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ajremixHalf the complete compilation a little corrected and updated from the ff.net version.
Title: What’s Wrong with a Little Destruction? 1/2
Fandom: Transformers (IDW ‘verse)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and violence
Word Count: 17557
Characters: The Wreckers. And others.
Summary: For the 28Character meme. The Autobots’ top strike force gets their time to shine.
Note: Simon Furman said he wasn't going to introduce femmes into the IDW 'verse until he had a way to explain their existence. Excuse me while I throw that note out the window.
1. Naughty Wreckers
“[Abby] was designed to be the troublemaker and stir things up. She wasn’t evil, she was naughty.”
-Donna Mills
The first message Arcee received was a rather eloquent and inspiring poem. She was, for lack of a more effective term, impressed. The second message was a sweet (if not slightly longwinded) letter. The third one was less welcomed than the previous two though it may have had something to do with a calendar pin-up with her face maniped to the body that came attached to it. By the fifth she was getting annoyed. By the twelfth, she started getting mad.
And by the time she read the thirty-first (which had, in some very ineloquent and un-sweet terminology, requested a hook-up) she finally decided to stop ignoring the problem and dealing with it.
In short, she created a very unamused and scathing letter.
Within a klik of receiving the letter, Springer stomped out on Xantium’s bridge, glared blackly and pointed at each of the other Wreckers in turn. “I will kill you all.” He promptly turned and stomped right back out in attempts to salvage the situation.
The door whooshed closed and a beat passed. Then another.
Then everyone cracked the hell up.
2. Happy Wreckers
“You'll find boredom where there is the absence of a good idea.”
-Earl Nightingale
The Wreckers were happiest- as everyone knew –in the battlefield. Frankly, they scared the willies out of most of the Autobots. And the Decepticons, well… the only thing they feared more than dealing with Wreckers was explaining to Megatron why they turned tail. It had, in fact, gotten to the point where smarter detachments would wait until the Wreckers were engaged elsewhere before they seriously kicked off Siege Mode.
But the fact of the matter was that they loved to fight. They lived for fighting. They were, as previously stated, happiest when fighting.
And though fighting equaled happy, happy didn’t necessarily equate fighting though it did- to put it in general terms –mean someone was causing trouble for someone else. Didn’t really matter for who; making life difficult for Decepticons, keeping other Autobots on their toes or just messing around with each other. Anything that wrecked a little havoc always got their fuel pumps going.
“Sooo,” Topspin said slowly, still cycling out of recharge (morning ‘bot he was not), “you are covered in inflatable plastic creatures because…?”
Broadside just shrugged his massive shoulders. “No reason.”
“And you are on the floor why?”
Another shrug. “No reason.”
Topspin just went ‘huh’ and stood there for a moment. And then felt something against his foot. And then he bent down to get a better look.
“…” He said. “I see. Hi, Scoop.”
The hand protruding from under Broadside’s back flopped a little in possibly a wave or a please-save-me kinda way. Topspin wasn’t sure of which.
“So,” he paused a moment to sip at his morning energon, “was it worth it?”
A snort and giggle came up from under Broadside’s vents followed by a muffled ‘can’t breathe’.
Note: Set during Spotlight: Optimus Prime- meaning post-Stormbringer and Spotlight: Kup with a reference to Spotlight: Shockwave.
3. Silly Wreckers
“The word aerobics comes from two Greek words: aero, meaning ‘ability to’, and bics, meaning ‘withstand tremendous boredom’.”
-Dave Barry
“-just minimal reactions, but it’s something. Of course there’s no telling how sane he’ll be if he actually wakes up at all.” Springer rubbed at the bridge of his nose, right under where it met his helmet and kept his optics on the datapad in front of him. Not out of any need to read off it but just to keep from having to look at Prowl’s ‘I told you so’ expression. Not that he’d actually say it. Or even really look it. But Springer knew that’s what the tactician was thinking. Fragging bastard.
Springer had called the Earth detachment to update Optimus Prime on Kup’s status. Instead their leader was ‘indisposed’ (his tailfin) and Prowl had taken the communiqué in his stead. “Right now, though, it’s difficult to tell if it’s a random firing in his processor or if Kup is actually going to regain consciousness.”
“Even that is better than nothing, I suppose.” Came the cool drawl, slightly muffled through the distance of space.
“Yeah, whatever.” He tossed the datapad and slumped back in his seat, optics shuttered. He was too exhausted to care.
“Springer.” The level of detachment dwindled in the tone and for a moment Prowl almost sounded like a ‘bot with a fragging spark. One blue optic glowed slightly as it regarded the other on the communications screen. “Pushing yourself too hard to properly function won’t help anyone.”
“Nothing a little recharging won’t cure.” He muttered in return, groping for the energon on his desk. He’d been flying around like a mad ‘bot after the entire ‘Return of Thunderwing’ incident. After settling that (getting patched up from it) the Wreckers were supposed to make their way back to Varas Centralus to salvage what they could of the situation. And then Springer got the call from Preceptor that they found Kup and left to deal with that, then ran back to his team in time to help extract Bluestreak’s detachment and nearly blew a gasket when he found out just how FUBAR that experience ended up being (through no one person’s fault, however fortunate or not that was). And now they were being shuttled off to yet another hot spot and not for the first time Springer wondered just where the pit the fragging Dynobots went off to. Not for the first time he seriously considered hiring Nightbeat to find out. Damn slagheads.
“Springer-“
“You’re the last ‘bot to talk to me about over working.” He said shortly. He brought the energon container in closer and wondered why he just didn’t cut Prowl off. “Look, if there’s any other cha-ARCKPTHH!”
Springer spluttered, sitting dumbly with exploded energon dripping all over him. Prowl’s visage on the screen looked on with wide optics. From behind the door leading to the hall was an eruption of cackles and feet making fast tracks down the hall.
“SANDSTORM! WHIRL!” The Wreckers leader stuck his head out, still coated in the faintly glowing liquid (he was lucky it was just the container and not the actual energon that exploded). “I’LL DISMANTLE YOU BOTH WITH A RUSTY HAND DRILL!”
Stalking back inside the office- and now no longer tired –he glared at Prowl. “Don’t speak.” He growled.
Instead, Prowl merely lifted his head in that way Springer knew was to keep him from noticing the twitch of his lips. “I’ll inform Prime on Kup’s status. If there’s nothing else…?” There was just the tiniest tremor in the doorwings.
“Slag off.” On that pleasant note, he cut the line of communication and then stalked off to kick him some aft.
Note: ‘Angst’ is the German word for fear or anxiety... it is the fear of possible suffering and a behavior situated from uncertainty and strain which is caused by pain, loss and death. (wiki)
Also Note: So in the newly released Spotlight: Optimus Prime it was revealed that gestalt technology was hidden away long, long ago and only one gestalt team is actually in existence and was locked away. Oops.
4. Angsty Wreckers
“I refuse to make a decision that somebody else can make. The first rule of leadership is to save yourself for the big decision. Don't allow your mind to become cluttered.”
-Richard Nixon
This battle was going fairly well. Until a Gestalt team no one had reported the presence of entered the fray in their insanely huge, combined-form glory. Which really wasn’t all that bad considering how many other times the Wreckers had to deal with it.
Except that this was Abominus, who landed in the middle of their defensive perimeter and started slagging the lot of them before they could even get over the impact tremors.
It was nothing but mass confusion, then. Orders were shouted loud and hoarse and no one could make sense of them, Decepticons picked off whoever they could, tucked safely out of Abominus’s range. Autobots were falling all around them- down, back, unable and unwilling to fight and still the Wreckers shot on because the only thing that went on in any of their minds was fight fight shoot fight kill it, for Primus’ sake go DOWN!
Springer’s entire body rocked against the recoil. Roadbuster was down and the much larger ‘bot’s cannon rifle was almost too heavy, too powerful for Springer’s arms that were trembling from the pain of all that power being braced on his hip component and a gash that should’ve left his hand immobile. Except it clutch desperately against the handguard and nothing short of blowing him to pieces would’ve taken that monster of a rifle from him.
He tried scanning for the others, unwilling to move, unwilling to leave Roadbuster unprotected against the aptly name abomination of a Transformer. Twin Twist was half crushed in the ground, one of Whirl’s rotors was smashed and he spun wildly before crashing in a cacophony of dirt and noise. Sandstorm had been hit by a missile early on and Topspin had dragged him off to patch the triplechanger up. Abominus had landed on top of them and Springer didn’t know if either of them was alive and he roared and fired until his legs quaked and he had trouble standing upright.
Scoop- slag, he lost track of the little guy so long ago and the only sign of Broadside was the artillery gun pounding an uneven staccato off to his side. Or not, it was too hard to filter all the noise going on and the sky was filled with so much smoke and dirt he couldn’t even see the rounds he was blasting into Abominus let alone who else was.
From out of the haze, giant yellow optics gazed down on him. Springer cursed something at him and didn’t move. Not when Abominus leered with a hungry roar, not when a hand large then him reached down, not went something stepped over his head and crashed the Decepticon backwards.
Someone was at Springer’s side, pulling at his hands and it was only then that he realized the clicking noise he’d been hearing was because Roadbuster’s cannon was out of ammo (how long was he standing there, not shooting a damned thing?). Words were in his audio, but he couldn’t understand them- could only make out ‘Defensor’ and ‘danger’ and ‘leave’.
“No.” He shook. All over he shook, but he still stood standing in the devastation of the battlefield around him. “The others- get the others outta here.” He shook but he wouldn’t fall. Not until he knew the other Wreckers were safe.
