started, "But Prowl raided my Med bay." Ratchet was still very sore about that. No one, NO ONE, messed with his med bay. The med bay was his sacred place, the place were his word was law, the place that he reigned supreme. To Ratchet, screwing around with his bay was like desecration of a sacred object.

"I wish Optimus was here." Sideswipe mumbled quietly, "The big guy's like this monstrous reservoir of plans and ideas. I bet you he keeps a secret medical stash for himself."

"Wait, that's it," Ratchet suddenly remembered something, "Perceptor barrowed a few of my tools for a science project of his. They should still be in his quarters!"

"Would they work for the electroshock procedure?" Jazz asked hopefully.

"I can make them work." Ratchet grinned devilishly.

Jazz returned the expression with his own impish smirk. "Then I can make a plan."

"Care to share?" Sunstreaker smiled delightfully. He was happy to be going on the offensive for the first time all day.

"First, let's get Ironhide." Jazz opened his comlink.

"Autobot Jazz to Ironhide." There was a fizzle and the link came to life but there was no reply. Just muffled background sound and some angry muttering. "Ironhide? Autobot Jazz to Iron-"

"Hold your damn horses, and give me a minute!" Ironhide yelled. Jazz and the others were taken aback briefly. The line went quiet save for some scuffling, "Ahah! I got you, you little- ARGH!"

"Ironhide! Ironhide what's wrong!"

"Primus Fraggin, not worth a Hoot 'na holler, ain't nobody watch out for, camode huggin drunk, Scannel!" Ironhide raged unintelligible over the comline. "Ah'm gonna whup that outa kilter youngin!"

"Could ya repeat that 'Hide? You lost me after the first consonant," Jazz asked with composure.

"BEE BIT ME!" Ironhide roared. "Sideswipe, I know yer smilin' like an ass-eatin' briar! Wipe that grin off yer face before I come on over there and beat it off ya!"

The dubious smile remained strong despite the threat. It was mirrored by his brother's.

"What's going on, 'Hide?" Jazz asked evenly.

"I don't know!" Ironhide cried distressed, "He's suddenly bouncing around like a spastic electron. I don't know where he's gettin' this energy from but he's almost literally bouncin' off th' walls and slipperier then a greased meta-hawg. I can't get a hold off him! And Swoop ain't helpin' matters either! "

"Aw. Our sweet little, innocent Bee does have an evil streak. I'm so proud." Sideswipe wiped a nonexistent tear from his optics in pride in a fashion he had seen mothers do on one of Trailbreaker's soap operas. Sunstreaker snickered.

"Ironhide, you need to find Bee. It's dangerous for him to be out of our sight in the State he's in. This is all probably an after effect of the chemical," Ratchet declared firmly.

"Ah'm workin' on it! Wait there he- Don't touch that!"


"Ya'll are on your own. I'll try to get Bee and Swoop under control while ya'll get Prowl. Ironhide out!"

The comline went dead.

"Okay. Well Ironhide's busy and now we're one mech shorter," Jazz sighed.

"Twelve," Sideswipe chirped quietly, adding another marker to his mental tally of Autobots Prowl intentionally and unintentionally put out of commission.

"Well here's the plan. You two," he hailed Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, "Go to Percy's lab and get the med supplies, but please don't break anythin'. Ratchet and I will get Prowl."


Outside the Ark.

Rumble and frenzy were sitting a small hill located some ways away from the Ark. They had been sent on an information gathering excursion to locate any potential weakness in the Ark's defense systems.

"If they really wanted to keep us out so badly they could just try to put a door at the entrance." Rumble commented.

"You know Autobots aren't that bright. That all have there heads shoved too far up their own exhaust pipes to see the obvious," Frenzy replied.

The two were waiting for Laserbeak. She was supposed to be back along time ago. She should be back any minute now.

So they waited.

..And waited.

…aaaand waited.

Rumble began getting antsy. "I'm bored," he whined. "Laserbeak's been in there forever. What's she doing? This was supposed to be quick and I'm freezing my Aft off."

The sun was barely up at this point and the air was still frigid. Rumble had to scrape off the film of ice that was crystallizing on his armor every fifteen minutes and it was starting to annoy him.

"She's been in there a long time. You don't think the Autodolts found her do you?" Frenzy asked with concern.

The two exchanged a worried glance in mutual worry for their younger sister. Rumble activated a private comline.

"Hey beaky. How's it coming in there?" he tried contacting the buzzard transformer.

'Call me beaky again and I'll peck your optics out.' Was the brusque response.

