transformersrelay

[transformersrelay]

Mace ropes Weathervane and Shrapnel into a drinking contest, because what better way to befriend his quiet crewmates than with a challenge! He didn’t expect the idealogical crises, though.

“Hey guys!” Mace made entrances, Weathervane had learned. The drone practically burst into the hangar, abandoned by all but the newest recruit and their second-in-command. Shrapnel had been assigned to show him the specifics of the controls first thing, in case there was ever an emergency.

   But Mace didn’t seem to notice or care that they were in the middle of something. Mace slammed his servos on the panel in front of him, making just one of the other two planes jump.

   “I bet you both I can hold the most hi-grade!”

   Weathervane blinked. Shrapnel scoffed.

   “You try this every time, Mace.”

   “Besides, we’re all flyers, so it’s not like you have an advantage? And… you’re the smallest.” The biplane gave a skeptical frown.

   “Oooh newbie~ Prove it,” Mace smirked.

   “For the love of Primus...” the SIC muttered.

   “Uh, but...Why? Would we?”

   “Because! It’ll be fun!”

   Shrapnel and Weathervane exchanged glances.

   “C’mon! Fun?”

   Weathervane laughed nervously. Shrapnel stared.

   “Ugh, fine. I’ll bet you both my entire personal unit stash.”

   That was how the two had found themselves allowing him to drag them along, down to the mess hall. Shrapnel went to fetch the stash of hi-grade he kept stocked; Mace had teased that it was so well maintained precisely for times like this, but the triple-changer had neither confirmed nor denied. The rec room was empty, which served Mace’s plans wonderfully, because his fellow flyers were far too proud to have fun in front of other bots. Primus forbid anyone know they weren’t completely devoid of positive attitudes!

   They sat down with their stack, and each took one cube to start. The larger two swirled theirs hesitantly: Shrapnel out of disinterest and Weathervane looking like he thought his would bite him. Oh, this would be like taking Energon treats from sparklings! Mace, with a wicked grin, slammed his down without warning, sticking his tongue out with his empty cube on display. That earned him a couple of competitive frowns.

   “Well? I’m winning so far!”

   “We just started-- don’t reach for another. Primus,” Shrapnel grumbled, drinking his own just as quickly. “Your big mouth is cheating!” and moving to keep pace. Mace was already mostly through with his second.

   “Weathervane, are you trying to be slow?”

   “No,” he snapped defensively, trying to take a big gulp and not making much progress. “Shut up, Mace, you’re so going down.” He tried to drink more and scowled.

   “Don’t tell me you don’t like hi-grade,” Shrapnel said.

   “I do! I’m just not used to it, okay?”

   “Should’ve been built a Seeker frame,” Mace teased.

   “Oh, well gee, thanks Mace, I’d never considered that,” he huffed, forcing the contents of his drink down with finality. “Hand me another damn cube.”

   Mace happily did so, grabbing himself another too. Shrapnel was keeping up, at least.

   “Don’t you do this with Bumper all day instead of making yourself useful?” Shrapnel mused, clearly not ready to leave Weathervane alone. “I’d think you an expert solely by keeping his company.”

   “Not more than one, when we do,” he said. “Not like I’m going to get myself tipsy on the clock.”

   “He certainly would,” the triple-changer said.

   “Well, I’m not him. Don’t expect it to be a habit, anyways. I’ve only joined him once or twice.”

   Mace gasped. “Do you like him?”

   “Uh, I guess? I mean, I think we could be friends.”

   “No, no, no, like like.”

   “... What?”

   “He’s asking if you have romantic interest.”

   “Oh, what? No! Why would you assume that?”

   “Awww, too bad, you guys would be cute.”

   Weathervane grimaced. “I’m going to need this hi-grade after all.”

   An awkward silence settled. Granted, not for Mace, not ever, and Shrapnel was far too self-assured to let it bother him. So really it was awkward for Weathervane and Weathervane alone.  He worried his lip with fang-like teeth. Not that it was anything new, but he felt intensely out of place with the two Autobots. He found himself fretting privately about how he let himself get roped into this situation and what they might be thinking and if they--

   “Okay, okay, you’re like, three drinks behind. C’mon, Weathervane,” Mace set his cube aside and pushed an armful of them in front of the other plane. “We’ll wait!”

   Shrapnel nodded solemnly from his seat. The biplane blinked at them, a twinge of relief at the silence being broken despite the newest pressures placed so unceremoniously upon him, now. He sighed, looking as terribly put-upon as possible. But he did as asked. He wanted those units, after all.

   The smallest of them snickered, not missing the slight sloppiness in his movements. “Are you getting affected already?”

   “Shut up, Mace,” he snapped. “Why are you so eager to win, anyways? You won’t get anything out of it. Can’t give yourself your own units.”

   “I can, too!”

   “Bragging rights,” Shrapnel said.

   “Oh, yeah. That, too. I told you both I could hold more than you!” He pointed dramatically ahead, as if striking a pose.

   “You’ve hardly won, yet.”

   “Ah,” Weathervane muttered.

   While the empty air still bothered the newest Autobot, he had a task to complete now: drinking with whatever fervor he could muster. So really, it didn’t occur to him that he ought to be feeling awkward again. Shrapnel had seemed to settle on looking and acting bored, perhaps spacing out. Mace, for his part, was watching Weathervane with a twitchy excitement, and had the biplane not been so focused, it would have been making him far more uncomfortable than he already was. The uninitiated may have seen the drone’s energy as a side-effect of the hi-grade, a few weeks ago, but he knew better by now. It was just his constant state of being. The mechsimply  had no off-switch.

   “Hurrrryyyyyy,” Mace whined.

   “I’m doing the best I-- listen, you’re going to stress me out and then I’m just going to… to choke or something.”

   “You’re lllllllame.”

   “Stop! I didn’t ask for your opinion!”

   Shrapnel sighed deeply and grabbed another cube, despite what Mace had said. This was not his ideal company for drinking.

   “Ah, but you like drama like this, don’t you, Weathervane?”

   He cocked his head. That had been a sharp turn, hadn’t it. Mace was a difficult conversation.

   “Depends,” he answered carefully.

   “Hey! Who do you think is the strongest Autobot here? I think it’s Echo because of his guns, but he probably has weaknesses I didn’t even think about!”

   “Plenty,” Shrapnel said blankly. Weathervane wondered if the drinks had invigorated their usually stoic and silent Second to say so much. Though, speaking ill of the captain had never required him to be drunk before, so in the end, he still couldn’t tell. This was all so stupid, petty, impotent. Yet a hot flash of anger bolted through Weathervane’s chest at those stupid words.

   “That’s the problem with your hero complexes,” he growled, before his brain could catch up with him. “You think being strong is a good thing. It’s not. It makes you incapable of empathizing with the targets of that strength.”

   “...What?”

   He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry. “Oh. S-sorry, that… wasn’t what you wanted.”

   “The hi-grade is getting to you,” the largest mech surmised.

   “Says you.” Weathervane sat back upright, trying his best to appear collected and sober. His bashfulness forgotten, his claws curled against the tabletop and he grabbed another cube defiantly. “I won’t give up. You’ll have to kill me.”

   The triple changer only looked at him in response.

   “Hey, Shrap.”

   “Don’t call me that.”

   “Since you’re second-in-command, do you know any cool Autobot secrets?” Mace leaned in, eyes surely sparkling. The other mech didn’t bother turning to him, because really, it was a stupid question, and Mace only ever wanted light, fluffy responses, anyways.

   “As I’ve said before, if I did, why would I tell you?”

   “Ahh, you’re no funnn,” he whined.

   The biplane tuned in silently with a shift of optics. They’d had this conversation before, had they?

   “I’m actually kinda curious, now,” he said, eyebrows arched up, body leaned in, expression plainly interested. Normally, Shrapnel wouldn’t notice how it suited him.

   “That is unfortunate.” He sipped his drink. They’d amassed a decent pile of empty cubes by then.

   “Surely there’s something interesting,” Weathervane pushed.

   “What do you want from me? The terminal passwords?” Shrapnel didn’t budge.

   “Well, I certainly… wouldn’t complain.”

   “I’m sure. You would use it to download alien music or something, wouldn’t you?”

   “W-- would I? Do I strike you as a musical person?”

   “Well, you were telling Bumper all about alien instruments the other day,” Mace added, leaning his head in his hand. Clearly, he thought there was something to say about the two, judging by the teasing look on his face. Jumping to conclusions, as he often did.

   “That’s because he asked,” the biplane argued.

   “That’s not the point,” Shrapnel said, tapping a finger on the table. “The fact that you knew any of that means you must have studied it.”

   “I read one book on it,” he said, looking far more affronted than necessary. “It was just for the one planet, too. It’s just because the history of different tools and how each civilization created them is interesting. It’s how you fill the time. What are you going to do otherwise, walk down the hall? Or-- or sit and stare into space? So that then, when you think back to that moment, you’ll think, ‘oh, why didn’t I do something with that time? Now I just have memories of staring at a wall.’ But instead, I have memories of learning the conceptualization and evolution of a viola and how to use it and what each string sounds like. Even if you never use that knowledge, it’s stimulating and new and worth learning because at the very least, it’s better than nothing”

   The other two, for the first time that night, turned to each other.

   “I’m lost,” said Mace.

   “He is much more talkative now, isn’t he?” Shrapnel almost sounded teasing.

   “You asked! Don’t complain when you asked me!”

   In his defense, he wasn’t completely sober, himself, but Shrapnel felt himself intrigued that Weathervane would ramble in such a way. It almost felt like some secret he was bearing witness to. The newbie could speak more than two sentences, who knew?

   “What kind of frame are you, anyways, Weathervane?” Mace jumped without warning to a new subject again.

   “Hm? Why does it matter?”

   “Well you’re probably not a Seeker like me, and you’re definitely not like Shrap. Are you Vosian?”

   “Of course I’m Vosian, I’m just made for mining.”

   “That explains the weapons,” Shrapnel said.

   “Aw man, I wonder if we ever met before, then? Since we’re all Vosian!”

