#mech!jazz Au

[randycider]

someone said mech pilot jazz au playlist so here’s my take (and the YouTube link)

I prioritized music that I think people might have not heard before, because I love exploring new music from fandom playlists so I hope this can offer a similar experience :] (AU by Keferon here on tumblr!)

The loose order I did was:

Hold It Down -> daphne did it : Jazz to mech!Jazz to JazzProwl

The Perfect Girl -> Thank God I’m Not You : Shockwave, Swerve, and Blurr vibes (kinda separate, kinda together)

Factories -> Far Beyond : Texaid vibes

But ofc feel free to interpret however, I just love music!

[pixel-transformers]

This took way too long to finish, but I have the bad habit of not being able to post something without it being colored and it took me almost a full 72 hours to finish Jazz alone so….

close up of jazz under the cut⬇️

[clownswamp6]

(Au belongs to @keferon !) they won't leave my brain oh my goddd

[theinkwaygame]

Worked on this when I should have been sleeping but I was inspired by @keferon ‘s mech pilot Jazz AU and wanted to give Jazz his pool time

Another doodle under the cut

[keferon]

Odds of Survival Part 3

Unstoppable forces meets immovable objects.

Or Prowl finds new reasons to be concerned.

———————————————————————

While Prowl had destroyed the bombers attacking their end of the bridge, the other side had no such saving grace.

The opposite end of the sky bridge had broken off from the Commerce Tower and was now swinging downwards, creating a miles long ramp to obliteration.

There was a 4% chance Prowl could technically survive the impact. However he’d almost certainly be reduced to a sputtering spark trapped in a compacted pile of scrap that had once been his frame. Without instantaneous medical intervention, he would most certainly perish even in the event of the 4% survival chance occurring.

4% halved to 2% when Tacnet registered Jazz magnetizing his hands to Prowls frame.

Tacnet spun wildly and without traction. Whatever actions Prowl could have taken to mitigate the incoming damage was removed by Jazz’s inescapable hold. Every possible strategy terminated instantly in a flurry of error messages as Tacnet tried to factor for the impossible.

Physically, Prowls servos moved on their own, driven by some core deep coding for self preservation that had him frantically clawing at Jazz’s back for either a hand hold or escape as Tacnet spat out a single coherent plan:

(Brace For Impact)

The Praxian briefly wondered if he’d crash before they crashed.

The mechs jolted as Jazz made contact with the bridge turned ramp. A fountain of sparks spraying from his pedes as Jazz hit the bridge upright and began skating down the buckling surface.

Jazz wasn’t just passively sliding along either. Prowl felt powerful legs tense and thrusters make quick adjustments to narrowly avoid lethal splinters of braking pipes and metal sheets.

Odds of Survival 5%

Odds of Survival 6%

Prowl watched the impossible as Tacnet slowly ticked upwards. Through some stroke of insanity, Jazz was controlling their descent. Analyzing the white mechs motions, Prowl concluded they were practiced. Unbelievably, Jazz somehow had previous experience with similar circumstances.

On what Fragging planet does somebody regularly go careening down incredibly steep slopes at high speeds with only their own athleticism to keep them alive?!

Skill alone wasn’t enough however, because Jazz was slowly loosing control. As the sky bridge swung inexorably downwards, their ramp was steadily becoming steeper. Prowl could feel one of Jazz’s legs beginning to involuntarily shudder under the continued strain. The obstacles kept coming faster and faster, the visored mech barely keeping pace.

If he dropped me, Jazz has a 23% chance at saving himself.

Prowl caught sight of a chunk of bridge breaking outwards that spanned the total width of it. No getting around it. The jagged edge lifted just high enough to bisect him just below the wings. Prowl turned away.

Jazz leapt.

The deafening vibrations of metal on metal grinding suddenly stopped. An instrumental segment filled the gap.

Gravity ended their short reprieve.

This time when they collided with bridge, Prowl felt Jazz land wrong and then suddenly the sky was whipping past his optics.

Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge.

Tacnet greedily took in their current velocity, rate of rotation, and angle of the sky bridges decent to inform Prowl that Jazz and his combined weight would land on his helm.

Thank you Tacnet, I hate you.

Jazz shifted and Prowls vision went white.

Despite Tacnets certainty to the contrary, Prowl was not unconscious or dead.

ERROR, moon, ERROR. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, ERROR, bridge, rubble. Stars, moon, bridge, rubble.

They were flipping through the air again.

Jazz landed on his feet this time but couldn’t stop their rolling. Prowl felt fast painful scrapes against his servos and peds.

Stars, bridge, rubble. Stars, bridge, rubble.

Tacnet took in their velocity and rotation again. Calculating their distance to the wreckage at the end of their fall.

Impact Survival 74%

Impact location Doorwings 87%

At least his doorwings were already offlined.

By then, the two mechs were no longer bouncing, but rolling fully across the remains of the bridge. Prowl locked himself around Jazz and braced for impact.

Collision was instant and deafening.

Prowls sense of balance was rubber banding. The instant stop after what felt like vorns of spinning out of control was just as disorientating as the fall itself.

In a lapse of memory, he onlined his doorwings.

Prowl remembered why he left them offline a click too late and sucked in a vent.

Except. They were functioning. The edges stung and the tip’s were badly chipped but both sensors were fully operational.

Blunt helm trauma. He must be having a severe processor malfunction. Prowl unlocked protesting joints and looked over his shoulders at his doorwings.

They were only lightly damaged, fully functional, and only a servos width from the pile of rubble he was being held above.

A black and white arm extended past his wings, buried wrist deep in the wreckage.

Jazz still had a death grip around his waist, visor pressed into Prowls shoulder.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried. If he put his vocalizer against his audial, the sound should carry. The music played out its final notes, leaving the silence of the moon in its wake.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried a little harder, pulling at the servo still magnetized to his back, unhooking his peds to kneel on the rubble. They had fallen into the 90 degree crook of the second cylindrical extension. The bridge had come to rest at last, kicking up enough moon dust to obscure their survival from any searching quintessons. For now.

Jazz slurred something in his native language, before repeating in common, “Gimme a click. I’m gonna throw up real quick.”

Prowl flared his wings, scanning the area. It was a relatively short drop to the moons surface. Once there, Prowl could transform and carry the both of them at speed to the outpost. Clearly, Jazz had no trouble holding onto him.

Speaking of, Jazz finally, slowly began to uncurl from Prowls frame.

He looked terrible. His visor had splintered crack’s across one side, the isolated fragments independently flickering. One horn was stuck pinned against his helm, sparking where shrapnel was jammed into the gap. He was visibly wobbling, and even with an em field Prowl could tell he was badly disoriented.

Jazz stared at Prowl for a while, before looking to his hand still buried in rubble. He tried pulling it free gently and when that didn’t work, got a completely ruined and mostly toe-less ped braced next to it and yanked

Jazz’s hand came free. At the same time something important looking snapped and fell out of his shoulder. The limb going limp.