"She's fine," Frenzy stated perkily.

"Well, what the frag is takin' so long! My internals are starting to seize up from the cold!"

'…you two are not going to believe what has been going on in here. I'm going to send you both a clip of what I've recorded.'

Laserbeak relayed the images through a feed. The twins watched the events silently.

"Wow," Rumble commented dryly.

"Yeah. Wow," Frenzy parroted.

"They've lost it."

"They never had it."

"I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner really."

"It's about time too."

"This is the best mission ever. They're doing our job for us."

"Cool! We get a break and a show. All we need is some energon."

"Laserbeak, are you recording all of this?" Rumble asked excitedly.

'Of course,' came the smug reply.

The Casseticon twins both grinned happily.

The other Decepticons were going to have a field night when the whole thing was over and copies were made.


Meanwhile, the Autobot twins were on a mission: To locate the ever elusive medical tools.

Both found themselves in a portion of the Ark they rarely ever strayed to, Perceptor's room.

The entered and flipped on a switch, illuminating the space.

"Eyuh." Sideswipe wrinkled his nose in disgust as he entered.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked his twin with mild irritation.

"It smells like knowledge in here."

"Sideswipe, stop being stupid."

Perceptor's lodgings were very orderly and pristine. Whereas Wheeljack's quarters was an abominable mess of hap hazardously strewn tools, chemicals and unstable machinery, Perceptor's lab was the opposite.

Data pads and documents were arranged by the duodecimal system on shelves, chemicals were neatly labeled and arranged in a massive glass case, specimens and science tools were placed neatly behind glass cabinets and each tool had its own plastic covering to protect against any dust or residue from the outside world that may have strayed into the Ark. On the back wall Perceptor had several periodic tables of several worlds pinned up neatly, covering most of the wall like puzzle pieces fitted together.

The two instantly began taking the place apart.

They began pulling data pads off the shelves, shoving fragile equipment roughly around and throwing other things out of there warpath for medical tools in a not gentle manner.

"For such an organized guy it's really hard to find anything in here isn't it?" Sunstreaker remarked as he checked behind a large telescope stationed on one of the lab's many tables.

"Wait. I haven't checked in there." Sideswipe pointed to one of the lower cabinets. He crossed the room, opened the doors and stuck his head in, "Wow its spacious back here." Sideswipe began crawling into the cabinet to get a better look at the contents. He stopped mid crawl. "Is…Is that a landmine?"

Sunstreaker whipped his head toward his brother almost expecting agonizingly hot twisting forces to rip his brother apart. It didn't though and Sideswipe's voice wafted out into the room again. "Oh it's dismantled. Geeze cluster bombs, assault rifles… there are a lot of weapon type things back here."

"Sideswipe, get out of there," Sunstreaker demanded, obviously not comfortable with the idea of his twin crawling around over potentially threatening things.

"No, wait I see something." The red mech pushed himself further into the recesses of the small storage space.

"Sideswipe! Sideswipe, have you lost your mind?" Sunstreaker asked incredulously with a hint of worry in his tone.

"No. It's backed up on a disk somewhere." Sideswipe continued riffling through the cabinet to the point that the whole upper half of his body was submerged in the space.

"Do you realize how tempting it is for me to just kick you in the aft right now?"

Suddenly, Sideswipe's body went rigid. " Eureka!" He slowly shuffled and retracted the rest of his body out of the cabinet. With him he had a small white metal box that was about the size of both of his forearms put together. "By George, I think we've got it."

"Is that it?" Sunstreaker popped the lid off to find an array of standard medical tools inside. Both of the twins sighed in relief.

At least something had gone right for them today.

All they had to do was hold down Prowl long enough for Ratchet to fix him and they would all be home free.

"For such a pacifist Perceptor's pretty armed isn't he?" Sunstreaker commented looking at the open cabinet filled with the armaments.

"Except most of the stuff in there was dismantled. Makes sense if you think about it. He probably taught himself how disarm them for peace purposes," Sideswipe said thoughtfully.

"What ever though. Let's get this stuff to Ratchet."


Ratchet and Jazz found themselves in the secondary utility facility. It was used to be something like a boiler room strewn with pipes, metal girders, and rafters but had long ago been turned into a place for storage.

"If he's anywhere he's pro'lly gonna be in here."

"Well let's get to looking." Ratchet responded.

They walked further into the depths of the room but weren't seeing any signs of Prowl.

That was because the Tactician was above them.

Little did they know, they were actually being watched. From the rafters of the room, Prowl was looking down at the two like an intimidating, white hawk.