   He almost seemed to snarl. “Not a chance. You upper castes wouldn’t even know where to find the mines.”

   “No, I mean like, out in the skies!”

   “Military is hardly that upper,” Shrapnel added.

   “Aren’t you Seekers super regulated on where you can and can’t go? We certainly were. We were expected to live in the mines working forever, so those damn upper castes didn’t have to do any work.”

   “If you didn’t do the work, someone else would have had to,” Shrapnel said.

   “Ohh, well now that you say that I feel so much better, Shrapnel. Even if we were never built and others took our place wouldn’t make it any more just. To say that ignores a perfectly viable third option, wherein energon miners regardless of construction are treated fairly, given freedom and compensation for their time. I know the politicians and scientists get those things. Why only them?”

   “Politicians and scientists have more to offer. Even a Disposable could pick up a tool and dig up some crystals. Those who present a unique contribution to society don’t have to justify their existence. The rest do.”

   “Is that really what you believe? That the system was functional?” Weathervane’s expression darkened. The larger mech huffed.

   “No system is perfect. And of course, only the lowest castes complained, rather than accepting their role. They should’ve been proud. They were crucial to the balance, afterall.”

       At that, Weathervane’s eyes sparked like fire.

   “Well, I think the revolution was inevitable. I think the people at the top got what was coming to them. They deserved it for being ignorant-- for being okay with how things were.”

   “Uhh, I’m not really sure what’s going on right now,” Mace interjected nervously. “Isn’t that something a... Decepticon would say?”

   “You would know.”

   Mace started like he’d been burned.

   “More like something I’d have heard in a neutral camp,” Shrapnel said.

   “You... raided?” Weathervane tensed.

   “No, idiot, I lived in one.”

   “O-oh. Oh.” He tilted his head, seemed to get dizzy for a moment. “That sounds nice.”

   “It wasn’t.”

   “A-anyway, naturally the energon drought pushed everyone to get more aggressive in obtaining it. And neutrals, generally, aren’t so aggressive. But isn’t that simply fair, by your philosophy? That those who won’t contribute aren’t worthy of basic rights?”

   “My philosophy is that those who don’t work as hard shouldn’t expect the same benefits as those who do. That is not a denial of basic rights, it’s a rejection of the weakest link. Besides, now we’re discussing the entirely different issue of idealism, which is pointless now even with your best arguments.”

   Mace looked between the two with a nervous smile. All of this was going way over his head.

---

   “Where the hell is Shrapnel...” Echo hissed, to no one in particular. His second-in-command was supposed to be helping set the scanners and it was hours past when they’d started. Most of the crew was resting by now, and Echo wanted to do nothing more than follow suit and take his mind off this tedious piece of scrap, Shrapnel be damned.

   “Dunno, Cap’n,” Bumper said, looking up from where he’d been helping in the triple-changer’s stead. “Y’don’t think he actually went off with Mace all this time, after all?”

   Bumper had noted when he’d approached Echo earlier that he’d seen the two with Weathervane, but he didn’t expect they’d have been getting along. Even if, by some miracle, Weathervane had gotten on the SIC’s good side, he sincerely doubted that would be enough to make him spend quality time with the drone.

   Echo stewed for a few moments.

   “At this point, I don’t care where he is or what his excuse might be. He can’t just skip out on jobs, now. Meetings was one thing, but this-- He’s going to finish this by himself,” he stalked off, his direction being the only indication he’d actually heard Bumper at all.

   Bumper frowned at the unfinished job, but shrugged and followed after, anyways. Where to look for them, that was the big question. The three Autobot flyers didn’t have many interests in common, from what he knew. Assuming Shrapnel was still with them, what could they possibly be doing?

   ---

   “What you’re proposing is mass suicide, you understand that,” Shrapnel was saying. He sounded slightly off. Too relaxed, and not-angry.

   Echo stood in the doorway, watching the scene before him, somewhere between furious and downright incredulous. There sat the unlikeliest of trios, a notable stack of empty cubes between them (Bumper made a distressed noise from behind him.) Mace seemed perfectly normal, but the same could not be said for the other two.

   “This trajectory is just going to end with all us dead anyways,” Weathervane was arguing. He was clearly inebriated, his words unsteady and his optics burning brighter than they should. A passion-- something Echo hadn’t seen from him yet-- clouded his expression. “We should at least be able to die trying to fix this Primus-forsaken hellhole we’ve made.”

   “We’re doing that. It is called surviving.”

   “No, by… Ugh. I just want to save a shred of morality for myself. That would be so nice…”

   “Are you always so depressing when you’re drunk?”

   “Okay,” Echo interjected sharply, and only the biplane jumped, “What the hell is going on here? Explain, Shrapnel.”

   “Competition. Whoever lasts the longest gets all of Mace’s units.”

   “And I’m winning!”

   “That sure ain’t healthy…” Bumper murmured, eyeing the aforementioned stack of empty cubes. “You even leave any for the rest o’ us?” He seemed a little downtrodden at the thought of the supply being low. Weathervane seemed to draw back, at that. He looked way more guilty than he needed to be.

   “It was my idea, Captain! Don’t get mad at Shrapnel! Besides, we still have a lot of hi-grade left, it’s not that big of a deal!” Mace beamed.

   “That’s not what I’m mad about, Mace,” Echo said curtly, “But thank you for confessing, we will discuss that later.”

   “I’m not very pleased about it,” Bumper added. “But, uh,” he turned back to the biplane, who looked upset- and more than a little frightened. If he was a paranoid drunk, this situation was only going to exacerbate his condition. He could practically see the steam coming off of Echo.  “We should take care o’ you, first, buddy. You’re not going to get back to your quarters in that state.”

   “Who won…?” His voice was oddly hollow, for the question. Though all things considered, it made sense that he wouldn’t make sense.

   “Clearly Mace did,” Echo said.

   “What?!” Shrapnel exclaimed.

   “Ahh, risk not reward, hmm,” Weathervane seemed to grow sad.

   “Woohoo! Told you guys! I was right!”

   Shrapnel drew his shoulders up, as if to argue, but was cut off.

   “Clearly you’re even more of a joy than usual, Shrapnel. You’re not acting like yourself, and you missed tonight’s job.”

   “What of it, Echo,” he turned slowly back to the Captain. “It got done without me.”

   “No, it didn’t.”

   “Uh, well I’m gonna help Vane here back, but I’ll come back help with the rest o’ that, after,” Bumper interrupted. He’d already slung one of the other’s arms around his shoulders and supported his heavy leaning. Weathervane seemed to be getting more nervous.

   “Thank you, Bumper.” Echo didn’t look at him as he effectively dismissed him, focused on Shrapnel. He regarded him silently. Shrapnel stared back. “... We’ll discuss this when you can think straight.”

   “Can you say you deserve to be alive?” Weathervane blurted, turning around at the door to figure out where Shrapnel was and nearly knocking both himself and Bumper over in the process.

   “... Weathervane?”

   “What do you mean?” The largest mech tilted his head.

   “You… your arguments fall apart if you can’t tell me, guilt-free, that you deserve to be alive more than everyone who’s ever died,” he managed. “You’re wrong.”

   His intensity was tangible. A momentary hush fell over the room, as if they’d all been blindsided by his words. Echo had to admit he was... surprised, his spark both twisted and impressed by the biplane’s sentiment. Perhaps his first impression of Weathervane had been… wrong.

   “You’re naive,” Shrapnel answered, unaffected, voice still cold and precise. “Everyone who has offlined has made their sacrifice. They weren’t strong enough to survive, and their deaths decided their worth.”

   Weathervane’s mouth clicked shut. He glared, unfocused, for a silent few moments. An insurmountable rage seemed to flare up in the spare moments. Shrapnel scoffed, had to have one last remark.

   “This is a war you’re in. Not everyone matters.”

   The other’s silence grew angrier, he almost seemed to regain a focus, something sharp and cutting he’d never displayed before. In moments he deflated, suddenly looking defeated and burdened.

   “C’mon buddy,” Bumper interrupted gently. “Let it be.” The flyer was already too distraught for him to allow it to get worse. And Shrapnel was gasoline to a flame. The grounder coaxed him forward on wobbling legs and managed them both out of the room towards the suites.

   The captain and his second-in-command watched them go in silence; a silence that even Mace respected, clearly uncomfortable as he was.

   “You’re a fucking idiot,” Echo finally spat, turning on the largest mech. “You should be ashamed of your conduct.”

   “I’m not.”

   “I fucking know you’re not. Get to your quarters and rust for all I care. I want you on deck at cycle break and you are fixing the Primus-forsaken scanners on your own. If you’re not there, I’m throwing you out of the airlock myself.”

   The triple changer didn’t immediately move, challenging the optics glaring at him. Echo was only intimidating if one believed him, afterall. Nonetheless, the captain’s words impacted him enough to slowly stand. He didn’t sway like Weathervane had, but his steps were uncertain all the same, leaving behind Echo and Mace without another word.  Echo wished he believed there was some regret in his silence. But he wasn’t that stupid.

   “Soooooo I guess I’ll just--” Mace was slinking out of his chair.

   “Clean up this mess? I agree.”

   The drone’s wings drooped and his mouth opened to protest, but after a moment, he thought better of it. He began collecting the empty cubes scattered on the floor, the containers quietly clinking together the only noise until the little mech started humming to his work.

   “So, uh, Captain? I--”

   “Mace, you still have the courtesy of my patience, but it’s thin.”

   The drone looked wounded, but got the hint.

   Echo left after the first two armfuls were disposed of, confident that the work would be done without issue. Mace was a chatterbox, but he pulled his weight, if nothing else.

   He went back to the main deck, staring absently at the mess laid out on the panels, and spent the rest of the cycle awake.

---

   “You gonna be okay?”

   Weathervane nodded groggily. It seemed that the crash had hit him hard now that the challenge factor had been removed. Bumper chuckled, in both humor and relief, “Well, good. An’ I hope you learned somethin’ tonight. If Mace challenges you, it’s prolly ‘cause he knows he can win.” He chuckled to himself. The flyer graced him with a little smirk at that, if tinged with what he could only assume was disappointment, optics darkened and losing focus quickly.