Prowl didn’t have the bandwidth to process that at the moment.

Instead, he plucked up the chunk of shoulder into sub space. Tacking that onto the growing list of injuries they’d both needed tending to.

Cautiously, Prowl reached up to gingerly touch the back of his helm, fully expecting to feel exposed and crushed circuitry. Instead, he felt several dents, aligned in parallel. Very tender, but most certainly not as damaged as it should have been.

How?

Tacnet answered by mapping the contours of the dents, drawing Prowls optics to the back of Jazz’s obliterated servo.

The remains of the sky bridge shuttered.

Odds of Survival 45%

Prowl got Jazz’s attention and began pulling him towards the ledge they’d need to descend. Effectively deaf, probably blind, down an arm and forced to walk on two severely injured peds, Prowl only felt some relief when he finally wrangled Jazz to rest on top of his alt form.

Watching him struggle down the ledge was utterly disturbing to watch. Jazz limped along as if he was completely desensitized to pain, behaving as if he was more annoyed by his injuries than agonized.

Package secured, Prowl gunned it for the outpost. Even injured, he trusted Jazz to stay magnetized to his frame with whatever he had left to hold on with.

Out of the dust cloud, Prowl was intimately aware of how exposed they’d be. Confident he wouldn’t loose Jazz, Prowl focused entirely on plotting the most efficient route to the outpost.

The moment it came into view, Prowl pushed his engine past the redline as he registered sniper shots firing just past and above them.

Pursuing quintesson wreckers 78%.

Sure enough, a dead wrecker crashed into the moon dirt a short distance to their left.

Prowl managed a drifting slide past the out post gates, losing exactly enough momentum to match the speed of a running mech, then transformed back to root mode in the same maneuver. An exceedingly useful technique when chasing criminals and a damn effective way to shoulder someone on your roof through a door in the most efficient manner possible.

[Bluestreak, I’ve made it inside the outpost. I have an injured mech with me.]

[Heya Prowl! I saw you tearing it up out there with your backpack buddy! I’ve got a few more stragglers to take care of but you’re welcome to use the medic case I’ve got with me in here. I’ll ping the door for you.]

The primary medkit should be in the outpost storage closet. That is unless Bluestreak pulled it into his snipers nest to tend to his own injuries (22%). Or because Bluestreak pulled it there to force Prowl to bring his “backpack buddy” within conversational distance (92%).

He felt a tap at his shoulder, “Are we safe here?” Jazz yelled in the thin atmosphere. Visor flickering worse than before and visibly making an effort to stay balanced upright on eviscerated peds.

Priorities.

Prowl ignored his annoyance. He hit the trigger to pressurize the airlock and pulled Jazz’s good arm over his shoulders to stabilize the other mech. He had easily a dozen lines of questioning queued up in the backlog of his processor, every single one tagged with Jazz as the subject line. As much as Prowl itched to piece together the puzzle of why he was “Like that.” It’d have to wait until they were both in more stable condition. At least now his vents could actually do something to start cooling his overstressed processor.

“For now. We are somewhat safe.”

Prowl muttered quietly in addition, “Against all odds.”

———————————————————————

Bluestreak, seeing Prowl with some very obvious hand prints and very specific paint scratches: “What in the pit did he do to you?”

Bluestreak, seeing Jazz walk in after him with a broken arm, busted horn and an utterly torn up paint job across his back: “What in the pit did YOU do to him?!”

Either one or two parts left, next up Jazz pov.

-SSTP

OH HELL SSTP LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND REALQUICK THIS IS A FIVE STAR MEAL FOR MY SOUL FKKDJFG I JUST. I NEVER FUCKING GET TIRED OF THE WAY YOU WRITE I know I'm probably repeating myself at this point BUT IT'S JUST WHAT MY TRUTH LOOKS LIKE OKAY. EVERY TIME I SEE AN ASK FROM YOU AND START READING IT I GO "Oh M A N the author cooked so hard they should've made Ratatouille 2 about this way of placing words."

[sirassban]

I Drew Mech pilot AU jazz & prowl (I love them so much it hurts) by @keferon  (this is definitely ooc but 🤷‍♀️)

[am-1-ty]

@keferon’s AU’s have my jazz/prowl hyperfixation in a headlock.

They’re literally so cute I can’t even-

[smokescreenimusprime]

not my usual but it was too perfect to pass up and the idea was NOT leaving my head. Decided to write a snippet for @keferon's IMMACULATE Mecha Pilot Jazz AU, though apologies if the charactization is a lil funky, this is my first time writing either of these characters and double apologies for the undoubted slew of grammar and spelling errors

but that aside, I hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is It Self Sacrifice If It's Not Really You?

Despite the cacophany of the battlefield, Prowl's scream cut through it with with the ease of a freshly sharped blade through flesh and found it's home nestled into Jazz's ears.

He barely had a second to look up, hardly more than a glance, but it was all he needed to make out familiar white and black.

A Quintesson, one of the smaller but more freaky looking ones, was looming over his collapsed frame. He was pinned, his back to solid rocky walls and the Quint at his front, jamming it's tentacles into every crack of his armour they could.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, but something was wrong.

"PROWL!" he shouted, shifting his weight in preperation to bolt. "HOLD ON, I'M COMMIN-"

But the screech of the Quintesson he was currently grappling with forcefully stole his attention back, barely any warning given before it's gaping maw latched onto his mech's forearm.

It pulled, joints and plates creaking with the strain but still holding strong. It shook it's head and Jazz brought a hand up to brace against the outside of the monster, if only to stop the arm from being completely ripped out of the socket. He landed a few solid kick as it lifted him off the ground, but it's movements were still largey effortless, like his frame weighed as much as a tin can.

Prowl screamed again. This time it was louder.

Against all common (sane) sense, Jazz looked away from his enemy and toward Prowl

Some of his external plating was damaged, gouges in messy circle patterns with rivulets of blue energon sluggishly bleeding out. He seemed to be smoking too, thin curls of smoke wafting off his cables. His eyes were flickering wildly, something Jazz had grown to associate with too much damage and too little power.

All of the damage paled in comparison to where Jazz's focus was.

Now, Jazz didn't know how these guys had their mechs built, but they could hold up to some serious punishment. Their engineers seemed to keep an even more meticulous eye on any damage, and Prowler and the other's all had frames clealy meant to last.

But they were all still vulnerable at their cores.

And the Quintesson's tentacles, sparking with a terrifying yellow and red electricity, were pulling and prying right at the plating above that core.

It was starting to show some give too, a testimate to the true strength of the offending monster. Chest plating, no matter the make, didn't come off easily, intent to protect the most vulnerable parts of a pilot.

The electricity was already frying his frame, if it got a straight shot of that to his chest-

Jazz needed to do something.

Jazz needed to do something.