Welder Harpy's status: detrimental

Target acquired

There was the whine of grinding metal, and something began falling out of the rafters.

Jazz, a battle worn mech, had quick reflexes and ducked out of the way of the metal beam that had swung down on a mteal chain. However Ratchet, who did not have the same necessity for good battle reflexes, did not get out of the way in time.

"Ratchet, watch out!" Jazz cried futilely.

It was too late. The girder swept in a large arc from the ceiling and crashed into Ratchet knocking the medic flat on his back.

Jazz reacted quickly and pulled the medic back and out of the way before the metal beam came back a second time.

The damage had already been done though.

Ratchet groaned and shakily tried to sit up. Jazz assisted him, openly concerned for his friend.

"Ratchet? Ratchet?" He asked frantically hoping to incite some sort of response.

Ratchet gripped his head in his hand as he tried unsteadily to stand. Jazz watched him concerned.

"Ratchet! Are you ok?" The black and white 'Bot tried helping the medic up but Ratchet tried pushing him away.

"Don't worry, Blues, I'm fine." Ratchet said curtly.

"…my name is Jazz."

"Of course it is. That's what I said." Ratchet looked up at the Saboteur and scowled, "Rap! Where did you find the time in this mess to get a new paintjob? I'm not meaning to sound like Trucks but you don't pull of chartreuse and magenta very well."

Jazz gaped at him in horror. "Did you mean Tracks?" the Saboteur questioned.

"That's what I said."

"Slag. Prowl must've given him what the humans call a concussion," Jazz whispered. He turned to the medic and tried pulling his friend up. With a louder voice he stated, "That's it, Ratchet. You're outa commission. Let's get ya to the command center."

"No! I still have to fix, Lurk!" the medic argued weakly.

"Prowl," Jazz corrected.

"I said that."

"Hey, don't worry man. We'll figure this out with out ya." He patted the white mech lightly on the back and smiled sadly.

"No offence, Techno, but you and the other two don't have enough medical knowledge between you all to fill an eggcup."

"I'm sorry buddy, but I don't think you should be messin' in Prowl's head right now like this. He's unhinged enough as it is," Jazz tried reasoning. Ratchet looked at him quizzically.

"Who's Prowl?"

Jazz moaned. Prowl took out the only mech who had a chance of making him sane again.

'14 mechs Prowl's taken down.' Jazz sadly added another tally to Sideswipe's running list.

They were in deep slag now.


Meanwhile on Cybertron…time for Prime time! (Man that was lame)

Optimus Prime, the awe inspiring, charismatic commander of the Autobots, was bored out of his mind.

Three days he had been on Cybertron in Iacon city. It was simply to check in how things were going at the home front and during his stay all was quiet as far as Decepticons went.

He spent most of his time being guilt tripped into giving seminars and speeches by some of the officers at the military base, being forced to listen to listless boring staff meetings that got absolutely nothing useful or of consequence accomplished, and simply wandering around the monotonous gray halls of the facility.

He found himself missing Earth.

There was a certain irony to the situation, wishing that he was back on the strange alien planet he and his small band of 'Bots were temporarily forced to remain on instead of his home world which so many of his men longed for so fervently.

But that was partially why he wanted to get back to the Ark. He, to put it blatantly, missed his troops.

The Base at Iacon was not quite as energetic and colorful as his temporary home on Earth.

…Oh scrap it. It was boring as hell. Watching the lacquer dry on Sunstreaker's frame would be more interesting. Counting each individual grain of sand in the Sahara with human sized tweezers would be more exciting then being in the fortified Autobot capital.

Despite being ancient beings, Cybertronians had notoriously bad short term memories. It was for that reason that many of them could remain exactly the same in mannerism and personality as they had millions of years prior. It was simply because they couldn't remember every little thing that ever happened to them and so it didn't really affect them.

So, of course from being away from Cybertron, even if it was just for a short time (Ok 4 million years wasn't short but they had been in stasis that whole time. It only felt like they were actually on Earth for a few years at most), he had completely forgotten how dull the commanding unit and base was In Iacon.

It was just so orderly and formal to the point of obsessive compulsiveness. All of the officers were rulebook beaters and lacked the energetic and varied personalities of his officers on Earth. The soldiers, from what he had seen, were no better and also extremely dull from having rules and regulations constantly shoved down there throats. They didn't have the same vigor and personality as his personal troops.