It was a simple thing- the trust that kept the lot of them together. He trusted them to do their duty, to follow orders when needed, to make their own choices when they had to- to survive and adapt and fight and do whatever needed to be done to complete their objective. And in return they trusted him to put them on a planet that needed their firepower and keep them alive long enough to do their duty. And if they didn’t survive, they trusted him to put up a damn good fight to retrieve their bodies. That meant Springer would be the last to fall- be it to the enemy or the care of his own allies.
Above them, around them, Defensor grappled with Abominus until an EMP barrage from jets overloaded them, forcibly detaching the Terrorcons. Rattled, in pain and suddenly finding themselves overwhelmed they retreated and Defensor put up a protective force field as the Wreckers were moved from the hot zone. Springer watched the activity in a detached kind of way, swaying heavily on his feet and it wasn’t until the last of his ‘bots were loaded onto an EMT that he finally collapsed.
5. On Vacation Wreckers
“It is not more vacation we need - it is more vocation.”
-Eleanor Roosevelt
They deliberately waited patiently. The kind of waiting where they deliberately didn’t move, deliberately made no expression, deliberately just stood and waited and still managed to give off ‘would ya hurry it up’ vibes. It was the kind of patient waiting the Wreckers excelled at.
“Yeah.” Springer said at length. “This isn’t working. Wreckers, pack it up.”
With much more enthusiasm than when they came, the others complied, tossing gear back into the Xantium and booking it for the nearest hot spot. Prime wanted to give the Wreckers time to relax. Looked like Springer was going to have try (yet again) to explain nothing relaxed them like a heavy battle.
Note: Seriously. Size has to matter for these guys.
6. Horny Wreckers
“See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.”
-Robin Williams
Transformers- being a mechanical race and incapable of procreating –were not sexual in the same way organic beings were. The need for physical pleasure (pressing against sensitive seams, a stroke of rigid metal against circuits that shocked at the touch) was not something that pressed at their minds- least of all when one had a war to think of.
That wasn’t to say they were incapable of physical attraction. Oh no- they could see the beauty in objects and beings, they could appreciate another’s intelligence and compassion and after existing for as long as they have, their race as a whole had come to appreciate the emotional and psychological connection of another.
Or just a random night getting over-energized in some seedy bar and find some other ‘bot willing to give them that open-circuit voltage that left them elated, weak and thoroughly relaxed.
Xantium was docked at a local station for some repairs and Springer had given them a few days leave (“Just watch what you catch,” he’d always say). All of them- save Whirl who got ship duty for switching Twin Twist’s drill lubricant with paint –had gone off, gotten themselves plastered and came back with company for the night.
Scoop yawned largely, standing at the loading dock and waving farewell to a slender, curvy thing that drove him wild for the last several hours. He smiled blissfully and turned to head back to his quarters when he nearly got stepped on. Wide-opticed, Scoop scuttled backwards until he was pressed up against the bulkhead.
That… was a huge mamajama. Almost as big as- oh hey, Broadside.
He boggled, watching the two giant ‘bots say their good-byes. Afterwards, his fellow Wrecker turned to him with a questioning expression (after how long they’ve worked together, one learned to read a facemask and visor). Scoop looked at Broadside, then where the other oversized ‘bot had left, then back again.
“…oh.” He finally said. “That’s why you didn’t go for any of the ones I was pointin’ out to ya.”
Blandly the other one said, “I don’t think Springer would like me accidentally crushing anyone.”
7. Transforming Wreckers
“We manics do outrageous things and it is part of our colorful nature.”
-Patty Duke
Laughter was never a rare thing on Xantium. When someone courts death as vehemently as the Wreckers there’s a lot to laugh about. ‘Oh man, check out the size of this bit mark Rampage gave me!’, ‘Did you see Twin Twist getting dragged around by the foot? That was priceless!’, ‘Did you really throw your rifle at the Decepticons?’, ‘Shut up- I was outta ammo!’. They had to laugh because it was absurd that they were still alive. And after the kind of scrapes they got into, surviving was such a shock that laughing at it was the only way to keep from going mad.
Which was why it was hardly surprising to hear laughter ricocheting down the halls and in the common area just about every member of the crew had collapsed on the nearest stable structure, laughing until they were wheezing, pounding their knees, the tables, each other.
All except for Sandstorm who was in the middle of it all, struggling and cursing and yelling in frustration.
“HAHAHAHA- Can’t… can’t breathe!”
“Primus- someone get a capture of this!”
“Frag you, slagging bucket-humping slag-suckers! RRRRRRRRGH!”
“WAHA-HAHAHAHA!”
The door opened and Springer came to a halt, for a moment uncertain if they were under attack from some strange alien beast. “….Sandstorm?” He peered cautiously at the orange mess.
“Springer! Get ‘em to fix me!”
Finally able to wrap his mind around the fact that- yes, this was his fellow triplechanger –he asked everyone else in a voice that only slightly quivered, “How much of this do I want to know?” The laughter subsided and someone tried to get a hold of himself enough to explain the situation. But started snickering and that got everyone going again.
Sandstorm (glaring as best he could though no one could tell) bit out, “Topspin was supposed to clear out some grit from my transformation cogs and I ended up turning into this… useless monstrosity!”
Springer looked over Sandstorm- an impossible mesh of all three forms, mangled together and stuck in a limbo of ‘what the slagging hell is it’ –to their resident medic. The edges of Springer’s lips twitched almost uncontrollably. “Well?”
Topspin’s grin was so wide the edges disappeared under his visor. “Was a good idea at the time.”
Note: Audditch. Also know to Earthlings as Australian Indoor-Rules Quidditch introduced and popularized by Machall and played by Marines during blackouts.
8. Excited Wreckers
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard and I want to play.”
-Matt Boyd
“Spin! SpinSpinSpinSpinSpin!” Twin Twist burst into the bridge, skidding to a stop next to his fellow jumpstarter with the most excited look on his face anyone had ever seen. “How much do ya love me, buddy?”
Topspin gave him a dubious look, optic ridge raised. “I dunno, how much should I love you?”
Two datachips flashed before his face. “Enough to go to the championship match with me?”
Topspin’s jaw dropped. Then he grabbed Twin Twist’s hand in both his own and stared. Then he broke into a wide, open-mouthed smile. “Sweet Primus you got ‘em? How?? They’ve been sold out for over a stellar cycle!”
“I have my sources.”
“Would they happen to have a name,” Broadside commented from the navigation console, “that starts with an ‘S’ and ends in a ‘windle’?”
The driller put a hand to his chestplate and looked aghast. “I’m hurt! How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
“That would be a yes, then.”
Springer tapped a finger against his armrest, though his expression was amused. “I’m not going to be expecting another call from Ultra Magnus, am I?”
“Aw, c’mon Chief! They’re just tickets!”
“This time.”
“That doesn’t sound like ‘never bringing it up again’ to me, Side.”
Staving off any potential argument, Springer leaned forward in his seat and beckoned the two jumpstarters toward him. “Lemme see these tickets.” Obediently Twin Twists handed them over, both Wreckers looking like they were about to start bouncing on their toes. “Audditch Championship Games?” He read the venue aloud. Even with all the duties they had to deal with, Twin Twist and Topspin still managed to find the time to keep on top of their favorite galactic sport. He raised an optic ridge and gave them a measured look. “You are aware that we’re still in the middle of a war, correct?”
Their expression fell into a confused horror. “B-But,” Topspin spluttered, “we’ve been wanting to go to a championship game since we were fledglings!”
“Yeah! And our team is in it this year!”
A heavy finger tapped against the edge of the datachips. “We have to be ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. You both know that.”
Twin Twist’s mouth clicked shut. “You can’t do this!”
The blue-optic gaze went flat. “I can’t?” It was more of a challenge than a question. One that had Twin Twist backtracking.
“I mean- yeah okay, you can, but that ain’t right!”
With a sigh, Springer stood up and placed a hand on both of their shoulders. “Twin Twist, Topspin. The both of you really need to learn how to take a joke.” He gave their cheeks a little smack and then turned to stroll off the bridge.
The two blue and whites were stupefied and Broadside quietly snickered at his station. “That,” Twin Twist said at last, “was not cool.” Then they broke out of their daze as they realize, “Hey! Get back here with our tickets!”
Note: Quotes are from the poem Beowulf and translated by Seamus Heany. And, yes, Technobot Lightspeed is allergic to energon and most other fuels. According to the Marvel continuity lead sulfide (or galena) is an anti-allergen medicine. There are two kinds of lead sulfide: lead (II) sulfide (galena) which has one lead and one sulfide atom (PbS) and lead (IV) sulfide which has one lead and two sulfide atoms (PbS2). As I fail at chemistry, I’m doing some voodoo guessing and saying they don’t have the same medical properties.
9. Book-Reading Wreckers
“Creativity is a natural extension of our enthusiasm.”
-Earl Nightingale
Springer and Roadbuster were seated at one of the tables in the mess hall, going over some new battle tactics. Nearby, buffing out every flat surface in the room, Sandstorm was speaking loudly as they discussed potential weaknesses.
“I like the basis of the formation,” Springer said as he tapped the datapad, “but it’ll leave both me and Whirl unprotected on our flanks. Even if Broadside and Sandstorm timed their passes perfectly- and you know how perfectly things go in battle –that leaves a lot of dead time for someone to fire in from the rear.”
“And now the youth / was to enter the line of battle with his lord, / his first time to be tested as a fighter.” Sandstorm groused out, fighting a particularly stubborn scuff on a table. “His spirit did not break and the ancestral blade / would keep its edge, as the dragon discovered / as soon as they came together in the combat.”
Roadbuster’s large green fingers tapped out a command, changing up the movement on the screen. “What if the two of you went into a Movement Four hover?”
“Hmm… if we did that, they’d have to come in at an oblique…” Springer rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Close maneuvers, but it should work.”