But what, what could he do, whatever it was it needed to be quick, he didn't have time to finish off this Quintesson, there wasn't time for finesse, he just needed to go to help to F I G H T -

Jazz readjusted the braced positioning of his legs, thanking for what was probably the thousandth time the engineers who'd made the adjustment to give him more flexibility and agility, and brought his free arm high above his head.

And brought it down.

His trapped arm creaked, the plating denting and squealing as the metal controted, sparks going flying and red error messages flashing in his vision.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

He made sure to keep his blows aimed at preciscely where he knew it was weakest and made sure to push with his legs as hard as he could, swaying side to side and focing the joint to bend in ways it had never been meant to. His movements became a dance to the orchestra of cables snapping and metal ripping and electricity cracking and his arm b r e a k i n g , the dance growing faster and more determined the louder the music played.

It felt like eternity, and the phantom sensation was disorienting. There was no pain, only uncomfortable pressure that built up and up and up, perfectly in time with the warning messages he forcefully dismissed. It was far from pleasant, but it was nothing compared to the cold burning terrified angry fight flight save him running full blast in his brain.

And with one final crack akin to lightning, he was free.

It was the furthest thing from a clean break, and to his mild surprise it didn't break at the elbow but rather a bit above it. In the second of freefall he had, he couldn't help but admire the shredded stump and mourn how he knew Ratchet was going to have his head for all the extra work.

He hit the ground in a roll and popped up running, stumbling and nearly falling face first into alien dirt at the sudden uneven weight distribution but he simply let his partial fall carry him forward until he was sprinting full speed.

With his remaining hand he grabbed the Quintesson and pulled, not letting go until it wasn't tearing into Prowl's front and instead embedded several feet in the ground. He dashed, not giving it even a moment, standing tall in front of Prowl.

The Quint got back up, enraged screeches and chitters coming out of it's mouth.

"Back off," Jazz growled back.

The Quintesson attacked, and everything became the hyperaware blur combat always became.

Dodge, dodge, punch, dodge, kick, kick, punch, dodge, jump, kick jump-

One of it's tentacles latched right onto the open stump and set a wave of electricity in.

His mech's vision went bright white, sparks exploding out even inside his cockpit and the smell of burning metal filling his nose. All the protective insulation was made useless from the direct route into the mech's systems.

Jazz jerked his arm stump back and headbutted it.

He got a tentacle to the face for his troubles, grabbers squeezing and cracking the visor. He planted his feet, one on solid ground the other on the slack of the tentacle, and pulled as hard as he could.

A decent chunk of the face came left it, not deep enough to affect any systems or his vision anymore than it was already damaged, but enough that it certainly wasn't pretty.

He kept more distance after that. Wouldn't do any good for him or Prowler if he got fried too. But the Quintesson was desperate, like a cornered animal, grabbing and clawing at anything it could gets it's tentacles on. The same gouges Prowl had began to litter his own armour as it kept making grabs, and the beastie even managing to get a few more much briefer electrical surges in.

It was obvious only one of them was going to walk away from this fight, and Jazz was not going to let it be the Quint. Prowl would kill him if he did

Finally he managed to get in a lucky shot, albeit at the cost of his feet. The Quintesson tried to get in a bite like it friend had, only to be met with the full force of Jazz's feet pressing them apart.

The teeth and other horrors might've torn through his feet but dammit if it wasn't satisfying to hear the crack as its jaw snapped and the body went limp.

The battle was still going on around them, but it was starting to wind down. A trio of bots had even started attacking the one Jazz had left behind.

The immediate area was clear, and there were more than enough bots he could shout out to for backup if he needed it.

"Prowler, you okay?" he said, though he noticed his voice had a bit of static lacing it. Maybe getting his face ripped off did more damage than he thought, or it could be lingering damage from the electricity. "Sorry it took me so long to come getcha, talk, dark and bitey kept me a bit occupied."

He wiggled his stump with a chuckle, leaning in closer. Kneeling down was difficult with the leaking hydraulic fluid and Quintesson salivia making it hard to get a solid grip, but with the current state of his visor he didn't want to risk missing anything on Prowl. To his relief, despite the extensive denting and electrical burns, Prowl's chest was thankfully uncompromised. Hopefully his mech was insulated

The electricity seemed to have done a number on his connection to the head though, the eyes were still glitching wildly and his normally expressive face seemed stuck.

"J-Jazz..." Prowl stuttered, and Jazz found himself frowning. Maybe Prowl got a bit more banged up on the inside than he thought. "You- your-"

His eyes were flickering wildly about Jazz's mech, and he could practically hear his friend's battle computer crunching away.

"Ah, don't worry bout that," he rapping his mech's chest with a fist. "This old frame's gone through worse. Nothing delicate got smashed, and I've barely got a scratch on me. Ratchet'll have me right as rain before you know it, so don't worry your pretty little head one bit."

"Speaking of, I'm gonna go find 'im," he stood back up, looking around the battlefield. "The fight's pretty much over, and I'm not sure if it's a great idea for you to be moving after all that zappy nonsense. Just sit tight and-"

"No!"

Jazz startled a bit at the sudden shout, looking back down at Prowl. The other man's mech suddenly lunged up, sitting straight and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Prowler? Is somethin wrong?"

"I will contact Ratchet," he says in a rush. "A comm message will be more efficient than searching on foot, not to mention I'll be able to tell him what to prepare for,"

Jazz raised a brow.

"Go right ahead, Prowl," he chirped despite his suspicion. He was fairly certain Prowl was hiding something from him, but prying would just make him clamp down tighter.

Prowl didn't seem like the sort to hide things from medics but...

He sat his mech down and leaned back against the wall. "You don't mind if I wait with ya, do you?"

Just to be safe.

Despite his initial assumptions, Prowl actually seemed to relax at his suggestion.

"Not at all."

[glitchgh0sty]

*slams wip down on table*

*refuses to elaborate*

*leaves*

Yall, this au,, this one right here, 🤖 •o•⁉️,, no words needed, just 😭🤲✨ [perfection <33]

[Mecha pilot jazz au, by Keferon]

[reader-from-another-dimension]

Art jumpscare!!!

Yeahhh I draw too, just recently got an ipad and is still getting used to it tho so I doodled a bunch of mech Jazz au by @keferon :D

[echo-circuit]

Texaid from @keferons Mecha pilot AU has me by the throat and with a weapon to my head so I wrote 1.5k words instead of getting ready for bed.

Kinda saucy, just fyi but here's a snippet! It'll be up on AO3 soon!

"Don’t start,” Felix warned, pulling the blanket over his lap as he navigated the tablet.

“Oh, I’ll start, aiddy baby,” Vortex teased, his voice wrapping around Felix like a tangible thing. “You’re sitting in my chair, in my cockpit, wrapped up like a gift just for me. You think I’m gonna let you off easy?