Prime, as commander, knew that rules were important in keeping an army in order, but he also, as a former civilian, knew how important it was to be able to retain at least some your personality and how important it was to have time to actually be yourself and let go. It helped keep you sane and helped the soldiers' morale immensely.

It was because of this reason that he created his elite unit with the particular mechs he chose. Even if they got a bit rowdy sometimes, there was never a boring moment at the Ark.

'Prowl has them under control I'm sure.' Optimus chuckled to himself.

"Sir?" Optimus snapped out of his thoughts and zoned back into reality. He directed his attentions to the mech that was walking beside him.

He was an old mech. One of the only few he knew that was from at least Ironhide's generation, if not older. His age reflected heavily in the design of his grey and dark yellow body. He was bulky and his shell was dull. Also, a good portion of his internals consisted of older technology: gears, cogs, spokes and whatnot hence his name, Clockwork.

Optimus then remembered he was being given a tour of the base that he was supposed to be listening to. Now he was being stared at questioningly. Prime quickly covered up his folly.

"I was thinking of my second in command back on Earth. I'm sure he would be thrilled to visit your excellent facility," Prime said without missing a beat.

The old mech's jean blue optics brightened and he continued jabbering on about the extensive details of the military base in full, giving Optimus the full rundown.

After successfully saving face, Optimus began zoning out again.

He found himself missing his dysfunctional troops. He missed the twin's thoughtless yet highly amusing (Not that he would ever admit to that) antics, Ratchet's petulant (yet caring. The more he yelled the more he liked you) moods, Skids' philosophical and sometimes mind-boggling outlook on life, the underground betting pools led by Smokescreen and Brawn (He had 632 energon chips riding on how long it would take Tracks to figure out that Sideswipe switched his wax with vegetable shortening), Ironhide's old loyal grumpiness, Jazz's cool and laidback demeanor … he even found himself missing the stranger beings of the Ark and their quirks such as Warpath with his interesting speech patterns.

'Prowl's probably running them ragged to keep them out of trouble,' Prime thought amused. If anything were to happen at the base he gave orders to be contacted immediately. Yet all had been quiet.

Was it bad of him he was slightly disappointed that nothing came up and he hadn't been contacted? Was it terrible that he wished something happened on Earth so he could leave the Iacon base?

But much to his delight he was almost done with the formalities! He could go back soon and escape this boorish hell!

There was just one more thing he was obligated to do and the inspection would be over. What was it?

"They're the finest of Iacon," Clockwork said proudly but added quickly, "Of course that's after your own elite."

Oh right. He had to inspect a platoon of soldiers to see how his troops on Cybertron were doing.

This was very important.

The young soldiers at this base were the future of Cybertron.

"Perhaps they will be the next elite." Prime chuckled. Clockwork absolutely glowed with ego at this thought.

Clockwork quickened his pace to the door at the end of the hall and punched in the access code in a flurry of beeps. There was the click of a lock opening and the doors slid open revealing the bunker that the inspection was supposed to take place.

The very empty bunker.

"Where are they?" Optimus asked curiously.

"I'm sure they'll be here in a nano-klik." There was the whir of another door opening at the end of the large room. A figure back lit by the bright hall rushed forward, "See, here comes-" Clockwork trailed off and his face fell, "Oh no." he moaned covering his optics with his hand.

Optimus looked ahead in confusion. A lone soldier was jogging up to himself and the Colonel.

The young mech had the build of a standard cannon fodder, was a very clean cut, and was colored particular shades of green and red that made Optimus think of a Christmas tree.

"What is it this time?" Clockwork hissed.

"Sir, I apologize for this inconvenience but platoon 386 will not be able to make it for the high command's inspection." the young soldier spoke with a firm, bland tone that just screamed mindless militant drone.

Clockwork regarded him coolly before exploding in a fit of rage. This new side of the colonel surprised Optimus but he decided to play spectator, "What do you mean platoon 386 will not be able to make!? Our high commander Optimus Prime is here! This is not an optional inspection!"

"There was an… incident of sorts, Sir."

"Primus scrapping brats," The old gray and dark yellow mech cursed under his breath before turning to Prime, optics brimming with apologies, "Prime. I am so sorry. Please don't let this reflect badly on us. We really are much more organized…"

"Do not worry about it. Everyone has there off days," Optimus spoke in an understanding tone just secretly glad to get out of the inspection. But then he looked over to the young messenger who didn't appear to be leaving. He turned to Clockwork, "… Don't you wish to inquire on the situation?"