“Sad at heart, addressing his companions,” Sandstorm continued over their conversation, “Wiglaf spoke wise and fluent words: / ‘I remember that time when mead was flowing, / how we pledged loyalty to our lord in the hall, / promised our ring-giver we would be worth our price’.”
“We could go straight into a Delta Pattern or do a Switch Play from this point,” Springer paused the simulated movement, “Broadside and Sandy would have to be quick on the turnaround, though. A counter attack at that angle and distance could be devastating.”
“I hate it when you call me that.” Sandstorm called out, as if to remind that- yes, despite the fact he was monologuing to himself –he was still in the room.
“That’s not how the line goes, Sandy.” Springer returned, not turning from the discussion at hand.
He growled, but held back any retort. “‘-we would be worth our price, / make good the gift of the war-gear, / those swords and helmets, as and when / his need required it. / He picked us out / from the army deliberately, honored us and judged us / fit for this action, made me these lavish gifts-’”
“Ah, but you see here? At this point it would open you and Whirl to do a banking pass which would set up-”
“A Diving Run.” A malicious smirk spread over the triplechanger’s face. “Have I told you how much I love that wicked cranial unit of yours?”
Beneath the faceplate, Roadbuster grinned. “I get that impression every now and again.”
“‘-and all because he considered us the best / of his arms-bearing thanes. And now, although / he wanted this challenge to be one he’d face / by himself alone- the shepherd of our land, / a man unequalled in the quest for glory / now the day has come when he requires sound men-’”
“The line is ‘now the day has come / when this lord we serve needs sound men’.”
Sandstorm threw down the hand buffer. “Why in the primal source am I reciting this? You know the slagging poem like it’s a mission file!”
Springer finally turned in his seat to regard the orange triplechanger. “You’re doing it as punishment and it’s a very good poem. You could do with some culture in your life.”
“You’re already making me buff out every microbe of surface in the mess hall- why am I being punished on top of that?”
“Oh well, unless you want me to go back and tell Jetfire you were the one that switched Lightspeed’s PbS allergy medication with PbS2…”
Sandstorm groaned. “Aw, c’mon! How was I supposed to know he was allergic to energon?”
Springer and Roadbuster gave him a look.
“Okay, I already knew- but how was I supposed to know he’d react that badly?” The looks didn’t dissipate and Sandstorm’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “…‘now the day has come / when this lord we serve needs sound men / to give him their support…’”
10. Dancing Wreckers
“Every new idea looks crazy at first.”
-Robert Olson
“1-2-3, 1-2-3- man, can you believe Roadbuster didn’t think this would work?”
Sandstorm turned and shot another round at the trailing Decepticons. “Roadbuster? I can’t believe this is working!” The two of them shifted, turned and fired again. “Careful, Whirl- you’re speeding up the tempo again.”
The white Wrecker made a rude sound that was lost under the rattle of his guns. “What are you talking about? My tempo is fine- that’s why I’m leading. Whisk, right-turn step 2-3.”
Sandstorm followed the order, ground ‘bot twisting and firing all the while moving backwards. Hovering almost directly over him, covering Sandstorm’s rear, the chopper continued to count off to three. The way they moved boggled any of the Decepticons trying to shoot them down and what got them even more riled was that damned counting.
“-2-3- hey, you think we’re far enough in?”
“Dunno. Give it a few more-” suddenly a great war cry cut every Decepticon vocalizer silent and Wreckers started pouring down from the surrounding hills, laying waste to anything that wasn’t one of them. “Never mind- Thank you for attending this battle’s entertainment,” Sandstorm called out loudly, “which we like to call ‘Waltz of You Gonna Die’!”
Note: Happens right before the Dynobots' run-in with Shockwave mentioned in Spotlight: Shockwave.
11. Jealous Wreckers
“Envy can be a positive motivator. Let it inspire you to work harder for what you want.”
-Robert Bringle
“The DYNOBOTS??”
Springer, despite not liking it any better than the rest of his team, hid his disappointment every bit like they weren’t. “Yes.”
“But… aw, c’mon!” Twin Twist- as he tended to when unacceptable orders came down from on high –was acting as the spokes-complainer for the rest of the team. “They don’t have the right kinda finesse for that mission!”
“Prime’s made his call,” and Springer already failed to change his mind, “and he’s already got us assigned for another mission.”
“Yeah. Playing mail courier.” A loud, abrasive voice with a condescending tone that could only fit one group of ‘bots said. As one the Wreckers turned narrowed, unamused optics on the Dynobots. “You shouldn’t have to worry too much about it, though,” Swoop continued with an overjoyed grin on his face, “they probably packed it in lots of fluff for you.”
Twin Twist turned back to Springer. “Seriously. Sending those clod-footed hotheads is just going to be setting off an explosion they’ll be able to see all the way at Iacon.”
“Unless that’s Prime’s plan.” Topspin crossed his arms, flashing a dangerous smile at the Dynobots. “Have them go in presumably after the energon cache but in actuality they’re supposed to use it to blow up the Decepticon outpost.”
“They probably wouldn’t even be able to pull that off.” Roadbuster muttered.
It wasn’t that the two teams didn’t like each other. Oh no- they held a vast amount of respect for one another. They just fought over the riskiest, most dangerous missions available in some ‘alpha team’ competition. If Transformers had a term for ‘testosterone flood’ its definition would be ‘Having the Dynobots and the Wreckers in the same room’.
“Oh, what’s that I hear?” Asked the flier with a hand up to his audio. “Do I hear the lingering bitterness of someone that needed their aft pulled out from Polyhex?” The Wreckers simmered. The Dynobots snickered.
“Swoop,” a deep voice boomed over them, “don’t laugh at weaklings. Makes them feel inadequate.” With the broad frame of Grimlock now behind them, the Dynobot’s ruthless smiles grew that much more.
“Weaklings?” Scoop- average size by normal Autobot standards, small in regards to both present groups –marched up to Grimlock and stood defiantly- an impressive height about somewhere just above monstrous commander’s waist. “Strength means nothing when your cranial unit is so underused it’s been on powersaver mode for twenty vorns!”
Suddenly a very large, very unhappy snarling visage of Slag filled Scoop’s optics. “Are you calling us dumb, spare parts?” Slag, on top of being violently short-tempered, was also the Dynobots’ science ‘bot and didn’t take kindly to insults on his intelligence.
Scoop- in pure Wreckers fashion –didn’t back down in the face of someone that could flatten him with a palm. “You can process speech!” He exclaimed in mock surprise. “I guess I’m gonna have to owe Smokescreen a case of energon for getting that one over me.”
“Be lucky you’re so tiny, scraplet.” The words were so venomous Scoop could almost feel the heat off them like Slag was firing off his flamethrower. “You’re not even worth reassembling into a bore brush.”
A large hand clamped down on Scoop’s shoulder components and pushed him back slightly, replacing the smaller Wrecker with something larger, quieter and more imposing. Broadside towered over even Sludge and though size didn’t intimidate the Dynobots there was something to be said about a ‘bot that knew how to fill a room. And damn but Broadside could fill a room. Slag craned his head back and growled low in the back of his vocalizer and Broadside’s optic visor narrowed. Behind Snarl the other Dynobots’ joined the primal growling and loomed over the smaller Wreckers team. But they weren’t the only ones not intimidated by size and the Wreckers spread shoulder to shoulder and squared their jaws, daring the other four to make any kind of move.
“Enough with the posturing.” Springer snapped dryly. Then he turned to Grimlock with a dark, amused expression. “Alright then, Big Bot- Think your mouth component’s big enough to stuff a wager in there?”
An optic ridge raised, the band of red optic visor studying Springer curiously. “Got something in mind?”
“Your little energon cake walk,” he stressed, just to hear the four growls being directed his way, “is a lot closer than our pick up.” And about twice as heavily guarded, but that was beside the point. “First group to return with their cargo gets their pick of the next high-risk missions. And picks the next mission the losers go on.”
A wager and a competition? Both teams were fairly buzzing with anticipation. Grimlock’s optics thinned in a way that Springer knew meant he was smiling long and cold and hungry. “Small Fly, you’ve just earned yourself an embarrassment.” He held out a massive dark hand that Springer took to seal the bet. “We’ll be back before you even reach your little assignment.”
“Says the guy that’s going to be leading a patrol duty for the next stellar cycle.” With a motion, Springer had his Wreckers moving down the hall and to their ship. “See you when you get back.”
Note: Panclastites and methyl nitrate are actual liquid explosives that are no longer or rarely used because they're so volatile and difficult to store.
12. Turned on Wreckers
“Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.”
-Plato
Usually when the Wreckers got their supplies they’d just go to a loading dock and make the exchange. But when Smokescreen asks to meet them in a dead zone on an artificial asteroid, it only meant one thing: he had a new toy for them to play with.
But first they had to go through the usual routine of running through the inventory. “-20 crates incendiary grenades, 18 crates frag grenades, five crates flashbangs,” Smokescreen loved being the Wreckers’ go-to guy. He loved wondering just what they were going to use all the items he ordered for them. “10 crates smoke grenades yellow, 10 red, 10 green. 2 crates proximity mines-“
“Hang on,” Springer interjected as Broadside went to take a look at the mines, “I didn’t order those.”
The red and blue mech shrugged. “The fence decided to throw them in as a freebie for your patronage.”
“This one is half empty.” Broadside said mildly. Springer raised an optic ridge at Smokescreen.
“You’re not the only ones that could use them.” Came the bland reply.
“Fair enough.” The green triplechanger pointed at the list. “Next?”
The two continued their walk through the cargo, the rest of the Wreckers following behind and occasionally going off to check some of the merchandise. “Five barrels liquid dinitrogen tetroxide, five barrels carbon disulfide.” When mixed together they formed a very volatile and painful liquid explosive known as panclastites, a.k.a. ‘party mixer’, ‘high-grade shooter’ or ‘remember when Whirl blew off his optic ridge’.