-------------------------

Edited to add link

Link to full story 👇

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61519687/chapters/157273648

[dubia-015]

Inspired by this post , audio is from here, and opening music is from this ! This idea popped into my head and I had to make it asap

[catcake24]

Universal Misunderstandings

Summary: Based on @keferon's Mech Pilot Jazz AU. Jazz is a Mech Pilot who gets lost in space.

I wrote this in like... an hour, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I just needed to get it out, even if it's a little clunky. (Also I don't write Jazz and Prowl often, so they might be a bit ooc)

If you had asked Jazz what was the craziest thing he ever saw, he would say the moment the giant ships entered earth’s atmosphere for the first alien invasion. Or maybe when he joined the mecha program to fight those aliens, and saw the mecha suits they would be piloting for the first time.

He wasn’t sure if meeting a race of giant robots was any crazier than that, but it was at least top three now.

Being a mecha pilot was surprisingly routine in some ways, similar to the times he was a NASCAR driver in some strange ways. How he would check his machine before every mission, how he piloted it like it was an extension of him, and how painfully aware he was of the danger all around him.

Only now, instead of being at risk of crashing into another driver or spinning off the track, he was at risk of being killed by giant aliens with five faces and so many tentacles.

No one was even sure why the aliens attacked in the first place, only that they desired some sort of potent energy source that was only discovered after they drove the aliens from one of their mines on Earth - and what was found in them revolutionized their technology forever.

They called them Lightning Crystals, based on the blue glow and the little shocks they delivered. The crystals were rare, but extremely potent in energy unparalleled by anything on earth.

Exactly what they needed. Oh, sure for solving global warming and creating efficient technology of course. But they also were the missing element in the new M.E.C.H. program – giant robots which could be controlled by a single person, able to pack as much punch as the aliens. With the Lightning Crystals, they could power these giant machines and finally drive them from their planet.

Jazz was one of the top pilots, though his Mech Suit was focused on rescuing people from peril and buying time as they evacuated a city that would be attacked. It was almost once a month, or several times if they were unlucky – the aliens would land, attempt to get a foothold on their planet, but were driven off by the Mecha. Only to appear again the next time.

And so, the routine was set. Go out, punch some aliens, retreat and recover, and start all over again later. It wasn’t glamourous, but Jazz knew he was doing his part in protecting the planet.

That changed when the Space Program was initialized.

The director of MECH realized they needed some sort of foothold in space, to fight back before they landed on the planet and destroy the ships they had just out of striking range out in the void.

Jazz was selected as one of the first, as his smaller robot would be more ideal for space travel – or so they told him, he wasn’t totally sure if that was bullshit or not anymore.

And so, Jazz found himself being launched into space to fight Aliens. He wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into an anime, but it definitely felt like one.

During the fight though, something went wrong.

Jazz had been thrown into one of their ships, there was frantic beeping and flashing, and suddenly he felt his whole body feel every sensation at once – and when he got his bearings and noticed the ship was in motion again, he realized, with a sinking terror, that he couldn’t see earth in any direction around him.

His worst fears were only confirmed when he was thrown off the small space shuttle, and couldn’t contact ground support after he crashed onto an unknown planet.

He had to take a few hours to himself, and screamed inside his mech suit’s protective armour. Jazz didn’t know when he passed out from crying, but he felt somewhat refreshed. Not any better, but… not exhausted.

All things considered… he would be alright for a little while. He found more lightning crystals on the planet, and had some rations he could stretch out for awhile. But he wasn’t sure what to do, without any idea where he was or how to contact home.

He set up his homing beacon, and just hoped again all odds that maybe it would be picked up by someone.

-

Prowl wasn’t a very social cybertronian, everyone knew that about him. He wasn’t anti-social, but he didn’t have an easy time communicating with others.

He would be too blunt, or maybe just not react the right way, and suddenly they were upset for reasons he didn’t immediately recognize. He got better at learning what was and wasn’t acceptable in the broad terms, but he struggled with specifics sometimes.

But Prowl was also brilliant – that wasn’t ego, it was repeated often enough that even he had to accept it. The Tac-Net within his processor was faster than any standard internal strategy computer, but that was only a tool. His processor was able to churn through all the data it gave him, and utilize it to its fullest extent with his own creativity and intelligence.

It made him one of the vital assets to the Autobots, and later to the combined cybertronian armies which fought the Quintessons – a walking battle computer, able to analyze a battle field and begin a counter strategy before the opponent even realized it.

So, his communication issue was merely a minor inconvenience in comparison.

Even still, he didn’t have many friends, and he was used to his own company. Prowl didn’t think on it often, just focusing on his task.

Prowl was alone while crossing a large stretch of uninhabited space, a spiral galaxy system which consisted of planets either barren or void of sentient life, when he received the ping on his console.

Unknown Energy Signature, Distress Beacon Detected. Prowl frowned as he read across his screen, because it didn’t make sense at first. He pulled the ship around for a second look before he lost the signal, and saw it was located on a nearby planet.

His Tac Net spat back possibilities when probed, ranging from “Quintesson Trap” to “New Emerging Sentient Life”, and he deemed the risk low enough to check at least.

Prowl wasn’t a social mech, but he wasn’t as heartless as some soldiers said he was.

-

Jazz didn’t notice the ship until it was almost right above him, but he was still in his Mech Suit luckily enough. Using the larger bulk of this robotic body, he tried to wave the ship down using his long arms with a burst of frantic energy.

The Mech robot was psychically linked to himself, and so it was easy enough to arrange the machine’s body to look like a crazy person looking to hitchhike on the highway. He didn’t care though, only happy that someone, anyone, had found him.

It definitely wasn’t human, there were basically no ships of this design and even if there were none had launched yet. Another alien race didn’t seem too far off either, whoever they were. But really, they could be made of goo and Jazz would probably hug them in thanks.

He only really started to realize that this might be a bad thing when the ship landed, because that thing had some pretty big guns. Or maybe those weird energy blasters he saw before, and this was one of the aliens trying to colonize his planet.

Still though, he swallowed his fears and put on a brave face – even if no one else saw. He strutted up to the large ship like he owned it, and… waited.

The ship door opened soon enough, lowering down into a ramp, and out stepped… another robot?

Jazz blinked, suddenly very aware of his body inside of the mech suit, when he saw it… or them?

He didn’t know what to think, seeing the human-like face and odd proportions of their body. Was this another mech suit of some sort? Why did it have wheels?

Jazz had to snap out of it, because the robot started talking to him.

“Dobbqfkdp,” they said with a stoic demeanour, “xj F ql xpprjb vlr ibcq qeb afpqobpp pfdkxi? F txpk’q xtxob qebob txp olylqfz ifcb qefp cxo lrq fkql qeb dxixuv.”

Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t understand a word of it. The robot was holding the blaster on their hip, obviously ready to attack if Jazz proved hostile.

Hesitantly, he turned on his communications radio and spoke.

“Umm, sorry my guy, but I don’t know what you’re saying? I’m a bit new around here is all,” he said with a somewhat nervous laugh. He almost wished his own mech had a face, so he could express how he wasn’t hostile.

