I blame the new Citroen C4 commercial for this thing. If you haven't seen it then go to YouTube, type in "Citroen C4 robot Staying Alive" and watch it. And then giggle uncontrollably for a few minutes (Lord knows I did). And then image Tracks in the C4's place and then giggle some more :D

But, seriously. This thing is just...I don't know what it is. I suppose one could compare it to an amorphous blob - it has no structure and it has no other purpose other then to exist for...a half giggle, mayhaps? It doesn't even have a plot. I do hope you enjoy it though. Title comes from a break dancing move, courteous of Wikipedia.

Oh, and image Tracks as a midnight blue Corvette ZR1 and Blaster as a orange Citroen Hypnos. (You should definitely look up pictures of the Hypnos because its interior is, like, awesomemulticolorwooshywhoah)

Disclaimer: I no own any Transformers nor "Stayin Alive Remix" (which is made of awesome) by MC Lita.


Ratchet was not in a good mood. This, in and of itself, was not unusual. It was common knowledge amongst the Autobots (and quite a few Decepticons) that his default personality was always hovering somewhere around 'mildly annoyed at the universe' which could quickly, and quite spectacularly, drop down to the lower, raving ranges of 'fraggin' run for the hills; Hatchet's on the loose and he has his wrench!'. It did not help matters that most of the mechs that crossed his med bay during lulls in battle came in with injuries that they had obtained from their own idiocy.

One prime example would be the twins, Mudflap and Skids. It was like the Allspark had created them specifically just to annoy the ever living slag out of him. If it wasn't the fights they got into with each other that brought them into his med bay, it was how they would speak every moment they were online and functioning while they were being repaired in said med bay. Ratchet profoundly cursed the day that human 'gansta' speech had been invited.

But they, for once, weren't the sources of his extreme irritation for the day. No, that unsought title was firmly in place on Jolt's shoulders after the prankster had had his prank backfire horribly and messily. Ratchet was still cleaning molasses from the Volt's delicate electric weapon coils four hours later. This brings us back to the original statement:

Ratchet was not in a good mood.

Grumbling loudly about idiot mechs who didn't have one microchip of common sense for whomever to hear, the medic trekked across the compound towards one of the many water tanks sticking out from the ground like some sort of mutant cacti. He had run out of the hot salt water he had been using to remove the sticky molasses and, while he would have enjoyed watching Jolt try to get around with both of his forearms stuck together (it would serve the fragger right, after all), he didn't know what kind of damages would be wrought to the Volt's structure the longer the accursed sugary molasses was allowed to remain.

He hauled the waste receptacle usually reserved for mechs purging their tanks into place under the water sprout and waited impatiently for it to fill. Once the receptacle was topped he quickly shut the valve and began the journey back to the med bay wanting to get this over as fast as he could. He did not look forward to the task ahead of mixing in the sea salt while heating the bucket over the Bunsen burner with Jolt complaining endlessly as background noise.

Ratchet only got as far as halfway back before he heard the base's PA system activate with a slight screech. Initially ignoring it in favor of getting back to his med bay to deal with his latest victim, he managed to get in another two strides before noticing that music was being pumped out of the speakers instead of some dull announcement that was the norm. Frowning, Ratchet stopped to listen.

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,

I'm a woman's man: no time to talk

A crowd was forming off to the left near the landing strips but whatever they were heartily cheering on was obscured by a hanger. Dreading what he would find but still wanting to know what was going on and if it was connected to the music, the medic cautiously walked over before stopping in his tracks, barely maintaining a grip on his full bucket, as he registered what was happening.

Music loud and women warm,

I've been kicked around since I was born.

At the center of the growing human crowd was two mechs, bending and twisting and hopping, flowing with the music in painful looking maneuvers. One mech would bend backwards and twist in ways that Ratchet didn't think possible for that type of frame before the other would join in with some fancy foot work and some twists and bends of his own. All during the display of excruciating looking flexibility the humans continued to cheer them on. Ratchet hurt just looking at some of the poses.

And now it's all right. It's ok.

You may look the other way.

We can try to understand

The New York Times effect on man.

Another half twist-bend by the orange mech made the medic cringe. While Cybertronians were actually quite flexible despite being made of metal (they had to be in able to transform into their alt. modes. Ratchet himself had to twist his upper torso in a one eighty to face forward), to be doing such moves outside of one's transforming program was practically unheard of. Usually only mechs that were designed for maintenance or Special Ops liked to show off their flexibility that they used to get into tight, cramped places. And Ratchet only knew that because he had been the one to fix them after they had twisted something the wrong way while showing off.

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,

you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

The dark blue mech did some sort of twist in mid air, landing and spinning on his back and striking a pose which drove the humans crazy if the renewed cheers were anything to go by. Not to be out down, the orange mech did his best to one up his partner. Legs flailed in the air before bending backwards and planting themselves followed by a twist of the waist and a shuffling of the feet almost to fast to follow. One almost couldn't hear the music over the roar of applause.

Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',

and were stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' aliiiiiiiveeee.

"Tracks, Blaster!" Ratchet shouted once he was able to take no more. It took a few more screams over the music and applause but he finally gained a hold of the floundering mechs' attention. "If you bend something out of place due to your shenanigans don't come crawling to me to fix it. I have enough do without having to spend the time to hammer your servos back into alignment."

"Aw, now don't be like that Ratch!" Blaster said, still twisting to the music. "We be doin' nothin' but what humans be doin' for a bit of good times."

"What he says is true," Tracks supplied as backup and almost didn't flinch away from the glare Ratchet leveled at him. The Corvette busted out another move that had the crowd gasp in amazement before continuing. "Humans do this 'break dancing' all the time for fun. Besides we wouldn't try to do any moves that could potentially damage us. We know our limits."

"I have several medical records that would like to state quite the contrary." Leveling another glare that had the dancers flinch minutely away, the medic hoisted his bucket into a better position before turning around to head back to the med bay. Jolt was probably getting bored out of his processor and he didn't want to come back to find all of his tools magnetized to the ceiling again. "If somehow, Primus forbid, you do manage to bend something the wrong way and do come limping to me in the near future you'll both have a hard time of 'stayin' alive'." Parting warning dispensed, Ratchet continued on his not-so-merry way. "Now, if you'll excuse me, some mechs actually have work to do."

He decided to ignore Blaster's not so subtle accusations of being a 'party pooper' (whatever that was) since a wrench to the helm, while satisfying, would farther delay him from finishing his tedious repair work on Jolt. Mood growing darker, Ratchet trudged on.

Later that day, when an amused looking Tracks dragged in an abashed Blaster locked in some sort of twist-bend maneuver that somehow involved his hips, arms, legs, and head, Ratchet merely glowered at them both bother before flinging an on hand soldering iron in their direction with a shout to get the frag out. Jolt quickly shushed his giggles at the medic's warning look and went back to trying not to fidget as Ratchet continued his careful excavation of the molasses. All the while Ratchet's dour mood slowly but surely spiraled downwards into the abyss. And to add to everything else, the PA system continued to broadcast, repeating the first song from earlier.

Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',

and were stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' aliiiiiiiveeee.