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keferon · 5 hours ago

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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."

#mecha pilot jazz au #mecha writing #mecha jp writing #NOW THIS IS WHAT A REAL TREAT LOOKS LIKE #CAN YOU HOOK THIS FIC UP STRAIGHT TO MY BRAIN PLEASE #the...the way the contrast is shown #Prowl who can feel pain. just straight up suffering bc he's alive robot #and Jazz who is a fucking war machine but also hooo boy I'm fucking scared to imagine what was happening inside the mech #maccadam #jazz #prowl #jazzprowl

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typewritingyip · 2 days ago

Text

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.