There was silence for a moment, the wind blowing by around them and picking up a barrage of maroon plantlife that looked like flowerpetals. It was serene to see, but Jazz kept his focus on the robot whose eyes were widening in surprise.

They then cleared their throat, deliberately taking their hand off the gun and offered something. Jazz stepped forwards hesitantly, seeing it was a small chip.

The robot gave a forced smile, obviously trying to not appear threatening but looking awkward instead. “Jv xmlildfbp. Bah-weep-Graaaghnah, weep ni ni bong.”

Somehow, against what was rational, the phrase they said made Jazz relax a little. It was a ridiculous nonsense in English, but somehow it made the offer seem less unknown.

Hesitantly, Jazz accepted the chip and plugged it into his mech. His eyes nearly bugged out when it started interfacing with his systems, almost pulling it out, before seeing what it was doing – it was scanning the coding and language of his mech’s sytems, pulling them out into a strange dictionary. Soon, it was done with a PING, and the chip ejected itself.

Holy shit, he thought, they have a fucking universal translator, like Star Trek!

The robot’s hand was extended again, obviously asking for the chip, and Jazz gingerly placed it back in the robot’s open palm – somehow having five fingers, which somehow was one of the first things Jazz noticed right now.

He was really overwhelmed, okay?!

The robot inserted the chip into the back of their head, and Jazz had a sinking realization.

Maybe he was jumping the gun, but the way the robot’s eyes went dim briefly as it processed the chip, made Jazz think is this an actual sentient robot?!

“Thank you, I suppose this must be very confusing for you,” the robot then said, in perfect English.

“Ugh… kind of?” He said, shrugging slightly which translated to his robot around him. It was a reflex hard to break, even if it was unnecessary for his mech to emote.

“We’ve known about aliens, but this is the first time I’m meeting one that doesn’t want to kill me,” he said, with a slight laugh at himself. “Sorry, this is really weird.”

“Well,” the mech said, giving a soft smile which looked much more genuine, “I’m sure my kind will be eager to welcome another robotic race to the galaxy.”

Jazz’s mind went blank, as he had two sudden realizations.

Holy shit, I was right, this is an actual sentient robot who is actually talking to me, quickly followed by, they think I’m also a robot.

This… might be messy.

Despite this, Jazz just gave a nod, “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual!” He said awkwardly.

“Now… can you help me off this planet?”

The robot gave a brisk nod. “Of course, it’s not uncommon for new space faring species to have transwarping incidents like these. Come with me, my people will help you get home.”

Without any better options, Jazz hopped onto the ship. As he went inside, he realized the whole thing was scaled to the giant robot he was with. Scaled to his mech as well, conveniently enough.

“So, could I get your name?” Jazz said, as he finally was getting ahold of his anxiety. At least he wasn’t dead, and he was going home, so suddenly this was feeling a lot less intimidating.

“Of course, I’m Prowl of Praxus. You?”

“Ummm, Jazz. Jazz Wilson,” he said.

“Very well, it’s nice to meet you Jazz Jazz Wilson,” Prowl said, and somehow that phrase, which wasn’t nearly the craziest part of this situation, got a bark of laughter from Jazz.

“Just Jazz is fine. It’s nice to meet you too Prowl.”

He got a nod of acknowledgement, as the ship flared to life and prepared for takeoff.

Jazz might need to sleep for a decade when he gets home.

(Translation for Prowl Earlier: Greetings, am I to assume you left the distress signal? I wasn’t aware there was robotic life this far out into the galaxy.)

I also won't apologize for using the transformers universal greeting :P, I love that thing. Canonically, it's a phrase so ridiculous that anyone who says it must mean no harm - which is why Jazz somewhat relaxes when he hears it despite not knowing what it means.

I hope you liked this short little story (≧∇≦)ﾉ it's more just exploring the concept than anything.

Also sorry for using the term mech or mecha wrong, I don't watch enough anime ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Two - Outlier

Part Twenty One

———

Iron is the 26th element on the periodic table, symbol Fe for Ferrum in Latin. It is the fourth most abundant element on Earth and was primarily deposited by meteorites.

Humans have been using iron since before the Bronze Age, initial use linked all the way back to the second millennium BC. 

It also is the mineral that the human body needs the most for growth and development, the human body uses iron to make hemoglobin which is a protein in red blood cells. Hemoglobin is why human blood is the shade of red that it is and why blood is a significantly different shade upon contact with oxygen.

Iron oxide is the reaction of iron to oxygen and water, which turns the iron to a dark red nearly blown tone, also known as rust. 

Rust is incredibly dangerous to Cybertronians and humans alike. 

—

Their walk through New Kaon was quiet and informative, Hound was trying to ignore the blood and discharge sliding under the collar of his assistance suit with each step. It was unlike Iacon and unlike Earth, it was something entirely unique to Decepticon culture and clearly Megatron was proud of it, smiling a bit, Hound kept walking and listening, “Just past those buildings is where we first landed on this planet, it’s where the space bridge usually stands though deactivated and dismantled due to the war.” His hands were folded behind his back, he walked with the same ease as any man who knew this was his city.

Nodding a bit, Hound continues to look around, “So, I understand why you have fighting pits, they’re probably a lot like our military bases back home, but why have them off cybertron?” Megatron hums, nodding some and glancing towards the sky, “Other than for the obvious reason, I take it?” It took a second for Hound to chuckle weakly, “Other than your million year civil war, yes, I mean why not have one there now?” Megatron nodded slowly, bowing his head slightly.

”Cultural differences and a desire to move on from unsavory pasts.” Hound came to a hard stop, staring at him and he cleared his throat a bit, “Wow.” Megatron chuckled deeply, “Jazz had a similar reaction, then attempted to explain some history of your planet while we walked. I think it just confused us both, he said he was not a history major.” Nodding a bit, Hound moves to catch back up.

Scratching his jaw again, Hound sighs, “Neither am I, so I don’t think I’ll even attempt that. I’d ask Breakdown on that, it’s much more up his alley.” They lapsed back into comfortable silence, walking the streets of New Kaon. Awkward companions that had similar goals. 

—

“Sir, why did you want me for your unit specifically?” They were still walking towards these ever elusive fighting pits. Megatron hummed deeply, “I figured that would be obvious Hound.” Nodding slightly, Hound picks up his pace slightly, “I don’t exactly see it that way.” With a chuckle, Megatron shakes his head, “No, I guess you wouldn’t. You and Mirage work very well together.” Nodding, Hound sighed a bit, “Ah.” With another chuckle, Megatron rested a hand on his shoulder, “That is not a bad thing Hound. Not many can work so closely with outliers and come out unscathed.” Nodding again, Hound went from nodding to slowly shaking his head.

Glancing toward the sky, Megatron bit back a swear, “Sometimes I forget that it seems your people don’t communicate the same way we do.” There was something in that statement, bitter and sounding almost painful.