   The purple mech stayed just long enough to make sure the newbie was settled, already in hi-grade induced recharge by the time he left the hab suite, and made his way back to the rec room as he’d promised.  Mace was still picking up; and by Primus there were a lot of cubes. He didn’t seem particularly upset by how things had ended, but he was alone all the same.

   “Need help?”

   The drone perked up immediately, spinning on his heel with an arm full of cubes.

   “Phew, absolutely! I was getting lonely!” The grounder smiled-- it was hard to stay mad at the tiny crewmate-- before grabbing an armful himself. It was tempting, but it was too late in the cycle to have some himself. He was almost hurt he hadn’t been invited.

   “So… What’d you start this whole mess for, anyway?” He prodded, dumping out his armful into the receptacle against the counter, “Weathervane, sure, but Shrap? You had t’ know that’d be bad news.”

   Mace almost looked hurt by his wording, but seemed to brush over it just as quickly.

   “Well, I really did just think it’d be fun. Flyers have to stick together, you know. Besides, those two are so wound up all the time. They’re gonna get stuck that way!”

   Bumper laughed at that. “Guess so. Just might not be somethin’ worth messin’ with. Yer gonna end up on Echo’s scrap-list.”

   “Yea, maybe not. But hey, I tried! Never say I didn’t try!

   “... I did win, though.”

[transformersrelay]

Weathervane is the newest member of the Bisector family, but first he needs the grand tour!

When Radius and Mace stepped from the ship out onto the planet’s surface, a slim, yet clunky biplane was on the stretch of landing across them, still steadying himself from the gust of air accompanying their landing. The Bisector was a ship of impressive scale, to be certain. It sloped distinctly at its bow, the arching figure imposing in itself, even from the inside. By the way he hadn’t even glanced their way in favor of staring up at it, it seemed their new recruit had been taken off-guard.

Radius huffed a laugh, already fond of the blatant awe and nerves playing across this mech’s face. Mace, the miniscule drone of a bot (so small as to often be mistaken as a minibot,) waved one clawed servo excitedly, hopping into a run over to greet him. He’d been telling Radius earlier all about how excited he was to be having another flier on board, and it was a little infectious, he’d admit. He sauntered on after.

“Hello! Hello! It’s so nice to meet you!” Mace grabbed one of the biplane’s wire-thin servos in both of his, which cause the other to flinch away subtly. “My designation is Mace, it’s super cool to meet another Autobot flier! And with a very fashionable color, as well, I might add!”

The newcomer glanced down at his orange-heavy paint, then Mace’s, and blinked. The poor thing seemed a little overwhelmed. Radius laughed good-naturedly. He picked Mace up and set him on one of his massive shoulders, before turning back and smiling.

“I’m Radius. You’re Weathervane, right?”

He, Weathervane, stopped frowning nervously at Mace to meet Radius’ warm blue visor.

“Y-yeah, that’s right,” he said softly, an attempt at a little return of the smile gracing is face. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for taking me aboard.”

“No problem!” Mace said, his wings fluttering pointlessly as he spoke, (apparently mildly confusing the biplane,) “You made the right choice requesting us, ‘cuz we’re the best ship around, it’s true!” He punctuated his declaration with a pose from atop Radius’ shoulder, prompting him to chuckle.

“Alright, alright, let’s not take too long getting back in. That Captain of mine won’t be too happy.” He gestured for Weathervane to follow as he lumbered towards the ship. “We’ll give you the grand tour once we’re back up, too, so don’t worry about finding your way around.”

Weathervane hurried to follow. Radius was a Wrecker-- that would be clear to anyone. Heavy armor sat on his shoulders, towering far above Weathervane’s helm, pedes making the ship protest with every step he took aboard. He cradled obvious scars, but his smile was a constant.  

As they boarded the loading bay, looming bay doors shuttering closed behind them, Radius glanced back to see the biplane once again taking in the impressive scale of his surroundings. As he looked around, his focus seemed to settle on the one ship docked within, taking only a third of the space. He turned fully towards him and both he and Mace threw out their hands with excitement.

“Welcome aboard!” He chimed, almost too cheerfully, the smile on his lips somehow evident in the visor over his optics, “Now you’re officially part of the Bisector!”

“Ah, yes, I… am. Thank you?” His long wings fluttered anxiously as the ship rumbled, beginning to lift off.

“Haha, Primus, you have manners. Echo’ll be thrilled,” Mace’s blue visor beamed, vibrated with energy and mischief, very much like his voice did. Weathervane didn’t look thrilled.

“Don’t mind him,” Radius teased, “he’s simply full of friendly things to say.”

“Who would mind, that Radius? Don’t be silly.” the tiny flier replied, crossing his arms triumphantly.

“Anyway, it’ll be my job to show ya ‘round the place. We don’t want you getting lost on your first day.”

Weathervane simply nodded slowly. He didn’t want that either.

--

Weathervane was led through hallway after bright hallway. The ship seemed to have no shortage of power, which was somewhat impressive in its own right. That wasn’t something that was common, anymore, what with their vast resources all but a hollow memory now. There was general wear and tear to every surface, dings and scratches and the odd spot of random-planet dirt along the walls or floor plating, but the place was almost too normal to be an active warship. Almost like it had just come off the bays of Cybertron a cycle prior, rather than centuries.

“So, we’re a pretty average sized crew. We’ve got folks from Paradron to Dahros, so don’t worry,” Radius smiled lazily as they walked, “We’re all a little out of our zone, here. Luckily, there’s plenty of room here for all of us, and everything runs pretty smoothly. The Bisector’s a class-A warship--”

“From Optimus himself!” Mace interrupted, sounding like he’d just spilled their most precious secret, though Weathervane did perk slightly. Out of curiosity on how that happened, Radius assumed.

“--and she’s gotten us around more than well enough, with plenty to spare.” Weathervane didn’t add anything immediately, resigning to a distinct interest in the ship, now that its praises had been sung. Radius didn’t blame him, it was a lot to take in at once.

“Plus she’s just so full of charm!” Mace chattered. “Although considering TD, I don’t think she feels the same way about us, you know? I wonder why! Also, more orange paint, nothing better am I right?”

“I take offense,” Radius teased.

“Well, I can make exceptions. You lose points for being blue and not a flyer, but you still have a very high overall score!”

“That sure is reassuring. I was worried you’d moved on to better things and forgotten all about me.”

Mace gasped with fervor. “Never! I would never do that!”

Weathervane murmured some question, but Radius didn’t catch it, instead laughing at his companion’s dramatised distress. And off they went, chatting amongst themselves, forgetting their new company for the moment. He followed along silently nonetheless.

Radius considered himself an incurable optimist, which he knew didn’t mesh well with everyone. Weathervane didn’t strike him as all sunshine, so he tried to tone back his usual enthusiasm, if for no other reason than to make his transition easier.

Mace, on the other servo, was a chatterbox. A chatterbox who didn’t pick up cues-- ever, really. His antenna clacked constantly as he talked--which meant that they clacked a lot. He had it on good authority that the way his wings bobbed incessantly as some form of fidgeting also confused other fliers (or in his “good authority”’s case-- that being the only other flier on the ship-- it was incredibly frustrating.) He prattled on in his absurdly energetic tone about every room they passed on their way to the main deck.

“This one is the hangar, obviously!” Okay. “These are the suites, rec room, energon storage-” Uh-huh. “Armory, storage closet, ventilation shafts, staff exit-”. Got it. And the Wrecker just passively encouraged him as they went. He did start to worry that Mace’s breakneck-speed introductions were beginning to stress Weathervane out, though. He seemed like the type to get stressed. Radius supposed, thinking fondly of his sparkmate, that he would know. So he kept an eye out, but nothing came of it.

There was no mistake to be made, the Bisector was stocked impressively. They clearly weren’t wealthy in resources, but the armory was fully loaded with some of the highest-end weaponry in the cosmos. The hangar was large enough for at least 3 cruisers-- one of which already present in the bay. Weathervane gave it special attention, perhaps wondering if it was an emergency escape, or if it belonged to anyone on board. Energon was in fair supply, Radius informed him, or at least rationed very responsibly, and the hab suites were big enough for 4 average mechs.

The rec room sat at the very end of the hallway, and wound down the inner edge of the ship, a large, curved room lined with windows that peered out into the inky abyss of space. The guides spoke of this particular area fondly, their hub for gathering and socializing, and it bred a sense of comfort and normalcy.

“Most of us end up in here at the same time at least once a cycle,” Radius mused. “It’s pretty relaxed. The whole crew is pretty easy to get along with.”

And like clockwork, there was a new face. She was small, very small, and stalking down the hallways with purpose. The seering yellow visor flickered over Weathervane so fast- so unfeeling- that Radius could see him suppress the flinch. Only Radius’ booming voice slowed her down, a simple, “Hey, Batt, meet the newbie! This is Weathervane.”

“Battery,” she all but spat back, and despite the visor, very blatantly scanned his entirety in both disinterest and critique. And without another word from any of them, she turned on her heel and sped off on whatever she was doing.  Perhaps the largest mech sensed the biplane’s nerves, so he was the first to speak again.

“She’s uh… Like that with everyone. It’s not personal,” he gave a slight shrug before leading on. “She’ll warm up to you, they always do!” The biplane wasn’t going to bring up the contradiction.

Radius was all too excited to give their newest the rundown on their crew. It wasn’t the first time he’d played welcome party, and this part was always his favorite. They had twin medical chiefs, outlying agents, and specialists on every facet of the ship’s workings, in one way or another. Battery, in all her pleasantries, was in charge of managing and maintaining the armory. “She’s a weapons specialist,” Mace offered, as if he was proud on her behalf.

“That explains a lot,” and Weathervane managed to rouse a laugh out of both of them.

----

From that point on, the crew would come floating by one-by-one. Bumper, an easy-going grounder about Weathervane’s size, meandered into their path shortly after the first encounter with Battery, emerging from the far end of the rec room. He seemed friendly, with a lazy smile and an obnoxious, optic-aching color scheme.