"No. No I don't. Because if I ask, then he would tell me and why would I want that?" Clockwork eyed the smaller mech distasteful. The young soldier remained standing stiffly where he was, showing no signs to indicate that he was going to move. Clockwork all but rolled his optics. "Haste, why are you still here?"

"Haste, was it? What happened?" When Optimus spoke the young mech seemed to stand a bit straighter, if that was even possible in his already plank-stiff, straight backed stance.

Perhaps there was more variety and color hidden under the façade of perfection at Iacon's base.

"Lock On misfired," the mech, now dubbed Haste, spoke boringly and loud.

"Dear Primus, he shot one of our own again didn't he?" Clockwork groaned in understanding.

It took Optimus less then a klik to wrap his mind around the oxymoron. "Who is Lock On?"

"He is a sniper sir."

"He's a sniper."

"Yes, Sir."

"He shot one of our own?" Optimus reiterated in surprise.

"Yes, Sir, he did. However, it was completely unintentional."

"…But his name is Lock On."

"That is correct sir."

"Wouldn't a name such as that indicate some form of accuracy when shooting?" Optimus inquired.

"You'd think it would... All logic dictates it should, but it doesn't, Sir," Haste replied mechanically.

"…at all?"

"The kid is the worst shot in the galaxy," Clockwork scoffed. "Think of that Bluestreak kid you have down with you on earth, and imagine of the exact opposite in skill. Then multiply that by three and you get Lock On."

"Please elaborate." Optimus had his interests perked. There was a story and, Primus Damnit, Optimus was bored! Anything to occupy his time besides seminars and dull staff meetings would suffice.

"He was in the shooting range practicing for the inspection. However, when he attempted using one of the new recoilless iron shell rifles it… well, recoiled and Lock On missed the target. Then the shell ricocheted off of the wall and ended up hitting Hazmat, he's our chemical warfare specialist, in the skid plate."

Optimus mentally winced. Shot's in the aft, while not life threatening hurt like the inferno. He felt kind of bad for his troops. It was sort of common knowledge that weapons they were all using came from the lowest priced sellers. That was the only way to keep up with demand.

The green and red continued, "Havoc and Riptide took him to our med bay, Lock On followed them frantically screaming apologies, and then they finally reached Evac."

"And Evac is?" Optimus trailed off hoping for further elaboration.

"He is one of our medic's in training, Sir. So, they set Hazmat down on one of the recharge tables, Evac got a look of the wound and then he passed out because of the energon," The kid responded flatly.

"Energon loss?" Optimus asked worriedly.

"No sir. Evac passed out from the sight of the Energon." The young mech stated in an unwavering professional tone despite the absurdity of the statement

Optimus blinked in incomprehension. "You said he's the medic."

Haste stared blankly into Optimus's optics, seemingly not understanding the subliminal question in his commander's words, "He is the medic, Sir."

Prime sighed in defeat. "Never mind. Continue your tale please."

"Yes, Sir. Havoc and Riptide began to laugh, Lock On began to wail, and Hazmat began to scream at them all telling them, I quote, 'All of you shut the hell up before I solder your mouths shut with piping hot slag!'" Haste screamed angrily apparently mimicking how the aforementioned mech's emotions were at the time.

Optimus was slightly taken aback but the sudden expressive retelling that the young mech showed, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by professional indifference. "All of the commotion caused Recall, our warrant officer, to come running in. He ended up tripping over Evac and out the window."

"Out the window?" Prime asked incredulously.

"Yes, Sir. Out the window. Recall landed on the flagpole a few stories down so he was uninjured. We sent two of our reconnaissance specialist, Tenor and Trapwire, to get him down. They both got stuck."

Clockwork, who had been quietly seething up until that point, threw in his two cents to the tale as well giving it a bleak ending for its characters. "Those damn brats are going to be scrap when I'm done with them."

"The reconnaissance…got stuck." Optimus confirmed slowly.

"Unfortunately so, Sir. Currently at this moment our team is trying to get them all down. We're in the process of sorting out the needed paperwork." There was a hint of optimism in the methodical youngster's voice.

"Paperwork?" Prime questioned, "You mean they are still up there? Why don't you just get them down now?"

"Act without… proper authorization?" Haste knitted his metal brows in confusion, and looked as if the words felt alien in his mouth.

Optimus groaned.

So… This was the future army of the Autobots in the making.

They were all so going to hell in a hand basket.


This chapter was boring. I'm sorry. It was necessary for plot though.

Not much more left to go. Just one or two more chapters left I think.

Reviews loved. CC appreciated. Ideas welcomed and flames are used for marshmallows.