In a breath, Megatron shrugged lightly, “We try to spread those with outlier abilities through different units, but maintain the bonds they make with more typical mecha. It’s not… easy to get along with mecha who have outliers. They can be abrasive and crass. Overwhelming both in EM and in personality.” Hound nodded a bit, really wishing for a pen and paper in that moment as they kept walking though now shoulder to shoulder. 

“Um, sir, forgive me but I still don’t quite understand and believe me it’s not making me feel like the brightest bulb in the box for having to ask this but what exactly are outlier abilities?” Megatron chuckled deeply but glanced towards Hound before frowning, “When i said that your kind don’t seem to communicate, I did not mean that literally. Has Jazz not told you?” Shaking his head a bit, Hound sighs, “It can be hard for him and I to have a moment to discuss things not related to the war or more everyday occurrences of, forgive me, your kind.” Nodding, Megatron fidgeted lightly with his digits, “I see.” Clearing his throat a bit. 

Nodding some, Megatron started to walk at a significantly slower pace than their already reduced one, “Outlier abilities are generally unexplained, they aren’t particularly connected to a mech’s altmode or anything else it seems. Back before the last war, they had to remain hidden or hide their capabilities.” Taking a breath, Hound just above a whisper, “Because Functionalism.” Megatron bowed his head. 

These were not topics that were usually brought up, it was suggested by Jazz to steer clear of them, but sometimes that just simply couldn’t be avoided. 

“They were persecuted and often hunted back then, now they are seen as the treasures that they are. In all honesty, it is one of the many reasons why Starscream remains my second in command, because of his trine’s capabilities.” Hound chuckled a bit and Megatron shook his head, “I wish I were joking Hound, but they were valuable assets. Still are, hence why they are here and not on Cybertron starting their lives,” He stops and sighs, “Now that the civil war is over that was supposed to be what everyone got.” Nodding a bit, Hound steps forward and nods encouragingly.

Taking a breath. Megatron continues on, “Now, generally, those with outlier abilities are spread throughout units. Clumping them all together doesn’t do us much good. We work with surrounding them with the right soldiers, mechs who can stand to work together without killing each other preferably.” Shaking his head, he sighs, “Hence why when you brought up the fighting you were dealing with in your own unit Optimus was willing to compromise.” Hound stared and bit back a groan, “Got it.” Finally, Megatron showed the barest bit of a smile.

Tilting his head a bit, it was almost as if Megatron was mocking Hound, “What? You thought your speech was that rousing?” Biting back a worse retort, Hound lowers his head a bit, “No, sir.” Megatron chuckled, “Regardless, we try to keep those who can get along with the outliers around and Mirage has seemed to take a liking to you. You seem to be able to find him very easily even when he is hiding.” Shaking his head a bit, Megatron laughs more than chuckles, rubbing at his jaw. 

Hound was staring and shaking his head clears his throat, “Sir, uh, I don’t entirely know what you are talking about. What do you mean, hiding?” Megatron waved a hand through the air, “Mirage is able to make himself imperceivable, generally.” He clears his throat slightly.

Hound wasn’t really sure what to say, “What do you mean, imperceivable? Like, invisible? Outliers can do that?” Nodding a bit, Megatron shrugs, “Only Mirage so far, everyone’s ability is different. As for the invisibility, to everyone except your kind it would seem. Jazz in his first few weeks with us grabbed his arm while he was invisible to our eyes, said he just felt like someone was standing near him. Then there’s you.” “Me?” Pointing lightly to his own chest, Hound shook his head a bit, “I don’t,” “You end up next to him half the time in these fire fights while we can’t see him, while the enemy can’t see him. Scared him half to death the second time it happened and you started talking.” They walked for a minute, Hound opening and closing his mouth before muttering, “I thought he wasn’t there.” Megatron laughed and bent at the waist slightly.

Glancing towards Megatron, Hound shakes his head a bit, “I didn’t realize, I swear it sir.” Megatron nodded, smiling and chuckling lightly as they slowed at the edge of something large and circular, “Yes, I believe that was what Jazz called a ghostly feeling.” Hound nodded before looking out at the circle in the ground and he stopped dead. 

The space was huge and horrific, but it was understandable with how long Cybertron had been at war. Everyone had their dirty secrets, even if they were training pits that looked like illegal fighting rings. No wonder they didn’t want any on Cybertron.

Megatron leaned against the railing, staring out at a few mechs that were training, who were also wearing what was the purple sigil of the Decepticons, now the emblem of one of the many political parties that made up Cybertron’s government. Which probably meant they were either high in the military, never stepped foot on Cybertron, or were a part of the council Hound had been avoiding. Very few mechs still wore their badges, less they were in the military or involved in politics.  

Back in the first few weeks they’d been out here, him and Jazz had talked about it. Back then when it was all so new it had seemed so interesting, how similar their planets were, then horrifying. Now, politics were the last thing he wanted to think about or focus on. 

Taking a breath, Hound leans against the railing, “Sir?” Megatron nods a bit, “I hoped this would not seem familiar to you. Your kind has gone through so much already in life, this was an aspect of it that I hoped you’d avoid. No matter how similar our pasts may seem.” Bowing his head slightly, Hound brushes a hand along the railing, “It is familiar, isn’t it?” “Yes sir.” Megatron sighs slowly, fist hitting the railing hard before shaking his head.

”I apologize for my anger Hound, I swear it is not aimed towards you.” Laughing a bit, Hound glances towards him, “Just my government?” Megatron pauses, frowning slightly, “… Yes.” Hound couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, even as it made his head pound, leaning a hit against the wall, he looked up at the sky.

He hadn’t really noticed that the color of the sky here was orange, every planet that they had gone to had been different and none had yet reminded him of clear Earth blue skies. 

“So, who is in there right now? I don’t recognize them.” Megatron hummed and looked down, “Ah, you wouldn’t. That is part of team Chaar, they live here in New Kaon and one of my old commanders is the head of their unit. They are highly skilled and even more unpredictable.” Nodding some, he sighs, “They have not made their way back to Cybertron since the end of the war and now are the primary unit for this sector.” Hound glances over at the two mecha circling each other, covered in weapons and both mechs huge. 

Megatron stares and sighs, bracing slightly, “You might want to grip the railing,” “Why?” Though Hound’s hands quickly grasp it just as his vision fills with dust and sound cuts out to prevent hearing loss. 

For a second, he wasn’t sure what the hell happened till Megatron came in over internal comms, “That would be Lugnut, he has a special weapon that causes overly dramatic explosions. It’s not very reliable, unfortunately. The mech he nearly just blew up would be Blitzwing, I’d suggest we move on before their argument starts.” Hound still couldn’t see anything, “Uh, sir, I can’t see where to go.” His cameras were trying to cycle the lenses to clear them.

A hand grabbed part of his plating and held on, pulling him away from the expanding cloud of dust.