“Bumper’s our ‘inventory manager’,” Radius offered, and Bumper immediately chuckled.

“Ah, that’s what we’re callin’ it now, ey?” He turned to the new recruit, “They give me scrap about ‘loiterin’’ around the high grade, but don’t listen to ‘em, it’s not true.”

Mace sputtered from his perch, “It so is! I’ve seen it with my own two optics! Don’t try and mislead our poor naive recruit, it’s his first day!” Weathervane muttered that he was new to the Bisector, not being an Autobot, and Bumper just waved the drone off. The three bursting into laughter. Their recruit seemed to sulk.

“So, where you from? How’d y’end up here? That last rock was a long ways from anythin’.”

“Vos. Last crew… uh… didn’t make it.”

“... Oh.”

And everyone got quiet for a moment longer than Weathervane was probably comfortable with. Thank Primus that Bumper broke the silence.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. Generic condolences were standard this deep in a war. “Listen, we should meet up for a ‘newbie drink’ when you’re settled in. It’s kinda customary around here.” He smiled. “Helps with the nerves.”  Weathervane watched him for a moment, and his optics seemed to soften, if only slightly. That was almost comforting. Genuine.

“I’d like that,” the new flier simply agreed, and that seemed to lift the heavy mood that had come upon them.

Next to cross their path was Stagger. Mace hung off this poor mech even worse than he did with Radius.  He was hulking, much like his crewmate, and nearly the same height, just with less bulk to his silhouette. He was an almost unnatural, pristine white, and his face rested at a distinct sag. He didn’t look pleased at a new recruit, and was very clearly skeptical of the stalky biplane being introduced to him.

“Nice to have you.” He greeted simply, before turning to Radius. They were a striking pair, with their brilliant red accents and clashing blues and whites.

“Another one?” He’d tried to be subtle, but wasn’t quite out of range. The taller mech just sighed, flashing an apologetic smile, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Try not to worry, Short-Stuff. It’s always a good thing.” Whether Stagger knew better than to believe him or was simply annoyed at the dismissal, Weathervane couldn’t tell based on his glare.

Whatever it was was promptly left behind as his guides moved on. “More ship to show!” Mace chirped, “We’re running a tight schedule and you’re distracting us!” Stagger groaned, but didn’t seem offended as Mace shifted back from Stagger’s shoulders to Radius’, and the group parted to continue their tour.

“‘Another’?” Weathervane repeated, curiosity getting the best of him as they entered the main hub of the ship.

“Ah, don’t mind him,” the Wrecker assured, “Not everyone on board is uh... as inclined to strays as Echo is. It’s just a running joke.”

There was a peculiar, empty space where Mace’s response should have been. Weathervane spared him a glance.

The main deck was as any bridge in any good ship should be. It was huge. It framed the space above and before them so powerfully that even Radius couldn’t help but feel small as it all towered above him.  It was clean-- almost obsessively so-- and brimming with shouts when they arrived.

A behemoth of a mech, all wingspan, turbines, and angry red biolights stood in the center of the bridge, hovering over some holographic diagram projecting from the middle of the room. Pitch black in color, and so high up that his words either vaporized halfway to the ground or shook it entirely. By the look on the new recruit’s face he felt his energon go cold. Their astro class crewmate seemed to have that effect on everyone.  

Somewhere far, far below him was who he was arguing with: a smaller mech glowing an electric shade of blue.

“-risk will outweigh the reward. It’s idiocy, Shrapnel.”

“You can continue to play these things safe! It’s absurd to not use these opportunities!”

“‘Opportunities’ that will easily cost us lives. More than we will ever have to spare. Is that a worthy sacrifice to you?”

“Or what? Taking no chances, making no moves, just waiting to be struck first? It’s not tactically sound judgement to--”

“This is not a discussion of tactics. This is a denial.”

“... Fine! Captain.”

Unceremoniously, the astro class turned, some frustrated sound whirring dangerously through turbines as large as Weathervane himself, and saw himself out. He didn’t acknowledge the small welcome party as he passed, and didn’t offer so much as a nod in his fellow flier’s direction. Weathervane settled, if only a little, paused and frowned. He glanced back at the other mech, smaller than he was, evidently putting it together that this was the Captain. Perhaps he’d assumed it was Shrapnel, Radius thought bemusedly.

He casually continued from where they left off, as if nothing had happened to begin with. Very little on this ship made him feel out of place anymore, not an awkward strut left in him. It seemed Weathervane didn’t have the same luxury.

“You got a minute, Echo?”

The smaller Autobot turned, as if just noticing them himself. “Never,” He replied, almost vacantly, before eyeing the new recruit, “Weathervane, I take it. Captain Echo.”

The addressed nodded. If he seemed to have relaxed any at Shrapnel’s absence, the calm evaporated once more under the piercing, uncomfortable power this bot-- Echo-- exerted by glance alone. Immediately the signs of suppressed anxiety resurfaced.

Thankfully, Echo only focused on him for a fraction of time, though it felt much longer, before coming to a simple, “We’ll discuss your position, shortly. Welcome aboard.” With that, he went back to his control panel and a not-at-all-apologetic excuse of ‘I have work to do.’

Radius hesitated, if only slightly, before turning to usher the recruit out towards the exit on the other side of the main deck. “We’ll show you the medbay and the rest of the quarters, next,” He thought aloud, returned to his same enthusiastic way. As the door opened to let them pass, two sleek black figures strolled past. Their engines purred as they went with their floating gaits and flippant conversation.

They were Velocitronians, clearly, with their flashy, athletic features. They paused as they passed by, throwing warm greetings at the guides and unambiguously sized the newcomer up. The femme with her blazing yellow optics, warm orange stripes and bulky frame, and her partner, all sleek points and neon greens slicing across the black pearled paint. They watched him carefully, curiously, and he pressed his lips to a thin line-- the barest sign he was scrutinizing them in return. Perhaps he just didn’t like the attention. Perhaps he felt challenged. While the two weren’t all pure Velocitronian vanity, some of them definitely was.

“These are Circuitblitz and Calgarydome!” Mace chirped, unprompted as always.

“Pleasure,” The femme-- Circuitblitz-- drawled finally, her lazy accent obvious and thick, “Blitz is fine”. She watched him with unburdened optics sharp, as calculated as steel, and painted orange lips upturned in a vibrant, practiced smile. He managed a soft ‘Weathervane’ in return.

“And I’m Calgarydome,” the other offered energetically, his helm quirked slightly and his smile much more open than hers, “I go by Cal, though! Don’t go forgetting it~”

“I won’t.”

Calgarydome laughed. “Man, you sure are nervous, huh?” He leaned to nudge Weathervane playfully, though the biplane tensed significantly.

“We don’t bite, promise!” Mace giggled from Radius’ shoulder.

“Supposedly.” The Velocitronian shot the drone a taunting look, as if about to start a debate with the little flier. The newbie simply smiled weakly, taking a step back to account for the contact.

“W-well, that’s reassuring.”

“We should be moving on,” Radius finally interjected, interrupting the incoming standoff-- swear to Primus, this always happened. He reached to steady the new recruit, his hand sitting squarely on Weathervane’s shoulder, covering it. “We’re almost done with the tour.”

“Ah, yes. Come on, beau, let’s not harass him,” Blitz purred patiently, mirroring the Wrecker’s hint and reaching to turn her partner back towards the main deck. “We have to report in to the Captain.” Calgarydome groaned.

“Glad to have you two back,” the Wrecker finished as they went their separate ways, and the duo laughed.

“Flattered,” Blitz replied, as the doors closed between them.

“Iii like them!”

“I know you do, Mace.”

“They’re so cool. Do you think they think I’m that cool?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“aHA good! ‘Cause I think I’m pretty close but--”

Weathervane just took a moment to breathe.

--

“This���ll be where your quarters are,” Radius explained, opening a hab suite for the recruit to inspect.

It was near identical to all the others they’d already passed by, two layered berths sat against the far end, a small screen on the closest wall, and even had a small desk, littered with datapads. Lights were built into the upper rim near the ceiling and lit the room a soft, hazy blue. These suites were on the inner edge of the ship, and therefore didn’t have windows like the rooms on the other side, but that was okay. There was plenty of room for a mech his size, clunky wings and all, and that was more than enough.

“Thank you,” He said simply, appreciatively. The Wrecker almost beamed.

“Of course! Nothing like a little slice of home, right?”

“Right.”

--

“And lastly, right down here is the medbay.” Radius stopped as the double doors slid open to let Weathervane in first. He was quickly met by two large bots. They weren’t quite Radius’ size, but still dwarfed the biplane easily. They looked identical in every way except paint, and didn’t have any obvious indicators of vehicle mode-- no wings, no wheels. One looked at him in distant curiosity, while the other--

“OH recruit day was today!?” She gasped, bright yellow optics on him immediately, “I didn’t know it was today!”

“That’s because you don’t keep track of the schedule,” The darker teal one offered humorlessly. The femme shot him a look, but didn’t focus on him.

“Hi! I’m Operandi!” She smiled, bending down slightly so that she was closer to face-to-face with the flier. “That’s my brother, Modus,” she jabbed a finger in the other’s direction, “But don’t mind him. He’s not very friendly--”

“Hey--”

“--But I, for one, am super excited to meet you!” She was obviously quite young, her voice curious and innocent. She didn’t reach to touch him, which was such a welcome change already.

“Weathervane. It’s nice to meet you, too,” he answered with a small smile.

“Welcome to the medbay! Come right in! We hope not to see you often--” she paused, “No offense.” The other twin, Modus, groaned quietly in the background, setting down the datapad in his hands and looking both apologetic and embarrassed. He’d clearly heard that one many times before.

The medical ward was moderately sized, but looked like two different rooms entirely. Half was neat and organized. Datapads were stacked precisely, all the same height, medical supplies in easy reach, labeled in careful, delicate New Cybertronian. The vials were color coded.

The other wasn’t quite sloppy, but was definitely less maintained. Though, this side seemed to have more to do with aftercare and cosmetic fixes than the more surgical, meticulous other half. There were coolant creams with the caps half off and buffers with the cords sloppily wound, pieces of emergency patchmetal and spare pieces in a disorganized pile.