“I got your laser mounts but the grenade launcher attachments for your rifles are hard to get right now. I only managed to land two but-,” Smokescreen added quickly, though Springer already knew he’d have some compensation, “I get the targeting upgrades for your field artillery you’ve had your optics on.”
Springer was mildly impressed. “All five?”
“All five plus three in case of damage or you decide to purchase more.” That’s why Smokescreen was so good at this- a little on the expensive side but he knew just what his clients wanted. “Now the reason I had you all come down here,” he said as he lead the group to two isolated crates draped with tarps. “Gentlebots,” he swept the tarps aside with dramatic flourish, “these are IEO-28s, also called Napalm Rain.” He drew one component from each crate as the Wreckers huddled around. “This is the nose, a high-impact dome filled with methyl nitrate specially engineered to cling to any object it comes in contact with. Can’t be rubbed or washed off.” A gleeful, battle-hungry interest gleamed in every optic around him and Smokescreen held up the other part. “The blast cap is housed here and it’ll ignite on impact. It handles like any RPG, just screw the two together, load up, sight in and roast some chassis. ‘Course the Tyrest Accord states you can’t use it in any area capable of sustaining any kind of life, but on a black rock like this…” with a flick of deft hands, Smokescreen handed the completed round to Roadbuster, “be my guest.”
Optics lighting up with fledgling delight, Roadbuster took the round and headed out to a clearer area. At his elbows, Whirl and Twin Twist were practically bouncing as they walked, anxious to see what sort of damage this thing could cause. At once three different fingers pointed out the same target to Roadbuster. “There! Aim for the mangled pulse cannon!”
“Alright, I got it.” Roadbuster knelt, loaded the round and sighted in. As the thing shot off into the distance, everyone held their breath. Metaphorically. Which would’ve been terrible if they were required to breathe to live because the resulting explosion would’ve taken it away.
“Primus.”
“Was that the sound of your engine turning over or mine?”
“I think I just popped a sparkplug.”
Even Roadbuster was floored at the crackling gray-blue flames. “I want to do that again.”
Proudly Smokescreen said, “The velocity of detonation is over 12,875 hics per nano-klik. The heat can be felt even with heat and fire resistant armor, but they’d be ripped apart by that kind of force anyway.”
Seven sets of optics turned on Springer. “We have to get these!”
“Please?”
“Please please?”
“For the love of the primal source- please?”
“We’ll get on our knees and beg.”
“You know we’ll do it.”
“We have no shame.”
Enjoying the show, Smokescreen felt the need to add, “If you don’t take them, I’ll have to try to pawn them off to the Dynobots and you know as well as I do they’re all about brute strength over firepower. Prime and Magnu will have my skidplate if they found out I was handling these at all.”
“PLEEEEAAASE?”
Springer waved away the mass bumble-puppy expressions. “Alright, alright!” Not like he was going to say no to begin with. Except now that he knew just how badly the Wreckers wanted it Springer could practically see Smokescreen mentally calculating how high he could jack the price. “Get the rest of the cargo inside while I finalize the purchase.” But he couldn’t help grinning at the loud ‘WHOO!’ that got. He glanced at the still burning mess, bits of the cannon puddling on the ground. He couldn’t keep his own engine from purring at the sight. That baby stroked him in all the right ways.
Note: So, canonically speaking, Topspin was never mentioned as being a medic or having medical skills. But as he was the one shown diagnosing and later watching over Afterburner and Nosecone during their stint with radiation poisoning in Stormbringer I'm going out on a limb. Creative interpretation and whatnot.
13. Caring Wreckers
“It is not enough to help the feeble up, but to support him after.”
-William Shakespeare
Being giant, non-biological beings it’s a fairly difficult thing to get a Transformer sick. Not impossible and not always life threatening, but nonetheless difficult. So when the Wreckers were sent to traipse around in some backwater boonies of a planet all they worried enough to check was the radiation level, magnetic field, temperature and moisture level, geared themselves accordingly and- as their battle cry said –wrecked and ruled. The Decepticons launched a counter attack that included hitting them with a chemical corrosive. Not an intense amount of damage was had and the worst of the wounded was Topspin that got the corrosive full-force in the midsection, but he could still walk (limp) under his own power.
And then… things started going not so well. Topspin’s fans were continuously blowing and his engine kept overheating. He began to get dizzy, tired, ached all over and the worst was when Scoop rushed in, yelling that Topspin purged and passed out in the hall.
Though Topspin was the closest thing they had to an actual all of the Wreckers had more than passing knowledge of first aid and basic medicine. They laid Topspin out in their tiny medbay and drew a vial of fluid from his fuel, analyzed the sample and sent the data to Preceptor. Springer doubted this was caused by the Decepticon’s stint with chemical warfare as no one else had any adverse reaction to it, but he wasn’t taking any chances in inadvertently spreading anything.
“It seems,” Preceptor told them (was translated as telling them), “that when Topspin was hit by this corrosive, it opened a deep wound in his side, correct? I believe the organics of the swamp seeped into his internals and all the bacteria contaminated his fuel.”
The Wreckers considered this thoughtfully. “So you’re saying,” Sandstorm said slowly, “that Topspin is just suffering from… what, fuel poisoning?”
“That is one way to put it. But since it has traversed into his main fuel line, it’s widespread and will take some time for his internal repairs to purge and purify the bacteria. My tests has not shown any dangers with just letting this run its course.” He smiled patiently at the strike force. “All he really needs is rest and antibiotics. If he gets worse, I suggest you bring him to me so I can do a more thorough diagnosis.”
Springer nodded. “Understood. Thanks.”
Of course when Topspin heard he called it- to use the Earthian term –bullshit. Never mind the fact that his optic visor was faded and he was hot to the touch. “’M not sick and I don’t need rest.”
Springer lifted an unconvinced optic ridge, standing over the prone ‘bot in the medbay. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I have no problems keeping you here for the next mega-cycle.”
Topspin propped himself up on his elbows and forced himself not to wince. “You’re not a medical officer. You can’t put me in quarantine.”
“No, but I am your superior and I can have you confined to quarters.” Topspin frowned, swaying a little though his sight swam too much for him to notice. Springer did, though. “Or we could swing by Earth and get a second opinion from Ratchet. I don’t mind.”
The remaining color in Topspin’s visor drained out. “You wouldn’t! You know what he’d do if-“ he slapped a hand over his mouth component and nearly fell on his face trying to get out of the berth. Hands gripped the blue and white and Springer practically carried him to a receptacle just in time for him to purge.
“Yeah,” he absently rubbed little circles at the base of Topspin’s neck as his shoulders heaved, “I’m not convinced on your health.”
“Hrrrgk.”
“If bed rest is the fastest way for you to recover, I am not above strapping you to your berth and posting a watch on you. You’re not a member we can easily replace, you know.”
“Bet you say that to all the purging mechs,” came the mumbled reply.
“No, really. Insane guys with an affinity for explosions are every where if you look hard enough. But a medic that willingly rips off a Decepticon’s leg with his own hands and attaches it to his buddy to stave off fluid loss is surprisingly harder to come by.”
Topspin scoffed, pushing away from the receptacle and Springer could hear an edge of a smile in his vocalizer. “Was only once.”
“And Twist is still thankful for it.” He patted Topspin’s shoulder and helped him back into the berth. “Rest up. Whirl said he’s going to stop by after his shift in case you need anything.”
“Hn.” He stretched out and tentatively put an arm across his visor. “Right.” Terrible though he felt, it was nice to know the others cared.
14. On Their Knees Wreckers
“No one makes a fool of me / Without receiving retribution / No one hurts me and goes free”
-Red Delicious, “Bring You Down”
They didn’t know how this happened- it… it was impossible. And yet there was Roadbuster, hands bound behind his back, on his knees, head pressed into the ground by a foot against the column of his neck. Octane grinned despite the myriad of weapons pointed at him because not one of those triggers was covered with a finger. Not so long as he had his own weapon pressed against Roadbuster’s helmet.
“When I said ‘lower your weapons’,” he drawled pleasantly, “it wasn’t a suggestion.”
“Drop your weapon and back the slag off,” Springer hissed in return, “before we turn you into dust.” His finger twitched but didn’t move to the trigger. That made Octane grin wider.
“No. In fact, I believe it’s going to go this way. You will drop your weapons and you will leave this planet and you will let us go about sieging to our spark’s content. Or,” he reached across the width of his body to raise the level of his rifle. It sang a high, destructive note. “Your buddy here is going to be one head shorter.” Under his foot Roadbuster shifted and Octane dug his heel harder into the column of his neck. Roadbuster grunted and that made the other Wreckers seethe.
“Don’t do it, Springer.” Roadbuster hissed, visor flashing slightly as Octane’s foot twisted painfully against him. “Don’t you dare.”
For a long moment no one moved. And then Octane hooked his finger over the trigger pointedly. Sandstorm shifted a little closer to his leader. “Orders?”
He stayed silent, weapon still trained on the Decepticon but his optics flickered to Roadbuster. He shifted higher on his knees, but otherwise did nothing. Jaw clenched tight, Springer powered down his weapon and tossed it to the ground. His team looked at him, partly shocked, before they followed suit. Octane grinned hard and dark.
“Now- get your hands in the air.” Glaring venom, they did as they were told. Springer- the last to comply –sighed heavily and lifted his hands-
His arm blaster fired, nearly catching Octane in the knee. The Decepticon cursed, backpedaling and raising his weapon to the green triplechanger-
A hand gripped Octane’s head and slammed him into the ground. His optics went wide as Roadbuster glowered at him in fury- the shackles on his wrists severed by the shot –and his murderous growl made Octane’s fuel pump shudder and freeze.