—

Iacon was shining in the daylight, while Sideswipe was enjoying it the best he could, turning up the brightness on his visual feed. He’d slipped out of the apartment while everyone inside was still asleep, though technically breaking the rules he didn’t much care for any of them at the moment.

Copper and silicon tubing is what he was looking for, Breakdown had said he wanted to also start making vodka so that his concussion would be manageable. It was smart of him to only mention that once Hound left. 

Sighing deeply, he tilted his head back slightly for the light to hit more of his cameras, brighting the visual feed further, “God, I miss Earth.” His implants were draining unpleasantly down his neck and arms, his shoulders painful. All of them besides Jazz were experiencing overuse and it was becoming more unpleasant by the day. 

Rolling his shoulder, Sideswipe swore and grabbed it, falling into the nearby wall, “Fuck!” His mech collapsed as he sank into his seat, holding his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d dislocated it and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time since he became a pilot let alone while piloting. 

He was stuck, well and truly stuck, he couldn’t get up without the use of at least one arm and the weight of his assistance suit was tugging on his dislocated shoulder. Making all this worse with every second, it was as if the weight of the whole suit was on just his arm. A shadow fell over him and he looked up, visor dimmed from the pain.

Prowl was staring down at him, frowning lightly, “Sideswipe, why are you on the floor?” Lowering his head, Sideswipe swore again, grasping his shoulder painfully, “I dislocated my shoulder and can’t get up, and please don’t say I told you so. I know we are not supposed to leave by ourselves.” Nodding slowly, Prowl reached down and pulled Sideswipe up carefully, “That’s right, you're not, and now you see why.” Sideswipe swore again as they started to walk back towards the apartment.

He’d hardly been out for twenty minutes, just had enough energy to enjoy the sun projected through screens onto his face before his body started to reject it’s purpose. 

A hand came down on his good shoulder and he swore, looking over his shoulder at Sunstreaker, “You’re lucky it was the two of us to find you Sides, not Jazz or Hound. Come on, we can get the tubing later, we need to spend time not in the suits while we still can.” Nodding, Sideswipe hung his head, swearing every handful of steps from the pain. 

“You make it sound like I don’t have the intention of telling Jazz,” Prowl frowned at Sunstreaker, “Or assume that he doesn’t already know.” Sideswipe looked to Prowl, stared at him and sighed deeply, “Fuck…” Sunstreaker laughed and started to cough, Sideswipe closed his eyes.

Even without their cameras on, he knew Sunstreaker was coughing up blood, just as Sunny knew he was bleeding and his shoulder was dislocated. 

—

New Kaon really was like Fort Irwin, the buildings were squat and there was dust everywhere. None had gotten into his ventilation system yet but it was only a matter of time. 

It was a military city and made during the war, in a way for the war, but people actually lived in the cities they made for target practice. Adapting for their new society and life as it is. Megatron had gotten him out of the dust cloud and started back towards the edge of the city.

All the soldiers were loitering around some unpacked heaters, Mirage was helping a few seekers. He looked over and froze for a moment, biting back a grin, “Uh, get caught up in a dust storm?” Megatron shook his head, “Very funny Mirage,” he sighs, “There was an incident at the pits, do you mind assisting Hound with hosing off? The mechs perception has been limited by the dust.” Mirage nodded, “Of course.” He walks over and takes Hound’s arm.

To be fair, Hound still couldn’t see that well, one of his cameras had cleared up but the rest were still blurry and had turned off after the first ten minutes. Mirage helped Hound over towards the set up wash racks, “Come on, let's get this dust off. Jazz has the same problem, saying that the visors weren’t great with the visual input.” Mirage kept a hand on his shoulder, helping him along. 

What he didn’t see was other mecha making lewd gestures towards Mirage, same as they had done on the shuttle, everyone knew what the outlier felt for Hound other than Hound. 

“There’s a step up here, just to maintain drainage.” Hound cringes slightly, stepping up and nearly slipping on the tile, “Damn, I hate not being able to see.” “We’re fixing it, don’t worry.” Mirage shuffled him around and rested his hands on his shoulders, “Alright, don’t move.” With a few creaks, the solvent turned on. 

It was already bringing the internal temperature of his suit up, which Hound didn’t realize had started to drop already. He sighed slowly and shuffled his suit to open the worst of the seams, brown and red dust started to hit the floor. 

Mirage stood back for a second before moving over, “Do you need help?” His face was burning, “No, thank you.” Hound sighed again and started to work on his helm, trying to subtly clear off the camera, “I heard from Prowl that communal wash racks were a thing for your enforcers and military?” Biting back a smile, Mirage nodded slightly and cleared his throat, “Uh, yes. Of course a Prowl would tell you that, he’s been both. But, yes, usually though you can feel the other person's EM field.” And Mirage just about choked on his words.

Embarrassment was clearly running hot through the poor mech, though Hound still couldn’t see, let alone feel it, “Yeah, I’ve been told our EM fields are faint to non-existent.” Mirage hummed and shuffled his feet a bit.

“So, I’ve been told you wash primarily with water.” Hound had the helm of his suit shoved under the spray of solvent now, rubbing at his visor and activating the cycling for the cameras, keeping his visual feed to a minimum, “Uh, yes. Solvent in too high of an amount can leave burns.” Now that he was here, he honestly wanted an actual shower not just the car wash. 

Clearing his throat again, Mirage shifted, “You going to be okay then?” Hound smiled a bit and glanced over, visor finally lightening with recognition, “Oh yeah, once in a blue moon isn’t going to kill me.” Mirage winced slightly, “Can you see?” Hound brushed some of the solvent off and started to check through his visual feed, “Uh, yeah, I think so.” With a sudden jerk, Mirage had his arm and was pulling, “Come on, you need to sit near one of the heaters to dry off then.” And he was fast when he wanted them out of there, leaving the solvent running.

Hound was almost embarrassed as his suit was dripping with solvent, dragged over to where Megatron had set up a heater, Mirage frowning deeply at him before looking at Megatron, “Sir, keep an eye on him and I’ll retrieve your ration.” Before even Megatron could say anything the man was gone.

Mirage was burning up with embarrassment and everyone but Hound could see or feel it. 

Sitting down near the heater, Hound leaned back and sighed, whiplash is what he’d call that. His mech was still dripping lightly with solvent. At this moment he was thankful for the tight seals that had been installed for this hapless mission. Megatron leans forward slightly, “Are you alright Hound? Losing a sense like that is never easy.” Nodding slightly, Hound shrugs, “I could see a little bit, but the dust just was sticking to my visor, it’s not a perfect sheet of glass unfortunately.” He lightly touches the visor, taking a second to wipe some of the blood on his face.

Megatron cleared his throat, “And you are sure that you’d be incompatible with some of our replacements?” Houch chuckled slightly, “That is very kind, but unfortunately no. Most of your upgrades won’t work for us. Other than the external weapons you’ve given us, though energon is still toxic.” Megatron hummed, bowing his head slightly.