“Well, I hope not to be here often,” Weathervane returned carefully, but Operandi (and Mace) laughed, and so he allowed himself a grin.

“How’re you sparkplugs doing?” Radius asked, seeming content that Weathervane had warmed up to them enough to joke.

“Excellent, Sir.” Modus replied with surprising volume, “We’re finishing our medical evaluations, per Captain Echo’s request.”

“Relax kiddo. Good work.” The Wrecker smiled, and the medic immediately sputtered, murmuring a soft ‘thank you’. “And Peri?”

“She’s also finished with her assessments, Sir, she’s on her way to log them. Barring your information, of course.” He looked at the biplane indicatively.

Weathervane paused at the nod. “...Information?”

“It’s standard medical protocol,” Modus answered. “We log your serial numbers and proto-activation date to narrow down what kind of parts you require. It’s purely to make sure that if you’re injured, we can treat wounds effectively with as little discomfort and incompatibility-shock as possible.”

“...You can do that? How do you find the parts…?”

“Cal and Blitz are experts at tracking down stuff like that,” Radius offered, “They’re amazing once they get talking.” Weathervane found himself curious, but didn’t get the chance to ask after more.

“Hello, kids--Oh! and others!” A femme poked into the medbay along with them, datapads in her servos. Bumper wasn’t far behind her, sipping absently at a cube and giving Weathervane a lazy smile that was quickly returned.  

“Weathervane, Perimeter. Perimeter, Weathervane. Peri, this is the new guy,” Radius introduced, gesturing between the two.

“Phew! I think that’s finally all of them, Rad!” Mace sighed, as if he were so exhausted by their endeavors, before looking down at the biplane from his perch, “That’s officially it, bud! You’re fully educated!”

“Well, aside from the guys who aren’t aboard,” Radius said.

Weathervane didn’t pay Mace much mind, which just prompted more indignant squawking from the drone. Operandi laughed openly at him and Bumper seemed bemused.While Radius’ comment interested him, the new bot held the biplane’s attention, as always. He simply disliked being in the dark about someone, especially when he would be working with them for quite a while. Call him a people person.

“Very nice to meet you, Weathervane!” Perimeter’s pale faceplate was calm and open, reaching to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he replied, suddenly relieved to not have to repeat the phrase anymore. For a moment, he found the sentiment in himself funny. He took her servo tentatively. She had a firm grip for such a small thing.

“I’m sorry that I can’t stay for now, but I’m sure we’ll be able to talk much more in depth soon! I’ll be sure to ask Echo to excuse you for your evaluation as soon as possible.”

“Evaluation?”

“Ah, yes. I’m a psychologist, so it’s part of the medical analysis process to chat with you upon your introduction to the crew.” His optics tightened. “Which is to say that I look forward to knowing you better!”

He nodded stiffly, but if she noticed she didn’t mention it. He’d been dealing with Radius and Mace all cycle, afterall. Surely he looked tired.

She handed off a stack of her notes to Modus, appreciative of his willingness to rewrite them into the ship’s logs by hand, and doted on Operandi for a brief moment before excusing herself. She spared him a quick smile as she went, eyes suddenly trained so firmly to him that he almost flinched--as if she was looking right through him. Weathervane had the impression she was perceptive. Smart, more so than she let on. He frowned.

“So, where are you from?” The mech twin suddenly turned to Weathervane, snapping him from his thoughts.

“Oh, uh. Vos.” He said. Modus had a datapad back in hand, he noticed, already writing things down.

“And how old--”

“Oh, Vos!” Operandi interrupted, “That’s one of the big cities, right? On Cybertron!”

“Y-yes, it is?” Weathervane frowned, confused. Why ask such an obvious question, unless-- ah, unless, of course, they’d never been on Cybertron. Oh, they were very young, weren’t they.

“I heard it was super tall, since all the fliers lived there!” She was saying, enthused.

“What was it like, living there… if you don’t mind?” Her twin asked.

Weathervane tipped his head, considering. “That’s a lot to cover, if you haven’t even seen the place.”

“I would hope!” She smiled brightly at him. There was a glitter in her eyes, a pure eagerness to learn. Modus, too, had his full attention turned to him from a safer distance, unabashedly interested. There was a passion for knowledge burning in both of them, it was clear to see. He couldn’t help the little spark of fondness that cropped up.

“Alright, alright,” Bumper put up his hands, frowning. “That’s enough ‘reminiscin’ for my tastes. If you’re gon’ start talkin’ about all this, I’ll just catch ya later--”

::All report to the main deck. We’re landing::

“Ah, that can’t be good,” Radius mumbled, not sounding as concerned as his observation suggested he should be.

“What’s going on?”  

“Probably just another maintenance check.  Fuel’s been spotty.”

Weathervane frowned. That would’ve been nice to know before he boarded.

“If that’s the case, it’s a quick fix. Let’s just hustle up to the--” Before the Wrecker could finish, the lights-- so impressive to him before-- suddenly died. Red filled the ship’s hallways, blinking slowly, threateningly.

“Well, that’s definitely a bad sign,” Radius was moving, and Weathervane decided all he could do was follow, taking twice the steps to keep up. “So, this is defensive protocol,” the larger explained, his calm demeanor turned unsettling, “We’re very likely under attack-- or going to be.”

The biplane glanced back at the twins, but they hadn’t moved. Staying behind, he discerned. He moved to keep up with the Wrecker.

“Suitin’ up?” Bumper asked from beside him. Radius hummed an affirmative. They whisked away to where Weathervane recalled the armory was. It was on the way to the main deck, so he didn’t bother to point out the detour wasn’t part of their orders. Especially as a number of others were gathered, too, with the minibot, Battery, handing out various weapons.

Weathervane hesitated, hanging back. Bumper grabbed a small blaster for himself and Radius holstered one. The smaller gave him a questioning glance.

“Not really good with those,” he answered, giving an apologetic smile in the pulsing red light.

“They hinder flying,” Mace agreed, now on his own two feet. He seemed more subdued. Nervous, perhaps. Weathervane supposed they all were, but it was still a noticeable contrast to his previous demeanor. At least he was making himself helpful, though.

“Let’s get to the deck” Radius said, taking a step and then pausing, glancing down at Battery for a moment.

“I’ll catch up once everyone’s stocked.” She tipped her visor his way. “Don’t be reckless.”

“We’re Wreckers,” Mace said, cheer returning a little, “it’s in the name!”

She gave him a look. Didn’t say anything more.

“Right, well,” Radius said, continuing on in a rush. He was good at playing calm, but Weathervane knew enough to spot the cracks.

He suddenly realized he hated lingering this long in the hallways, red swimming in his vision softly. It was ominous, and everyone was much too quiet, with the exception of footsteps. They couldn’t reach the deck fast enough.

Once they did, the Captain was already there, as was the largest of their crewmembers-- Shrapnel, he recalled. They weren’t arguing this time, seeming to agree in their stoic, battle-readiness. The difference in their size was stark, but they held the same tense air of authority.

“Line up,” Shrapnel boomed, once they had all entered. The same holographic map from before was still sitting in the center of the main console, a large red dot looming over the otherwise peaceful blue diagram of their current planet.

Decepticons.

The entire squadron obliged, as close to ‘shoulder to shoulder’ as they could be. Shots clearly rang out from beyond the ship’s sturdy walls, and the battle plans immediately began.

--

The hatch on the bay doors came undone easily, the dense metal sheet retracting into itself and into the Bisector’s high ceilings. It took with it the sense of protection and the physical shield from the foreign planet’s surface-- and whatever was waiting for them.

He couldn’t help the shudder that chilled his plates as white light filtered through the opening. Everyone around him shifted into their alt modes as he stood, hesitating and disoriented, and when he got a grip Bumper was by his side.

“Come on, keep close,” he said, giving Weathervane’s arm a soft tug along as he went. The sounds of fire and explosions never stopped frightening him. They ran out and around, as far out from the ship as possible-- couldn’t attract gunfire to it if they were able. He noted the area they were in was full of boulders, rock faces, outcroppings. Nothing so exaggerated as to make for a bottleneck or hinder flight, but he wasn’t sure if that was to their advantage or not. Ohh, spatial awareness was never his strong suit.

“Now listen up,” Bumper startled him out of his thoughts as they slid down behind cover of a small, half-buried boulder. He poked his head up, blaster held ready in front of him. “These guys don’t know we have an extra flier on our hands, y’know? That means you’ve got the element of surprise.” He shifted back down, gave Weathervane a confident smile. “We just need to figure out how to use that.”

“Right,” Weathervane said, glancing around. Checking what he could see. “I’ll figure it out.”

Behind them, up on the side of the ship, (Primus, she really was small to be able to fit up there,) Battery had climbed out with a variety of heavy weapons in tow. She had what appeared to be a rocket launcher and was taking shots at a very large flier above them, probably an astro class. Shrapnel was almost too difficult to keep track of, flying with tremendous speed and grace. He was doing an excellent job of keeping the astro class’ attention, as well as two other fliers. The fire coming from the enemy Cybertronian jet made Battery’s rocket launcher look like a pea shooter. How frightening…

A number of other fliers were sweeping low, trying to get behind the Autobots’ cover and flush them out. It was clear to Weathervane they were experts, probably military caste (what a useless thought, most of the survivors this far in were,) maneuvering with such elegance and ferocity. Zipping closely to their position, a little drone caught his sudden attention. That paint was terribly familiar--

He felt himself yanked harshly into Bumper’s side as a shot connected with the rock where his chassis had been a moment earlier. Bumper peppered fire back at the drone, forcing them to pull back. Likely to loop back around on them, though. Weathervane, still leaned against his companion, watched their direction carefully.

“This might as well be a good moment,” he muttered, getting back to his feet and creeping to the other side of their cover. Bumper watched curiously, face still set, but a tiny, approving grin dancing across it. He coiled his wires and anticipated when the dark blue flier burst into their line of sight, leaping forward and feeling his wings snap into place, the air buoying him from his falling arc. He surprised them, for sure, by the way they hadn’t started shooting yet.