“No one forces a Wrecker to his knees.”
Title: What’s Wrong with a Little Destruction? 1/2
Fandom: Transformers (IDW ‘verse)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and violence
Word Count: 17557
Characters: The Wreckers. And others.
Summary: For the 28Character meme. The Autobots’ top strike force gets their time to shine.
Note: Simon Furman said he wasn't going to introduce femmes into the IDW 'verse until he had a way to explain their existence. Excuse me while I throw that note out the window.
1. Naughty Wreckers
“[Abby] was designed to be the troublemaker and stir things up. She wasn’t evil, she was naughty.”
-Donna Mills
The first message Arcee received was a rather eloquent and inspiring poem. She was, for lack of a more effective term, impressed. The second message was a sweet (if not slightly longwinded) letter. The third one was less welcomed than the previous two though it may have had something to do with a calendar pin-up with her face maniped to the body that came attached to it. By the fifth she was getting annoyed. By the twelfth, she started getting mad.
And by the time she read the thirty-first (which had, in some very ineloquent and un-sweet terminology, requested a hook-up) she finally decided to stop ignoring the problem and dealing with it.
In short, she created a very unamused and scathing letter.
Within a klik of receiving the letter, Springer stomped out on Xantium’s bridge, glared blackly and pointed at each of the other Wreckers in turn. “I will kill you all.” He promptly turned and stomped right back out in attempts to salvage the situation.
The door whooshed closed and a beat passed. Then another.
Then everyone cracked the hell up.
2. Happy Wreckers
“You'll find boredom where there is the absence of a good idea.”
-Earl Nightingale
The Wreckers were happiest- as everyone knew –in the battlefield. Frankly, they scared the willies out of most of the Autobots. And the Decepticons, well… the only thing they feared more than dealing with Wreckers was explaining to Megatron why they turned tail. It had, in fact, gotten to the point where smarter detachments would wait until the Wreckers were engaged elsewhere before they seriously kicked off Siege Mode.
But the fact of the matter was that they loved to fight. They lived for fighting. They were, as previously stated, happiest when fighting.
And though fighting equaled happy, happy didn’t necessarily equate fighting though it did- to put it in general terms –mean someone was causing trouble for someone else. Didn’t really matter for who; making life difficult for Decepticons, keeping other Autobots on their toes or just messing around with each other. Anything that wrecked a little havoc always got their fuel pumps going.
“Sooo,” Topspin said slowly, still cycling out of recharge (morning ‘bot he was not), “you are covered in inflatable plastic creatures because…?”
Broadside just shrugged his massive shoulders. “No reason.”
“And you are on the floor why?”
Another shrug. “No reason.”
Topspin just went ‘huh’ and stood there for a moment. And then felt something against his foot. And then he bent down to get a better look.
“…” He said. “I see. Hi, Scoop.”
The hand protruding from under Broadside’s back flopped a little in possibly a wave or a please-save-me kinda way. Topspin wasn’t sure of which.
“So,” he paused a moment to sip at his morning energon, “was it worth it?”
A snort and giggle came up from under Broadside’s vents followed by a muffled ‘can’t breathe’.
Note: Set during Spotlight: Optimus Prime- meaning post-Stormbringer and Spotlight: Kup with a reference to Spotlight: Shockwave.
3. Silly Wreckers
“The word aerobics comes from two Greek words: aero, meaning ‘ability to’, and bics, meaning ‘withstand tremendous boredom’.”
-Dave Barry
“-just minimal reactions, but it’s something. Of course there’s no telling how sane he’ll be if he actually wakes up at all.” Springer rubbed at the bridge of his nose, right under where it met his helmet and kept his optics on the datapad in front of him. Not out of any need to read off it but just to keep from having to look at Prowl’s ‘I told you so’ expression. Not that he’d actually say it. Or even really look it. But Springer knew that’s what the tactician was thinking. Fragging bastard.
Springer had called the Earth detachment to update Optimus Prime on Kup’s status. Instead their leader was ‘indisposed’ (his tailfin) and Prowl had taken the communiqué in his stead. “Right now, though, it’s difficult to tell if it’s a random firing in his processor or if Kup is actually going to regain consciousness.”
“Even that is better than nothing, I suppose.” Came the cool drawl, slightly muffled through the distance of space.
“Yeah, whatever.” He tossed the datapad and slumped back in his seat, optics shuttered. He was too exhausted to care.
“Springer.” The level of detachment dwindled in the tone and for a moment Prowl almost sounded like a ‘bot with a fragging spark. One blue optic glowed slightly as it regarded the other on the communications screen. “Pushing yourself too hard to properly function won’t help anyone.”
“Nothing a little recharging won’t cure.” He muttered in return, groping for the energon on his desk. He’d been flying around like a mad ‘bot after the entire ‘Return of Thunderwing’ incident. After settling that (getting patched up from it) the Wreckers were supposed to make their way back to Varas Centralus to salvage what they could of the situation. And then Springer got the call from Preceptor that they found Kup and left to deal with that, then ran back to his team in time to help extract Bluestreak’s detachment and nearly blew a gasket when he found out just how FUBAR that experience ended up being (through no one person’s fault, however fortunate or not that was). And now they were being shuttled off to yet another hot spot and not for the first time Springer wondered just where the pit the fragging Dynobots went off to. Not for the first time he seriously considered hiring Nightbeat to find out. Damn slagheads.
“Springer-“
“You’re the last ‘bot to talk to me about over working.” He said shortly. He brought the energon container in closer and wondered why he just didn’t cut Prowl off. “Look, if there’s any other cha-ARCKPTHH!”
Springer spluttered, sitting dumbly with exploded energon dripping all over him. Prowl’s visage on the screen looked on with wide optics. From behind the door leading to the hall was an eruption of cackles and feet making fast tracks down the hall.
“SANDSTORM! WHIRL!” The Wreckers leader stuck his head out, still coated in the faintly glowing liquid (he was lucky it was just the container and not the actual energon that exploded). “I’LL DISMANTLE YOU BOTH WITH A RUSTY HAND DRILL!”
Stalking back inside the office- and now no longer tired –he glared at Prowl. “Don’t speak.” He growled.
Instead, Prowl merely lifted his head in that way Springer knew was to keep him from noticing the twitch of his lips. “I’ll inform Prime on Kup’s status. If there’s nothing else…?” There was just the tiniest tremor in the doorwings.
“Slag off.” On that pleasant note, he cut the line of communication and then stalked off to kick him some aft.
Note: ‘Angst’ is the German word for fear or anxiety... it is the fear of possible suffering and a behavior situated from uncertainty and strain which is caused by pain, loss and death. (wiki)
Also Note: So in the newly released Spotlight: Optimus Prime it was revealed that gestalt technology was hidden away long, long ago and only one gestalt team is actually in existence and was locked away. Oops.
4. Angsty Wreckers
“I refuse to make a decision that somebody else can make. The first rule of leadership is to save yourself for the big decision. Don't allow your mind to become cluttered.”
-Richard Nixon
This battle was going fairly well. Until a Gestalt team no one had reported the presence of entered the fray in their insanely huge, combined-form glory. Which really wasn’t all that bad considering how many other times the Wreckers had to deal with it.
Except that this was Abominus, who landed in the middle of their defensive perimeter and started slagging the lot of them before they could even get over the impact tremors.
It was nothing but mass confusion, then. Orders were shouted loud and hoarse and no one could make sense of them, Decepticons picked off whoever they could, tucked safely out of Abominus’s range. Autobots were falling all around them- down, back, unable and unwilling to fight and still the Wreckers shot on because the only thing that went on in any of their minds was fight fight shoot fight kill it, for Primus’ sake go DOWN!
Springer’s entire body rocked against the recoil. Roadbuster was down and the much larger ‘bot’s cannon rifle was almost too heavy, too powerful for Springer’s arms that were trembling from the pain of all that power being braced on his hip component and a gash that should’ve left his hand immobile. Except it clutch desperately against the handguard and nothing short of blowing him to pieces would’ve taken that monster of a rifle from him.
He tried scanning for the others, unwilling to move, unwilling to leave Roadbuster unprotected against the aptly name abomination of a Transformer. Twin Twist was half crushed in the ground, one of Whirl’s rotors was smashed and he spun wildly before crashing in a cacophony of dirt and noise. Sandstorm had been hit by a missile early on and Topspin had dragged him off to patch the triplechanger up. Abominus had landed on top of them and Springer didn’t know if either of them was alive and he roared and fired until his legs quaked and he had trouble standing upright.
Scoop- slag, he lost track of the little guy so long ago and the only sign of Broadside was the artillery gun pounding an uneven staccato off to his side. Or not, it was too hard to filter all the noise going on and the sky was filled with so much smoke and dirt he couldn’t even see the rounds he was blasting into Abominus let alone who else was.
From out of the haze, giant yellow optics gazed down on him. Springer cursed something at him and didn’t move. Not when Abominus leered with a hungry roar, not when a hand large then him reached down, not went something stepped over his head and crashed the Decepticon backwards.
Someone was at Springer’s side, pulling at his hands and it was only then that he realized the clicking noise he’d been hearing was because Roadbuster’s cannon was out of ammo (how long was he standing there, not shooting a damned thing?). Words were in his audio, but he couldn’t understand them- could only make out ‘Defensor’ and ‘danger’ and ‘leave’.
“No.” He shook. All over he shook, but he still stood standing in the devastation of the battlefield around him. “The others- get the others outta here.” He shook but he wouldn’t fall. Not until he knew the other Wreckers were safe.
It was a simple thing- the trust that kept the lot of them together. He trusted them to do their duty, to follow orders when needed, to make their own choices when they had to- to survive and adapt and fight and do whatever needed to be done to complete their objective. And in return they trusted him to put them on a planet that needed their firepower and keep them alive long enough to do their duty. And if they didn’t survive, they trusted him to put up a damn good fight to retrieve their bodies. That meant Springer would be the last to fall- be it to the enemy or the care of his own allies.