One hand rubbed over Megatron’s face briefly, staring at the glowing heater as the sun was starting to set, “Your kind are both strong and weak, I apologize if this offends, but your incompatibility with us could get you killed.” Hound smiled sadly and nodded, “I know.” They both stared at the heater.

Hound shifted a bit before sighing slowly, “Sir, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Megatron looked over and nodded slightly, “Go ahead.” Sighing slowly, Hound rubbed at the bandage on his jaw, “Why do you have Mirage on your team? The way Jazz talked about it was that he usually works with Prowl.” He hummed and nodded, “Optimus suggested it, said he would work well with the team I was assembling, which included you of course.” Hound nodded a bit, rubbing his jaw.

”Yes, about that, why exactly did you choose me? There are five of us, you could have had any one of us.” Megatron hummed and shifted on his seat, “Yet, you’re the one who is here.” Hound tilted his head to the side slightly and Megatron held back a groan, “I don’t need your spilt sparks running rampant on my battlefield, they're terribly young. Jazz has worked with Prowl for five and a half stellar cycles, plus they are seeing each other. And I will have Breakdown on this battlefield once he is healed.” Biting his lip, Hound clasped his hands briefly. 

Shaking his head again, clearing his throat was a bit uncomfortable, “Yes sir, but why specifically me. You could have sent me across this insane universe and we’d probably get the same levels of coordination and ground.” Groaning, Megatron shook his head, “That is not the point. This is not about you being a soldier, let alone one because it’s what your creator did. Because that is your function, it is not for that.” Sitting forward again, he leveled his gaze at Hound. 

“I enjoy getting to speak with you Hound, that’s honestly why I requested you for my unit, aside from Mirage. I am a speaker, I was the voice of a revolution and now my voice only carries when speaking to or with the mech I love. Being able to speak to you and be uninterrupted while having simple conversation, reminds me of a simpler time. You hold no expectations, what is that phrase you use? A breath of fresh air. Intelligent conversation with no expectations, no strings, is a very rare and valuable commodity.” It took Hound’s breath away, sitting back a bit he stared at Megatron.

In the months that they had been planet side, he hadn’t felt like he was getting close with any of them, felt rather alien among the mecha. Glancing around at the small group, away from the other pilots for the first time in months, Hound took a breath and nodded a bit, “Thank you sir, I am glad I can be that breath of fresh air.” Mirage smiled over at him as he walked back over with two cubes, handing one to Megatron, though a light blush still covered his face. 

Smiling a bit, Megatron nodded his head, and Hound sat back to look up at the sky which had gone dark a little while ago, turning the orange to red then dark to nearly black other than for the scattering of stars. 

Knockout comes over with his own cube, sighing deeply, “Do we know when they will be entering the system?” Mirage shook his head a bit, sighing deeply as he sipped the warmed energon, “We’re tracking them the best we can, but that still isn’t great.” With a huff, Knockout sat down, frowning. 

With a glance up, Megatron smirked, “Are you pouting because Breakdown is still on medical rest?” Knockout scoffed, “I don’t pout.” Mirage snorted, “That’s scrap and you know it. Hound, what was wrong with Breakdown anyways?” He glances over and Hound turns his mobility assistance back on, setting down his own food and turns on his microphone.

Clearing his throat a bit of the makeshift alien noodle, he tries not to choke on the overly sticky stuff, “He has what we call a concussion, that’s uh, a head injury that can hurt some of our hardware.” He had been waiting for this question, “He’ll be tired, have a hard time with external lighting, be dizzy and have headaches for the first week or two. We all know what to check for so we’ll know when he can go back to duty.” Knockout leans forward, “How do you treat it?” Sighing, Hound rubbed at his neck, dislodging the soaking bandage and tried not to wince as it made a splat sound hitting the floor.

Nodding a bit to cover up the movement, Hound sighs, “With rest and some medications we had stored on the Odyssey. There’s no external work we can do to help this and no software that can be downloaded to repair it. It just takes time.” Humming, Knockout sat back, frowning. Mirage nodded, “Have you had a concussion before?” Chuckling, Hound nods, “Around six of them, I’m lucky to still be a pilot.” Megatron scowled.

“Is it easy for you to experience this injury?” Shrugging slightly, Hound shook his head, “As a pilot, sure, but we’ve done all we can to prevent them. It’s just something that happens.” Megatron nodded and bruded into his energon, Mirage smiled a bit sadly and rested a hand on Hound’s knee.

Mirage cleared his throat a bit, “How’s it been? Separated from your team?” Nodding a bit, Hound glanced around their small group at the edge of the city, enjoying the night and outdoors instead of being up in some tower or building before looking to Megatron briefly and back to Mirage, “It’s a breath of fresh air.” Megatron smiled a bit, shaking his head some.

Knockout was looking around, frowning, while the Hound, Megatron, and Mirage spoke. Relaxing and being able to simply talk.

“Does anyone smell that?” Knockout was frowning intensely, looking around the assembled group, “What?” Mirage glances up, still sipping his cube, “Rust.” Everyone who was eating nearby briefly choked on their food and it went eerily silent as the few people still moving started to glance over their plating. Hound gulped slightly, his neck burning with itchiness. 

———

A/N

I AM ALIVE! But in all seriousness, I have taken the LSAT and now have time to write for a little bit.

I wanted this chapter to be a bit longer since it has been like, two weeks since part 21, so enjoy over 4k words everyone.

Also sorry if the writing is a bit all over the place, it’s my first time writing in just about two weeks.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @astridkolch @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist

And as always, thank you to the amazing @keferon for this amazing AU and everything involved with it.

[cosmique-oddity]

Arcturus One : Designs

Heheheh

This extremely INCREDIBLE FIC can be found here

AU belong to @keferon

Additional characters ideas and Fanfic (Masterpiece) plus all of it additional lore were made up by @typewritingyip

I wanted to bring something to this incredible piece of work, and I write really bad, so I thought I might draw the pilot gang of Arcturus I,

No i didn’t just tought …….it …..IT ASPIRED MY BRAIN BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH I LOVED THE CHARACTERS HAHAHAAH

So anyway, have these references sheet made with all of my love (never drew mecha that weren’t TF coded before that LMAO hyper faction does that to a MF)

Sheets based of Keferon’s one, must keep it professional/j

Have another drawing of the gang without helms !

Short King Hound live in my mind !

(He is actually not that small, the others are just giant !)

Thank you again for this inspirying work, yip !

Cosmos ✌️

[keferon]

Question, is jazz controlling his mech from the chest or is he like, located in the head? Chest would make sense I think if you compare it to gundam and such but head is sorta like a brain replacement? Plus there is the huge visor he could potentially look through?

I think it needs to be chest because. Hear me out

Normal reason - the thickest armor - the best possible protection for pilot

My honest reason - JUST IMAGINE how freaky it would be for Prowl to see Jazz get FUCKING DECAPITATED and keep fighting after it. Just imagine