He just had to get close, which might be a bit easier said than done. It was moments like these he wondered if he really ought to invest in learning to use blasters. Not that he wanted the drone dead, there were things he wanted to ask them, after all. They were far more experienced in the air than he was, as earlier surmised, of course, which was unfortunate but not unpredictable. They tried to loop up and behind him, but had to twist away to dodge a few shots from the ground. Weathervane was quickly becoming quite fond of Bumper.

He lurched and pulled straight up, climbing altitude with as much speed as he could muster, and he could barely hear the quiet hum of the drone’s sleek engines as they followed. They climbed and climbed, and his metal suddenly burned with the attention of several other hostiles in the air. Fire hailed around him, and he felt panic suddenly starting to bubble beneath his stupid fucking plans. He throttled it. Not now.

Abrupt, he dropped into root mode, slamming feet-first into the drone’s nose. Briefly they flipped, but recovered on sheer instinct. Weathervane had counted on it in order to land safely on their back. With a flick of the wrist, his digits became long and sickeningly pointed, rose above his helm as he eyed the metal body beneath.

They spiraled, interrupting his attack. He managed to cling on, but then they shifted to root mode and he was finally thrown off.

He saw her visor, and paused.

She shifted her arms to their blasters as they fell, she head-first and still as graceful as ever.

Weathervane snapped out of it and frantically shifted back, boosting himself in the air just out of the way as she shot at him. He evened out and decided it was time to regroup with-- someone. She was certainly chasing. Think.

A sudden bang from dead center made him stutter his flight, shrieking, absolute maniacal laughter filling the air. He tilted to see another astro class in the middle of the field, (how many did this Decepticon fleet have?) tanking multiple shots in order to stand there and laugh. When she was done, she broke into a full sprint and there was an audible panic from below. A shot grazed his wing and he was reminded he couldn’t afford to stand back and observe right then.

New Decepticon paint flashed under him, passing beneath and ahead with ease before whipping around to face him. He dropped, engines cut just in time to avoid a new set of fire. Mace’s bright orange paint caught him completely off-guard, rushing to his defense with fervor. Though he targeted the pink-and-white jet, the other drone twisted and fled.

Weathervane just focused on getting away.

In the distance to his side, a tower of rock toppled over. Certainly there was a group of Autobots that way, but if he were a guessing mech…

Out of the question. He felt more than saw the explosion. The grounded astro class, still laughing, was tossed smoldering and battered from the blast below. Frantically, he looked for the Autobots. Radius and Stagger were there, with Echo behind them, still on their feet, he noted with some relief. From the way they were heaving, they must have had an intense confrontation with the ‘Con. From the size of the blast damage, he could understand why.

Unbidden, he wondered if Echo had devised some devious plan. Wreckers were known for brute power, not deception.

Unable to find a group not locked in battle, he decided to duck down to the ground and hide while he collected his thoughts and came up with something better than aimlessly buzzing around in death-infested air.

He dropped behind a secluded-looking outcropping, and immediately realized his mistake.

The Decepticon whipped around to face him.

He locked eyes with burning red goggles, frozen.

To be fair, the other mech looked just as plainly shaken as he felt. Neither of them moved for what could have only been less than a couple seconds. Felt a lot longer, as he took a small, shuddering breath in. His fans begged for air.

Slowly, the other mech holstered his gun and raised his hands. Weathervane, feeling a twinge of relief, gave him a slight nod. They break away with a jump, he transforming and skimming the ground back to where he remembered that rock tower toppling. The crumbly surface whips past as panic starts trying to set in again.

He landed into the company of Bumper, Circuitblitz, and Calgarydome just in time to hear the issue clearly:

::They’re pulling back, retreat to the Bisector before they get a chance to regroup.::

Weathervane passed a glance to his teammates, the two Velocitronians already shifting gracefully to their sleek vehicle modes and tearing off without more than an acknowledging nod.

“They’ll buy us extra time,” Bumper’s voice was short and rugged, quick to follow their lead and transform. Weathervane just nodded, shifting back to his shaky wings and tearing off towards the warship, its engines roaring back to life.

--

“-Battery?” “Here”

“Stagger.” “Here”

“Weathervane.”

He started, “Uh, here.”

Echo was much smaller up close than he’d even originally thought --perhaps just shorter than Bumper, who was already quite short-- but not any less intimidating. Where there might’ve been expression in another mech’s visor, much like Radius’ immediately gave him away, there was nothing. He looked in Weathervane’s direction, but didn’t look at him. It was almost cold in its calculation, but the fact that he was here, personally checking his soldier’s wounds, was contradictory and perplexing.

“All present, Captain.” Bumper’s voice caught the flier’s attention, calm as always from where he sat along the wall of the main deck. His leg had been grazed by stray laser fire, so he’d been made to sit while they checked their ranks, but he was otherwise unharmed. He flashed Weathervane a lazy smile, catching him looking his way. He weakly smiled back.

Frustration at their disadvantages seemed to be running high, if the silence was anything to go by, but everyone had made it back in one piece, so he didn’t hear any complaining, either.

They had been largely unscathed. Injuries were mostly minor, some burns and new dents at the worst, nothing that couldn’t be easily mended. Radius and Stagger had taken the most impressive damage from that astro class on the ground, it seemed, but he hadn’t seen the Wreckers so much as flinch at their oozing wounds. Weathervane himself was surprised-- and grateful-- that he’d managed to avoid anything severe. Those fliers had given him a run, and he knew his aerial skills weren’t anything to brag about.

“Good work,” Echo finally addressed, once the crew list had been affirmed, voice resonating in the hollow chamber of the main deck, “The Dreadnought’s crew have certainly become aware of our shortage, but pushing them back is a victory in itself for now. Those of you with injuries, report to the medbay. The rest, back to your stations. We’ll regroup to discuss our plan of action once the cycle is through.”

The Dreadnought, hm?

There was the low buzz of ‘Yessir’s and shifting footsteps. Their own resident astro class was the first to leave, opposite the way of the medbay, he noted, despite the fact he had clear chemical burns trailing up his wings. Battery wasn’t far behind. Weathervane didn’t move though, given that he was both uninjured and still station-less, instead opting to wait until a familiar face could point him in the right direction.

He watched for Radius, who was likely his best bet. He wasn’t difficult to spot in a space much too big for a crew their size to hide him, standing off with Mace, across the room from Weathervane’s perch by the door frame. The obnoxiously colored little drone stood quickly at the dismissal and began to crumple in on himself as soon as his weight reached his pedes.  Radius seemed aware of this before it even happened, a hand waiting to catch the little flier before he even started to tilt. Weathervane didn’t see any injuries on him. Something internal?

Bumper left towards the medbay, not limping but not quite walking right, and Radius followed with Stagger and his little companion not long after.  Weathervane waited, watching his Captain’s back as he worked and eyeing the ship’s many flashing dashboards in shaken curiosity. He hadn’t been on a battlefield in too long, maybe. His long fingers were still twitching from the rush and the panic, and the stress and exertion and the panic. Ah, what a nuisance. It didn’t usually take this long to calm down.  

--

“Hey, you good, rookie?” Radius’ voice surprised him.

He’d been staring in vacant interest for too long. The Wrecker still sported his new injuries, but the leaking energon had been taken care of via a quick solder.

Mace was nowhere in sight.

“Yea, I’m fine,” He answered breezily, not sounding terribly convincing.  

“Listen, I gotta talk to Echo, but if you want to take a breather in the rec room? Might do you some good, it’s been a hell of an orn.”

Weathervane wasn’t going to argue with the offer. “Sure, I think I can manage that.” Radius seemed pleased with that answer, again resting an overly large servo on his shoulder in what he assumed was encouragement. He resisted the flinch.

“Excellent. I’ll catch up with you later.” The smaller nodded, inching out from under the other mech’s hand, and they parted ways, Radius towards the silent mech in the center of the room. He’d almost forgotten he was there at all-- he hadn’t moved or made a sound since the crew had cleared out. Then again, neither had he.

The biplane turned to leave out of the door nearest to his new destination. Once he was in the hallway, he turned to look back across the deck and watched Radius quietly take the captain close to him.

The doors closed behind him, so he kept walking.

It didn’t take him any time at all to remember where the lounge was, but the sound of his designation stopped him. Bots on this ship sure did enjoy interrupting each other--

“Just the mech I was lookin’ for,” Bumper wasn’t walking like he’d been shot anymore, which was a good thing. He had two cubes in hand, both the telltale hot pink of high-grade.

“What a day, hm?” The grounder asked, stopping just short of the newbie and offering him a cube, “As promised.”  

Weathervane took it curiously, swirling the liquid in its container, before looking back up to see him walking ahead already. He moved to follow Bumper’s easy stride towards a long, high-set table near the back of the room.

“Shrap-- the second-in-command-- keeps this stuff stocked pretty well,” he was saying, “Not sure why, never seen ‘im drink any, but maybe it’s a build related thing. I always figured jets must just drink stronger stuff. Or would it be fliers in general?”  He was asking, but truthfully, Weathervane didn’t know. Purified Energon was still a new concept to him, let alone something as filtered and potent as high-grade. He’d heard others say the stuff was supposed to burn faster, but they could have easily been misinformed. The feeling of being in the dark about something was not doing his nerves any favors, though he was relaxing quite a bit in Bumper’s presence as it was.

“Not that I’ve ever heard, but I don’t know,” he said as much. He then, belatedly, wondered why Bumper was allowed to take it, if it were Shrapnel’s. Could be for the whole crew, but somehow Weathervane doubted Shrapnel kept the stuff in supply out of the kindness of his heart.

“Ah, well. Don’t have enough fliers on our squad to know for sure. Unlikely we’d ever get the reason outta Shrap anyway,” Bumper chuckled, easing into gossip so easily, as if they hadn’t just been on a battlefield not too long ago, “He’s not the talkative type.”

“I noticed. He seems… standoff-ish?”

“That’s an understatement. ‘N’ he’s hardly the worst of them.”