Above them, around them, Defensor grappled with Abominus until an EMP barrage from jets overloaded them, forcibly detaching the Terrorcons. Rattled, in pain and suddenly finding themselves overwhelmed they retreated and Defensor put up a protective force field as the Wreckers were moved from the hot zone. Springer watched the activity in a detached kind of way, swaying heavily on his feet and it wasn’t until the last of his ‘bots were loaded onto an EMT that he finally collapsed.
5. On Vacation Wreckers
“It is not more vacation we need - it is more vocation.”
-Eleanor Roosevelt
They deliberately waited patiently. The kind of waiting where they deliberately didn’t move, deliberately made no expression, deliberately just stood and waited and still managed to give off ‘would ya hurry it up’ vibes. It was the kind of patient waiting the Wreckers excelled at.
“Yeah.” Springer said at length. “This isn’t working. Wreckers, pack it up.”
With much more enthusiasm than when they came, the others complied, tossing gear back into the Xantium and booking it for the nearest hot spot. Prime wanted to give the Wreckers time to relax. Looked like Springer was going to have try (yet again) to explain nothing relaxed them like a heavy battle.
Note: Seriously. Size has to matter for these guys.
6. Horny Wreckers
“See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.”
-Robin Williams
Transformers- being a mechanical race and incapable of procreating –were not sexual in the same way organic beings were. The need for physical pleasure (pressing against sensitive seams, a stroke of rigid metal against circuits that shocked at the touch) was not something that pressed at their minds- least of all when one had a war to think of.
That wasn’t to say they were incapable of physical attraction. Oh no- they could see the beauty in objects and beings, they could appreciate another’s intelligence and compassion and after existing for as long as they have, their race as a whole had come to appreciate the emotional and psychological connection of another.
Or just a random night getting over-energized in some seedy bar and find some other ‘bot willing to give them that open-circuit voltage that left them elated, weak and thoroughly relaxed.
Xantium was docked at a local station for some repairs and Springer had given them a few days leave (“Just watch what you catch,” he’d always say). All of them- save Whirl who got ship duty for switching Twin Twist’s drill lubricant with paint –had gone off, gotten themselves plastered and came back with company for the night.
Scoop yawned largely, standing at the loading dock and waving farewell to a slender, curvy thing that drove him wild for the last several hours. He smiled blissfully and turned to head back to his quarters when he nearly got stepped on. Wide-opticed, Scoop scuttled backwards until he was pressed up against the bulkhead.
That… was a huge mamajama. Almost as big as- oh hey, Broadside.
He boggled, watching the two giant ‘bots say their good-byes. Afterwards, his fellow Wrecker turned to him with a questioning expression (after how long they’ve worked together, one learned to read a facemask and visor). Scoop looked at Broadside, then where the other oversized ‘bot had left, then back again.
“…oh.” He finally said. “That’s why you didn’t go for any of the ones I was pointin’ out to ya.”
Blandly the other one said, “I don’t think Springer would like me accidentally crushing anyone.”
7. Transforming Wreckers
“We manics do outrageous things and it is part of our colorful nature.”
-Patty Duke
Laughter was never a rare thing on Xantium. When someone courts death as vehemently as the Wreckers there’s a lot to laugh about. ‘Oh man, check out the size of this bit mark Rampage gave me!’, ‘Did you see Twin Twist getting dragged around by the foot? That was priceless!’, ‘Did you really throw your rifle at the Decepticons?’, ‘Shut up- I was outta ammo!’. They had to laugh because it was absurd that they were still alive. And after the kind of scrapes they got into, surviving was such a shock that laughing at it was the only way to keep from going mad.
Which was why it was hardly surprising to hear laughter ricocheting down the halls and in the common area just about every member of the crew had collapsed on the nearest stable structure, laughing until they were wheezing, pounding their knees, the tables, each other.
All except for Sandstorm who was in the middle of it all, struggling and cursing and yelling in frustration.
“HAHAHAHA- Can’t… can’t breathe!”
“Primus- someone get a capture of this!”
“Frag you, slagging bucket-humping slag-suckers! RRRRRRRRGH!”
“WAHA-HAHAHAHA!”
The door opened and Springer came to a halt, for a moment uncertain if they were under attack from some strange alien beast. “….Sandstorm?” He peered cautiously at the orange mess.
“Springer! Get ‘em to fix me!”
Finally able to wrap his mind around the fact that- yes, this was his fellow triplechanger –he asked everyone else in a voice that only slightly quivered, “How much of this do I want to know?” The laughter subsided and someone tried to get a hold of himself enough to explain the situation. But started snickering and that got everyone going again.
Sandstorm (glaring as best he could though no one could tell) bit out, “Topspin was supposed to clear out some grit from my transformation cogs and I ended up turning into this… useless monstrosity!”
Springer looked over Sandstorm- an impossible mesh of all three forms, mangled together and stuck in a limbo of ‘what the slagging hell is it’ –to their resident medic. The edges of Springer’s lips twitched almost uncontrollably. “Well?”
Topspin’s grin was so wide the edges disappeared under his visor. “Was a good idea at the time.”
Note: Audditch. Also know to Earthlings as Australian Indoor-Rules Quidditch introduced and popularized by Machall and played by Marines during blackouts.
8. Excited Wreckers
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard and I want to play.”
-Matt Boyd
“Spin! SpinSpinSpinSpinSpin!” Twin Twist burst into the bridge, skidding to a stop next to his fellow jumpstarter with the most excited look on his face anyone had ever seen. “How much do ya love me, buddy?”
Topspin gave him a dubious look, optic ridge raised. “I dunno, how much should I love you?”
Two datachips flashed before his face. “Enough to go to the championship match with me?”
Topspin’s jaw dropped. Then he grabbed Twin Twist’s hand in both his own and stared. Then he broke into a wide, open-mouthed smile. “Sweet Primus you got ‘em? How?? They’ve been sold out for over a stellar cycle!”
“I have my sources.”
“Would they happen to have a name,” Broadside commented from the navigation console, “that starts with an ‘S’ and ends in a ‘windle’?”
The driller put a hand to his chestplate and looked aghast. “I’m hurt! How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
“That would be a yes, then.”
Springer tapped a finger against his armrest, though his expression was amused. “I’m not going to be expecting another call from Ultra Magnus, am I?”
“Aw, c’mon Chief! They’re just tickets!”
“This time.”
“That doesn’t sound like ‘never bringing it up again’ to me, Side.”
Staving off any potential argument, Springer leaned forward in his seat and beckoned the two jumpstarters toward him. “Lemme see these tickets.” Obediently Twin Twists handed them over, both Wreckers looking like they were about to start bouncing on their toes. “Audditch Championship Games?” He read the venue aloud. Even with all the duties they had to deal with, Twin Twist and Topspin still managed to find the time to keep on top of their favorite galactic sport. He raised an optic ridge and gave them a measured look. “You are aware that we’re still in the middle of a war, correct?”
Their expression fell into a confused horror. “B-But,” Topspin spluttered, “we’ve been wanting to go to a championship game since we were fledglings!”
“Yeah! And our team is in it this year!”
A heavy finger tapped against the edge of the datachips. “We have to be ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. You both know that.”
Twin Twist’s mouth clicked shut. “You can’t do this!”
The blue-optic gaze went flat. “I can’t?” It was more of a challenge than a question. One that had Twin Twist backtracking.
“I mean- yeah okay, you can, but that ain’t right!”
With a sigh, Springer stood up and placed a hand on both of their shoulders. “Twin Twist, Topspin. The both of you really need to learn how to take a joke.” He gave their cheeks a little smack and then turned to stroll off the bridge.
The two blue and whites were stupefied and Broadside quietly snickered at his station. “That,” Twin Twist said at last, “was not cool.” Then they broke out of their daze as they realize, “Hey! Get back here with our tickets!”
Note: Quotes are from the poem Beowulf and translated by Seamus Heany. And, yes, Technobot Lightspeed is allergic to energon and most other fuels. According to the Marvel continuity lead sulfide (or galena) is an anti-allergen medicine. There are two kinds of lead sulfide: lead (II) sulfide (galena) which has one lead and one sulfide atom (PbS) and lead (IV) sulfide which has one lead and two sulfide atoms (PbS2). As I fail at chemistry, I’m doing some voodoo guessing and saying they don’t have the same medical properties.
9. Book-Reading Wreckers
“Creativity is a natural extension of our enthusiasm.”
-Earl Nightingale
Springer and Roadbuster were seated at one of the tables in the mess hall, going over some new battle tactics. Nearby, buffing out every flat surface in the room, Sandstorm was speaking loudly as they discussed potential weaknesses.
“I like the basis of the formation,” Springer said as he tapped the datapad, “but it’ll leave both me and Whirl unprotected on our flanks. Even if Broadside and Sandstorm timed their passes perfectly- and you know how perfectly things go in battle –that leaves a lot of dead time for someone to fire in from the rear.”
“And now the youth / was to enter the line of battle with his lord, / his first time to be tested as a fighter.” Sandstorm groused out, fighting a particularly stubborn scuff on a table. “His spirit did not break and the ancestral blade / would keep its edge, as the dragon discovered / as soon as they came together in the combat.”
Roadbuster’s large green fingers tapped out a command, changing up the movement on the screen. “What if the two of you went into a Movement Four hover?”
“Hmm… if we did that, they’d have to come in at an oblique…” Springer rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Close maneuvers, but it should work.”
“Sad at heart, addressing his companions,” Sandstorm continued over their conversation, “Wiglaf spoke wise and fluent words: / ‘I remember that time when mead was flowing, / how we pledged loyalty to our lord in the hall, / promised our ring-giver we would be worth our price’.”
“We could go straight into a Delta Pattern or do a Switch Play from this point,” Springer paused the simulated movement, “Broadside and Sandy would have to be quick on the turnaround, though. A counter attack at that angle and distance could be devastating.”
“I hate it when you call me that.” Sandstorm called out, as if to remind that- yes, despite the fact he was monologuing to himself –he was still in the room.
“That’s not how the line goes, Sandy.” Springer returned, not turning from the discussion at hand.
He growled, but held back any retort. “‘-we would be worth our price, / make good the gift of the war-gear, / those swords and helmets, as and when / his need required it. / He picked us out / from the army deliberately, honored us and judged us / fit for this action, made me these lavish gifts-’”
“Ah, but you see here? At this point it would open you and Whirl to do a banking pass which would set up-”
“A Diving Run.” A malicious smirk spread over the triplechanger’s face. “Have I told you how much I love that wicked cranial unit of yours?”
Beneath the faceplate, Roadbuster grinned. “I get that impression every now and again.”
“‘-and all because he considered us the best / of his arms-bearing thanes. And now, although / he wanted this challenge to be one he’d face / by himself alone- the shepherd of our land, / a man unequalled in the quest for glory / now the day has come when he requires sound men-’”
“The line is ‘now the day has come / when this lord we serve needs sound men’.”
Sandstorm threw down the hand buffer. “Why in the primal source am I reciting this? You know the slagging poem like it’s a mission file!”
Springer finally turned in his seat to regard the orange triplechanger. “You’re doing it as punishment and it’s a very good poem. You could do with some culture in your life.”
“You’re already making me buff out every microbe of surface in the mess hall- why am I being punished on top of that?”
“Oh well, unless you want me to go back and tell Jetfire you were the one that switched Lightspeed’s PbS allergy medication with PbS2…”
Sandstorm groaned. “Aw, c’mon! How was I supposed to know he was allergic to energon?”
Springer and Roadbuster gave him a look.
“Okay, I already knew- but how was I supposed to know he’d react that badly?” The looks didn’t dissipate and Sandstorm’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “…‘now the day has come / when this lord we serve needs sound men / to give him their support…’”
10. Dancing Wreckers
“Every new idea looks crazy at first.”
-Robert Olson
“1-2-3, 1-2-3- man, can you believe Roadbuster didn’t think this would work?”
Sandstorm turned and shot another round at the trailing Decepticons. “Roadbuster? I can’t believe this is working!” The two of them shifted, turned and fired again. “Careful, Whirl- you’re speeding up the tempo again.”
The white Wrecker made a rude sound that was lost under the rattle of his guns. “What are you talking about? My tempo is fine- that’s why I’m leading. Whisk, right-turn step 2-3.”
Sandstorm followed the order, ground ‘bot twisting and firing all the while moving backwards. Hovering almost directly over him, covering Sandstorm’s rear, the chopper continued to count off to three. The way they moved boggled any of the Decepticons trying to shoot them down and what got them even more riled was that damned counting.
“-2-3- hey, you think we’re far enough in?”
“Dunno. Give it a few more-” suddenly a great war cry cut every Decepticon vocalizer silent and Wreckers started pouring down from the surrounding hills, laying waste to anything that wasn’t one of them. “Never mind- Thank you for attending this battle’s entertainment,” Sandstorm called out loudly, “which we like to call ‘Waltz of You Gonna Die’!”
Note: Happens right before the Dynobots' run-in with Shockwave mentioned in Spotlight: Shockwave.
11. Jealous Wreckers
“Envy can be a positive motivator. Let it inspire you to work harder for what you want.”
-Robert Bringle
“The DYNOBOTS??”
Springer, despite not liking it any better than the rest of his team, hid his disappointment every bit like they weren’t. “Yes.”
“But… aw, c’mon!” Twin Twist- as he tended to when unacceptable orders came down from on high –was acting as the spokes-complainer for the rest of the team. “They don’t have the right kinda finesse for that mission!”
“Prime’s made his call,” and Springer already failed to change his mind, “and he’s already got us assigned for another mission.”
“Yeah. Playing mail courier.” A loud, abrasive voice with a condescending tone that could only fit one group of ‘bots said. As one the Wreckers turned narrowed, unamused optics on the Dynobots. “You shouldn’t have to worry too much about it, though,” Swoop continued with an overjoyed grin on his face, “they probably packed it in lots of fluff for you.”
Twin Twist turned back to Springer. “Seriously. Sending those clod-footed hotheads is just going to be setting off an explosion they’ll be able to see all the way at Iacon.”
“Unless that’s Prime’s plan.” Topspin crossed his arms, flashing a dangerous smile at the Dynobots. “Have them go in presumably after the energon cache but in actuality they’re supposed to use it to blow up the Decepticon outpost.”
“They probably wouldn’t even be able to pull that off.” Roadbuster muttered.
It wasn’t that the two teams didn’t like each other. Oh no- they held a vast amount of respect for one another. They just fought over the riskiest, most dangerous missions available in some ‘alpha team’ competition. If Transformers had a term for ‘testosterone flood’ its definition would be ‘Having the Dynobots and the Wreckers in the same room’.
“Oh, what’s that I hear?” Asked the flier with a hand up to his audio. “Do I hear the lingering bitterness of someone that needed their aft pulled out from Polyhex?” The Wreckers simmered. The Dynobots snickered.
“Swoop,” a deep voice boomed over them, “don’t laugh at weaklings. Makes them feel inadequate.” With the broad frame of Grimlock now behind them, the Dynobot’s ruthless smiles grew that much more.
“Weaklings?” Scoop- average size by normal Autobot standards, small in regards to both present groups –marched up to Grimlock and stood defiantly- an impressive height about somewhere just above monstrous commander’s waist. “Strength means nothing when your cranial unit is so underused it’s been on powersaver mode for twenty vorns!”
Suddenly a very large, very unhappy snarling visage of Slag filled Scoop’s optics. “Are you calling us dumb, spare parts?” Slag, on top of being violently short-tempered, was also the Dynobots’ science ‘bot and didn’t take kindly to insults on his intelligence.
Scoop- in pure Wreckers fashion –didn’t back down in the face of someone that could flatten him with a palm. “You can process speech!” He exclaimed in mock surprise. “I guess I’m gonna have to owe Smokescreen a case of energon for getting that one over me.”
“Be lucky you’re so tiny, scraplet.” The words were so venomous Scoop could almost feel the heat off them like Slag was firing off his flamethrower. “You’re not even worth reassembling into a bore brush.”
A large hand clamped down on Scoop’s shoulder components and pushed him back slightly, replacing the smaller Wrecker with something larger, quieter and more imposing. Broadside towered over even Sludge and though size didn’t intimidate the Dynobots there was something to be said about a ‘bot that knew how to fill a room. And damn but Broadside could fill a room. Slag craned his head back and growled low in the back of his vocalizer and Broadside’s optic visor narrowed. Behind Snarl the other Dynobots’ joined the primal growling and loomed over the smaller Wreckers team. But they weren’t the only ones not intimidated by size and the Wreckers spread shoulder to shoulder and squared their jaws, daring the other four to make any kind of move.
“Enough with the posturing.” Springer snapped dryly. Then he turned to Grimlock with a dark, amused expression. “Alright then, Big Bot- Think your mouth component’s big enough to stuff a wager in there?”
An optic ridge raised, the band of red optic visor studying Springer curiously. “Got something in mind?”
“Your little energon cake walk,” he stressed, just to hear the four growls being directed his way, “is a lot closer than our pick up.” And about twice as heavily guarded, but that was beside the point. “First group to return with their cargo gets their pick of the next high-risk missions. And picks the next mission the losers go on.”
A wager and a competition? Both teams were fairly buzzing with anticipation. Grimlock’s optics thinned in a way that Springer knew meant he was smiling long and cold and hungry. “Small Fly, you’ve just earned yourself an embarrassment.” He held out a massive dark hand that Springer took to seal the bet. “We’ll be back before you even reach your little assignment.”
“Says the guy that’s going to be leading a patrol duty for the next stellar cycle.” With a motion, Springer had his Wreckers moving down the hall and to their ship. “See you when you get back.”
Note: Panclastites and methyl nitrate are actual liquid explosives that are no longer or rarely used because they're so volatile and difficult to store.
12. Turned on Wreckers
“Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.”
-Plato
Usually when the Wreckers got their supplies they’d just go to a loading dock and make the exchange. But when Smokescreen asks to meet them in a dead zone on an artificial asteroid, it only meant one thing: he had a new toy for them to play with.
But first they had to go through the usual routine of running through the inventory. “-20 crates incendiary grenades, 18 crates frag grenades, five crates flashbangs,” Smokescreen loved being the Wreckers’ go-to guy. He loved wondering just what they were going to use all the items he ordered for them. “10 crates smoke grenades yellow, 10 red, 10 green. 2 crates proximity mines-“
“Hang on,” Springer interjected as Broadside went to take a look at the mines, “I didn’t order those.”
The red and blue mech shrugged. “The fence decided to throw them in as a freebie for your patronage.”
“This one is half empty.” Broadside said mildly. Springer raised an optic ridge at Smokescreen.
“You’re not the only ones that could use them.” Came the bland reply.
“Fair enough.” The green triplechanger pointed at the list. “Next?”
The two continued their walk through the cargo, the rest of the Wreckers following behind and occasionally going off to check some of the merchandise. “Five barrels liquid dinitrogen tetroxide, five barrels carbon disulfide.” When mixed together they formed a very volatile and painful liquid explosive known as panclastites, a.k.a. ‘party mixer’, ‘high-grade shooter’ or ‘remember when Whirl blew off his optic ridge’.