Weathervane’s interest was piqued, and he thought Bumper could tell. The look he gave him all but said ‘go for it’, a devious, lazy spark to his visor as he sipped his cube in no delicate fashion. The biplane cautiously took a sip of his own, trying not to balk at the foreign, overpowering taste of it. It wasn’t bad, but he’d have to adjust to it-- it was a far cry from the barely processed fuel he was used to. Bumper didn’t seem offended by the hesitance.

“Nice work out there today, by the way. Wasn’t an easy first day,” the grounder mused, filling the silence, “But you handled it well. ‘N’ you’re pretty quick.” He tapped the side of his helm indicatively.

Weathervane smiled, not as thin as before. “Thanks.” He glanced away, as if, perhaps, bashful. “For having my back, that is.”

“No worries, rookie. That’s how it goes around here. Luckily, only most of our fights are that intense,” He laughed slightly, as if it was a joke.  Weathervane took another conservative drink.

“I’m… not actually a rookie, you know.”

“Sure y’are, a rookie to the Bisector, anyways.”

“That’s not how that works.” Weathervane pouted, which got an amused grin out of the other mech.

“A matter of perspective,” he teased, and Weathervane was surprised that he chuckled at that. It only made the other smile a little more.

“Woe is me,” he said, trying at his drink again. It kinda burned. Not in a bad way, but also a bit in a bad way. He wasn’t sure what he thought of it yet, but it gave him something to do.

“So,” Bumper started slowly, after a bout of comfortable silence, “you look like you’ve got questions.”

“Tons.”

“Well, then ask away.”

[transformersrelay]

Blackbox is the newest addition to the crew of the Decepticon warship, the Dreadnought. As such, he must be made aware of his place in the pecking order.

“Blackbox” A monstrous mech approached, casting heavy shadows over the newest crew member.

   “Y-yes?” The miniscule biplane replied, tipping his framed head to meet the Captain’s eyes.

   “Sir,” he growled.

   “Yes, sir!”

   The astro class nodded, satisfied with his compliance.

   “I am Eggshell, captain of the Dreadnought. Welcome aboard.”

   “Thank you, sir,” Blackbox replied. Eggshell frowned at the informality this bot was portraying. Not even a bow. He supposed he looked like he could be a disposable class. Perhaps no one taught him manners.

   “Rules,” His voice rumbled low, made the smaller bot shudder, “I am your captain now, and you will act as such. You will not question orders. My say is final. I reserve the right to execute you if I feel I have ample reason. Disloyalty and disobedience will not be tolerated. Am I clear?”

   He nodded, looking as if he were trying to put on a brave face. Eggshell trilled his turbines softly, mulling over whether it was logical for him to be disappointed already. He would say this soldier needed to be whipped into shape, but that really wasn’t his style. In the end he let his Decepticons get away with a lot, so long as they did what he told them and stayed out of his way. That being said, he would be surprised if the small, sheepish mech lasted a week.

   Eggshell gestured to one of the two flyers set behind him, the one poised like a guard.

   “This is Skyhigh,” He introduced, “If ever I am unavailable, she will be left to take charge. Should you have any pressing queries, bother her before you think it’s a good idea to interrupt my work.”

   Skyhigh made intense eye contact with the biplane. He looked like he wanted to ask a question, but held his tongue. Rather fortunate, as questions were frowned upon within the command of the Dreadnought.

   “This is Hivemind.” Eggshell gestured unceremoniously towards the other flyer, a short mech who had been staring at Skyhigh (or something near her?) the entire time. He slowly turned his burning red visor to regard the new mech, wordlessly, and then slowly turned back to Skyhigh. Eggshell made a displeased sound.

   “Skyhigh. Introduce Blackbox to whatever or whoever else you deem necessary. Hivemind. Come.” He turned on his heel with no more than that, lumbering back to some dark part of the hangar. Hivemind soundlessly followed.

Skyhigh watched them go, and flicked her cold gaze back to Blackbox. Never one to waste time, she began walking in another direction. She expected he would at least be aware enough to know to follow.

   “There are some crew members not currently on board. You will be made aware of them eventually,” she said. They travelled down dimly-lit corridors, silence holding a moment. Captain Eggshell may not have enjoyed questions, but she found clarification most efficient, and did not intend to answers questions her soldiers were too scared to ask.

   “Why are they away?” He finally spoke.

   “They are much better suited to undercover work, and are able to do so independently. So long as they report in consistently, they are best utilised gathering information.”

   “I understand.”

   “We will be meeting our medic, first. Designation Backtrack. Try to be wary with him.” Skyhigh expected Backtrack would try something, first impressions be damned. He really was less-than-useful, but they’d yet to be able to replace him.

   The cause of the Deceptions had always drawn out… characters. Some were more tolerable than others, and inevitably, there were those that couldn’t be further from it. The insufferable ones of the lot, the ones with delusions of incredible grandeur and all-knowing glory. Aboard this particular ship, they had the displeasure of housing two. Along the hall ahead of them, the self-proclaimed strategist and his lackey were loitering, apparently deep in some so-called intellectual discussion. As she and Blackbox approached, they drew out of it enough to notice their arrival.

   “A new arrival,” the Empurata stated smugly, as if it were so clever of him to have stated the obvious. Skyhigh often found she had to work to keep the disdain from her face around Rumblestrip.

   “Yes, this is Blackbox.” She let the smaller bot step forward and give the larger bots a nod.

   “I am Rumblestrip, the strategist.” Ever quick to turn the discussion to himself.

   “Unofficially,” corrected the younger bot with him.

   “That’s only because our Captain is foolish and petty, Autocorrect,” he snapped.

   Skyhigh needed only tilt her head so deliberately, and could see him shrink back by the twitch in his shoulders.

   “Nice to make your acquaintance,” Blackbox cut in, and she had to wonder if he had picked up on the blunder or merely missed it.

   “Likewise,” the younger replied, and earned himself a smile. Poor thing, thought he was making friends with Autocorrect. Well, he’d figure it out sooner or later, she supposed.

   “We’re very busy,” Rumblestrip grumbled.

   “Yes, we are.”

   “I’m sure.” Skyhigh said, and turned away without missing a beat. Blackbox started and hurried to catch up with her long stride.

   They continued on in silence, whether it was uncomfortable or not she couldn’t care less. Occasionally they would pass a room of note and she would explain its purpose- there the barracks, and there the armory, and so on-- but not much conversation carried beyond that, save for a question.

   “May I ask,” he began, “Why was Hivemind watching you before?”

   She pondered how much she trusted him to know. The result was not much.

   “I have something he covets.”

   “I see.”

   Silence reigned once more.

   “This is the medbay,” Skyhigh introduced, stepping into the generous space. He followed, craning his head around. She wondered how he could wear those goggles all the time, when they clearly inhibited his peripheral vision.

   “Who is it?” a low voice called, almost singing the words. His disconcerting normalness she’d grown numb to. She almost pitied that he would soon learn that at the point of a medic-worthy injury, death would be more than certain, and most definitely a mercy (Granted, he was never so overtly sadistic in casual conversation.) Blackbox didn’t seem to pick up on the danger yet, but he did seem to shift at the sight of the good doctor. A chunk of metal had been viciously torn from around his left optic, and no small amount, either. An old wound, but the exposed wires and machinery clicked and shifted in such a way they often made even those familiar with the old bot shudder.

   “Backtrack, this is the newest member of the crew, Blackbox.” She gestured stiffly towards him.

   “Ah, I’d heard tell of your arrival,” he said, moving closer. Closer, and closer, uncomfortably closer. “You came from another crew, correct? Not a new recruit.”

   “N-no, not new to the Decepticons, if that’s what you mean.” Blackbox shuffled back a little, not that it did him any good.

   “Of course, of course, your parts hardly look fresh, after all. Nonetheless,” he paused to cackle to himself, “I am pleased to be acquainted. I am sure we will be acquainted further in the future, when you inevitably get shot or so on.”

   “...Yes,” he, clearly at a loss, turned to her. She decided to show him mercy.

   “If you don’t mind, doctor, we have more to do.”

   “Ah, yes, be on your way, then.” He slunk back from Blackbox’s personal space, the smaller bot visibly relaxing as soon as he did. The two watched as he retreated into some dark corner of the medbay.

   Skyhigh tipped her head to the door and he followed her out, sparing a glance back as he passed the threshold.

   “Next is the command deck, where you’ll report every morning for the day’s duties. Do not be late,” Skyhigh said.

   “Will that be, uh, Captain Eggshell handing out missions?”

   “Most often, yes.”

   They marched on.

   Though it was expected, Skyhigh found Eggshell waiting for them on the command deck. Or, more specifically, making a valiant attempt to get work done. With him was Exhaustpipe, a rather large jet, and Eggshell’s dreaded SIC. The Second was a dark, miniscule helicopter and being a menace as usual, whining to the Captain and trying to drape himself around the astro class’ arm. Exhaustpipe was trying and failing to drag his attention away.

   She cleared her throat.

   All three turned their attention to her. Eggshell seemed to be pleased.

   “Skyhigh. I presume all is well.”

   “Yes, Captain, we’ve been acquainted with Backtrack,” She could see Blackbox twitch in her peripheral, “and I was instructing our recruit on the morning procedure.”

   “Very good.”

   “Who’s this?” Suddenly the Second was scowling, turning his face down to the new arrival. He was small, but Blackbox was easily smaller. He loomed.

   “Voidstorm,” Eggshell’s tone was laced with thinly-veiled annoyance, “I told you we were getting another crew member.”

   “Ohhhh. Ohhhhh!” Voidstorm’s face split with a malicious grin. “The new blood, I remember! Someone new to push around,” he snickered.

   “Yes, yes. Skyhigh, I require your input. Exhaustpipe, take over for her, would you?”

   “Sure thing, boss,” the jet finally spoke, his voice smooth and unburdened. Voidstorm seemed to pout in the background at being brushed off.

   “Well, then, enjoy your new tour guide,” she said, turning to Blackbox.

   “Uh, yes, thank you,” he replied. Eager to leave this company, it seemed. Skyhigh nodded and turned, striding over to join her Captain and the joke of an SIC.