“I got your laser mounts but the grenade launcher attachments for your rifles are hard to get right now. I only managed to land two but-,” Smokescreen added quickly, though Springer already knew he’d have some compensation, “I get the targeting upgrades for your field artillery you’ve had your optics on.”
Springer was mildly impressed. “All five?”
“All five plus three in case of damage or you decide to purchase more.” That’s why Smokescreen was so good at this- a little on the expensive side but he knew just what his clients wanted. “Now the reason I had you all come down here,” he said as he lead the group to two isolated crates draped with tarps. “Gentlebots,” he swept the tarps aside with dramatic flourish, “these are IEO-28s, also called Napalm Rain.” He drew one component from each crate as the Wreckers huddled around. “This is the nose, a high-impact dome filled with methyl nitrate specially engineered to cling to any object it comes in contact with. Can’t be rubbed or washed off.” A gleeful, battle-hungry interest gleamed in every optic around him and Smokescreen held up the other part. “The blast cap is housed here and it’ll ignite on impact. It handles like any RPG, just screw the two together, load up, sight in and roast some chassis. ‘Course the Tyrest Accord states you can’t use it in any area capable of sustaining any kind of life, but on a black rock like this…” with a flick of deft hands, Smokescreen handed the completed round to Roadbuster, “be my guest.”
Optics lighting up with fledgling delight, Roadbuster took the round and headed out to a clearer area. At his elbows, Whirl and Twin Twist were practically bouncing as they walked, anxious to see what sort of damage this thing could cause. At once three different fingers pointed out the same target to Roadbuster. “There! Aim for the mangled pulse cannon!”
“Alright, I got it.” Roadbuster knelt, loaded the round and sighted in. As the thing shot off into the distance, everyone held their breath. Metaphorically. Which would’ve been terrible if they were required to breathe to live because the resulting explosion would’ve taken it away.
“Primus.”
“Was that the sound of your engine turning over or mine?”
“I think I just popped a sparkplug.”
Even Roadbuster was floored at the crackling gray-blue flames. “I want to do that again.”
Proudly Smokescreen said, “The velocity of detonation is over 12,875 hics per nano-klik. The heat can be felt even with heat and fire resistant armor, but they’d be ripped apart by that kind of force anyway.”
Seven sets of optics turned on Springer. “We have to get these!”
“Please?”
“Please please?”
“For the love of the primal source- please?”
“We’ll get on our knees and beg.”
“You know we’ll do it.”
“We have no shame.”
Enjoying the show, Smokescreen felt the need to add, “If you don’t take them, I’ll have to try to pawn them off to the Dynobots and you know as well as I do they’re all about brute strength over firepower. Prime and Magnu will have my skidplate if they found out I was handling these at all.”
“PLEEEEAAASE?”
Springer waved away the mass bumble-puppy expressions. “Alright, alright!” Not like he was going to say no to begin with. Except now that he knew just how badly the Wreckers wanted it Springer could practically see Smokescreen mentally calculating how high he could jack the price. “Get the rest of the cargo inside while I finalize the purchase.” But he couldn’t help grinning at the loud ‘WHOO!’ that got. He glanced at the still burning mess, bits of the cannon puddling on the ground. He couldn’t keep his own engine from purring at the sight. That baby stroked him in all the right ways.
Note: So, canonically speaking, Topspin was never mentioned as being a medic or having medical skills. But as he was the one shown diagnosing and later watching over Afterburner and Nosecone during their stint with radiation poisoning in Stormbringer I'm going out on a limb. Creative interpretation and whatnot.
13. Caring Wreckers
“It is not enough to help the feeble up, but to support him after.”
-William Shakespeare
Being giant, non-biological beings it’s a fairly difficult thing to get a Transformer sick. Not impossible and not always life threatening, but nonetheless difficult. So when the Wreckers were sent to traipse around in some backwater boonies of a planet all they worried enough to check was the radiation level, magnetic field, temperature and moisture level, geared themselves accordingly and- as their battle cry said –wrecked and ruled. The Decepticons launched a counter attack that included hitting them with a chemical corrosive. Not an intense amount of damage was had and the worst of the wounded was Topspin that got the corrosive full-force in the midsection, but he could still walk (limp) under his own power.
And then… things started going not so well. Topspin’s fans were continuously blowing and his engine kept overheating. He began to get dizzy, tired, ached all over and the worst was when Scoop rushed in, yelling that Topspin purged and passed out in the hall.
Though Topspin was the closest thing they had to an actual all of the Wreckers had more than passing knowledge of first aid and basic medicine. They laid Topspin out in their tiny medbay and drew a vial of fluid from his fuel, analyzed the sample and sent the data to Preceptor. Springer doubted this was caused by the Decepticon’s stint with chemical warfare as no one else had any adverse reaction to it, but he wasn’t taking any chances in inadvertently spreading anything.
“It seems,” Preceptor told them (was translated as telling them), “that when Topspin was hit by this corrosive, it opened a deep wound in his side, correct? I believe the organics of the swamp seeped into his internals and all the bacteria contaminated his fuel.”
The Wreckers considered this thoughtfully. “So you’re saying,” Sandstorm said slowly, “that Topspin is just suffering from… what, fuel poisoning?”
“That is one way to put it. But since it has traversed into his main fuel line, it’s widespread and will take some time for his internal repairs to purge and purify the bacteria. My tests has not shown any dangers with just letting this run its course.” He smiled patiently at the strike force. “All he really needs is rest and antibiotics. If he gets worse, I suggest you bring him to me so I can do a more thorough diagnosis.”
Springer nodded. “Understood. Thanks.”
Of course when Topspin heard he called it- to use the Earthian term –bullshit. Never mind the fact that his optic visor was faded and he was hot to the touch. “’M not sick and I don’t need rest.”
Springer lifted an unconvinced optic ridge, standing over the prone ‘bot in the medbay. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I have no problems keeping you here for the next mega-cycle.”
Topspin propped himself up on his elbows and forced himself not to wince. “You’re not a medical officer. You can’t put me in quarantine.”
“No, but I am your superior and I can have you confined to quarters.” Topspin frowned, swaying a little though his sight swam too much for him to notice. Springer did, though. “Or we could swing by Earth and get a second opinion from Ratchet. I don’t mind.”
The remaining color in Topspin’s visor drained out. “You wouldn’t! You know what he’d do if-“ he slapped a hand over his mouth component and nearly fell on his face trying to get out of the berth. Hands gripped the blue and white and Springer practically carried him to a receptacle just in time for him to purge.
“Yeah,” he absently rubbed little circles at the base of Topspin’s neck as his shoulders heaved, “I’m not convinced on your health.”
“Hrrrgk.”
“If bed rest is the fastest way for you to recover, I am not above strapping you to your berth and posting a watch on you. You’re not a member we can easily replace, you know.”
“Bet you say that to all the purging mechs,” came the mumbled reply.
“No, really. Insane guys with an affinity for explosions are every where if you look hard enough. But a medic that willingly rips off a Decepticon’s leg with his own hands and attaches it to his buddy to stave off fluid loss is surprisingly harder to come by.”
Topspin scoffed, pushing away from the receptacle and Springer could hear an edge of a smile in his vocalizer. “Was only once.”
“And Twist is still thankful for it.” He patted Topspin’s shoulder and helped him back into the berth. “Rest up. Whirl said he’s going to stop by after his shift in case you need anything.”
“Hn.” He stretched out and tentatively put an arm across his visor. “Right.” Terrible though he felt, it was nice to know the others cared.
14. On Their Knees Wreckers
“No one makes a fool of me / Without receiving retribution / No one hurts me and goes free”
-Red Delicious, “Bring You Down”
They didn’t know how this happened- it… it was impossible. And yet there was Roadbuster, hands bound behind his back, on his knees, head pressed into the ground by a foot against the column of his neck. Octane grinned despite the myriad of weapons pointed at him because not one of those triggers was covered with a finger. Not so long as he had his own weapon pressed against Roadbuster’s helmet.
“When I said ‘lower your weapons’,” he drawled pleasantly, “it wasn’t a suggestion.”
“Drop your weapon and back the slag off,” Springer hissed in return, “before we turn you into dust.” His finger twitched but didn’t move to the trigger. That made Octane grin wider.
“No. In fact, I believe it’s going to go this way. You will drop your weapons and you will leave this planet and you will let us go about sieging to our spark’s content. Or,” he reached across the width of his body to raise the level of his rifle. It sang a high, destructive note. “Your buddy here is going to be one head shorter.” Under his foot Roadbuster shifted and Octane dug his heel harder into the column of his neck. Roadbuster grunted and that made the other Wreckers seethe.
“Don’t do it, Springer.” Roadbuster hissed, visor flashing slightly as Octane’s foot twisted painfully against him. “Don’t you dare.”
For a long moment no one moved. And then Octane hooked his finger over the trigger pointedly. Sandstorm shifted a little closer to his leader. “Orders?”
He stayed silent, weapon still trained on the Decepticon but his optics flickered to Roadbuster. He shifted higher on his knees, but otherwise did nothing. Jaw clenched tight, Springer powered down his weapon and tossed it to the ground. His team looked at him, partly shocked, before they followed suit. Octane grinned hard and dark.
“Now- get your hands in the air.” Glaring venom, they did as they were told. Springer- the last to comply –sighed heavily and lifted his hands-
His arm blaster fired, nearly catching Octane in the knee. The Decepticon cursed, backpedaling and raising his weapon to the green triplechanger-
A hand gripped Octane’s head and slammed him into the ground. His optics went wide as Roadbuster glowered at him in fury- the shackles on his wrists severed by the shot –and his murderous growl made Octane’s fuel pump shudder and freeze.
“No one forces a Wrecker to his knees.”