   Exhaustpipe meandered over, towering well above Blackbox so that he truly had to crane his neck to peer up at him. He grinned apologetically.

   “Guess we should get goin’.” He gestured to the door. The other bot seemed to hesitate, but went on through after a moment. “So what’s your designation?”

   The other peered at him. Already distrustful, was he? Well, that was about normal around their little corner of the universe.

   “Blackbox,” he said.

   “Oh, right, they said back in the other room.”

   “You forgot…?”

   “Ahaha, yeah,” he chuckled, “I do that sometimes. I guess you probably already heard mine then, too, but just in case, I’m Exhaustpipe. Just Exhaust is fine, if you want.”

   “Um, oh, thanks.”

   “So then, which places have you already been?”

   “The medbay, the barracks, and the armory. And the landing bay, I guess.”

   “Cool, so I guess we’ll go to the Energon storage next.”

   Blackbox didn’t seem to talk much, Exhaustpipe thought. He was used to that much, though, considering the Generics were the same way before he got to know them. He was probably just scared, like them. Granted, Eggshell wasn’t much for talking, either, and he wasn’t sure he was a bot capable of being scared.

   “So where d’you come from, Blackbox?”

   The other started, thought about it, turned and frowned.

   “You mean before all this?”

   “Yeah, sure.”

   This made him frown more, but he relented with “Vos.”

   “Sounds about right. Most of us are,” Exhaustpipe chuckled.

   “You are, too?”

   “Why, you sound surprised, hm?”

   “Uh, not really. Just… never knew Vos to make, you know, non-seeker frames. Or giants. Or blue optics.”

   “Ah, yeah. Guess the Well wasn't always so empty. The optics are kind of a trinket from my days before the deceptions, though. You could say they were the only thing I was attached to, haha.”

   “You, you mean…?”

   “Hm? That I didn’t start as a ‘Con? Sure enough.”

   “Oh, uh, that’s…” Blackbox seemed uncomfortable. He wondered if he’d lost anyone to Autobots. He knew plenty of others who had.

   “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be going back or anything.” He shrugged and grinned, trying to put the other at ease.

   “R-right, of course not.”

   “Eggshell’d kill you if you tried,” another voice butted in. Oh, there was Lookout. Exhaustpipe wondered how long she’d been sulking in the hall like that. He admittedly hadn’t been paying attention to where they’d been walking. Hopefully this was still the direction of the fuel storage.

   “W-would he?” Blackbox stuttered.

   “He’s quick to take in strays and quick to get rid of them if they don’t pay him back.” The drone’s antennae tipped ever slightly towards him. “You’re the new one?”

   “Uh, y-yeah. Blackbox. You’re…?”

   “Lookout. Pleasure’s all yours.”

   “They brought on someone your height, isn’t that nice?” Exhaustpipe beamed.

   “Make one more innocent remark about my height and I swear to Primus I’ll make you regret it,” she snarled.

   “Ahaha, moving onnn,”

   “Oh! Here we are.” Exhaustpipe clapped his hands together and led the way to a set of doors. He didn’t miss the look Blackbox gave him. Apparently he’d noticed they’d been going in circles one or two times.

   He stepped through to show him the organization system, but instantly lost his train of thought upon spotting a mass of pink metal lounging in a pile, Energon cubes scattered around, organization to the wind. Less than ideal, Exhaustpipe thought, realizing who it was.

   “O-oh uh hey uh, w-we were just cleaning this up-” a sleek Seeker stood to the side.

   “Never! Cleaning is for squares!” The pink mass suddenly sat bolt upright, sharp and wild grin on her face. She had accidentally launched her Sharkticon, Eventide.

   “Well. We were just about to leave,” Exhaustpipe said, “but I suppose you ought to meet Blackbox, since he’ll be part of our team now.”

   “What! A new one?” She jumped to her feet. At her full height, she was monstrous, an astro class to put even Eggshell to shame. Add to that a hefty bulk and she became a steep, imposing figure, a terror to all her fellow crewmates. Exhaustpipe himself was intimidated. Looking to Blackbox, it seemed he felt very much the same, if not significantly more. His eyes seemed drawn to the massive torpedos in place of her arms.

   She burst into a fit of laughter.

   “You’re tiny! What’re you even gonna help with? HAAAHAHA!”

   “That’s not very nice, Hammerhead…,” the Seeker almost whispered, in contrast to her booming voice.

   “It’s fuckin’ true! What’s your name, shrimp?”

   “Blackbox.” He looked distressed. Maybe it was time to go.

   “I’m Hammerhead! The strongest Decepticon on this damn ship! That’s Icecry, if you touch him, I’ll kill you, hahAHA!”

   “Please don’t,” Icecry said.

   “So we’re leaving now,” Exhaustpipe cut in, gesturing Blackbox out first.

   “‘Kay, took ya long enough!” There was the sound of crashing as the doors closed behind them.

   Blackbox flicked his wings; presumably shaking nerves.

   “Y-eah, sorry about that. Didn’t expect anyone to be in there. Try not to hang around Hammerhead too much, she’s a little, eh, unstable.”

   “I see that,” he said.

   Exhaustpipe was sure he was making a poor impression. The Dreadnought really wasn’t all that bad, after all. He had plenty of good friends. He hoped to put the newbie’s nerves at ease, but he was probably just making them worse.

   His train of thought was evaporated at the sight of yet another figure ahead.

   “Hey,” he called, ambling towards them. The figure, a Genericon, lifted their head, shoulders relaxing when they saw him. He glanced at the box of Energon cubes in their arms.

   “Mm, hey Miku, now might not be a great time to move those,” he jerked his head back to the storage room behind them, “Two of us were just in there, Hammerhead and Icecry are hanging out, apparently.”

   Miku made a soft ‘oh,’ nodded their thanks to them both, and went past them. Somewhat alarmed, he turned to watch, but with relief saw them pass by the storage room and down the corner behind it.

   “You know them?” Blackbox spoke.

   “Ah, yeah, most of those guys. They’re nice, if you ever want a good conversation.”

   Blackbox appeared to doubt this.

   ::All crew, report to the Main deck. Immediately.:: The message buzzed through both mechs’ internal comm links.

   “Wonder what’s up,” Exhaustpipe said.

   Blackbox said nothing.

   Through the looming windows at the back wall of the deck, an approaching planet shone, its surface bright and barren. Its glow at Eggshell’s back deepened the shadows that clung to him, made his optics burn feverish.

   “Prepare for battle,” he declared, “there are Autobots to hunt.”

   “Icecry, Lookout, Exhaustpipe, Blackbox, you’re with me.” Skyhigh stepped forward from Eggshell’s left. “We’ll go in right after the Genericons.”

   “Hivemind, Eggy and I will be close behind!” Voidstorm spoke from the right. Eggshell growled under his breath, pinning him with a withering glare.

   “The rest of you, figure it out.” the Captain took center stage once again, “This is an onslaught. We have the element of surprise,” he paused, “Wrack up a good body count for me.”

   Blackbox couldn’t claim he fully understood what was going on. He took in the faces around him. Rumblestrip fumed, while Autocorrect watched blankly. Hammerhead was cackling, Sharkticon companion rested comfortably on her shoulder, compared to Icecry looking as if he were about to have a panic attack to her side. Voidstorm seemed far too excited.

   He moved into step behind Exhaustpipe and Lookout, who were following Skyhigh down to the landing bay. They all seemed similarly calm, with the exception of the mech, who had a lazy smile on despite the circumstances. Blackbox tried to make himself steeled as the femmes. Icecry caught up to them, dragging his feet as he walked beside him, wringing his hands. He looked so miserable, Blackbox couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

   “We’ll be alright,” he lied.

   “Have you ever been in a fight?” the Seeker asked.

   Blackbox checked his radio.

   They stood at the edge of the open hatch, the ground miles from their pedes. Skyhigh held her arm up and they waited in bated silence, watching. The second it dropped, they did, too. The sky was a friend to flyers. Wind whipped between their wings fiercely as they fell. Skyhigh transformed with grace, sliding through the currents. They followed suit.

   Fire peppered the airspace. Blackbox noted how expertly the others dodged the shots. Icecry was a little jerky, and Exhaustpipe was far more languid, but they were clearly all experts. He startled as one barely missed his propellor. He felt the heat of it.

   Skyhigh lead them low to the ground. If Blackbox hadn’t been having trouble before, he was now. The guns were closer, the time to react far less. The others split off, so he took the liberty of curving away to the fringes of the fight. He shifted back to root mode to take quick shots, re-holstered his gun and flew off again. He noticed from the sky that a good cluster of Autobots had boxed themselves behind a crook of rock formations. With a sudden bang, everyone’s attention was on one Decepticon in the middle of the field, and by the shrill shrieking laughter he could’ve taken a guess as to who it was. He stopped to take a shot at an unstable rock tower, which toppled only slightly off and succeeded in merely frightening the cluster. Oh, well.

    As a side-effect, that got him a lot of attention. He yelped as one shot got way too close and ducked and rolled behind the closest cover.

   Peering around the bend, he saw an array of Autobot-colorful paint, poking up and down and still sending fire his way. He took out his handheld gun, and sent a few back. He ducked down again and quickly decided his position was not ideal. Thinking, he took stock of his surroundings. A line of rocks led further in where the fight was concentrated, but closer to his newly minted allies, as well. He figured if he played it slow and methodical, he could get around without the group he attacked noticing he’d even moved at all.

   He jumped from cover to cover, checking back to make sure he wasn’t still being targeted. Didn’t look like it. He stopped at the end of the row to observe the fight.

   A crash erupted behind him and he whipped around to come face-to-face with an Autobot.

   They locked eyes.

   The Autobot froze, staring at him wide-eyed. He was a biplane, too, but lanky and unarmored, and didn’t appear to have any weapons at all.

   Blackbox didn’t shoot.

   ::Retreat.::

   Blackbox stared at the other bot. Slowly, he holstered his gun at his side and raised his hands. The other tilted his head down, something like a nod. They don’t break eye contact. Then they both jump, and in a heartbeat Blackbox was already in the air and flying back to the Dreadnought.  

   For a moment, there was overwhelming relief.