Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As Hook looked up at the foreboding gates of Helex, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread wash over him. Perhaps it was because this was the town that had forbidden him to study medicine solely on the basis of his alt mode. Perhaps it was because Megatron had assigned him on an important diplomatic mission and would have his head if he failed. Perhaps it was out of fear that, even after all these vorns, his city and his kin still held a grudge against him for having the strength to break free of the chains of functionalism. 

“I totally beat you here, Dead End! In your face!” 

“The ground is so shiny. I’m gonna lick it and see how it tastes!” 

“You try that, Wildrider, an’ I’ll beat the tar outta ya!” 

“VORTEX, YOU GLITCH! YOU BROKE MY GUN! I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” 

Or maybe it was because he had been saddled with the most disastrous excuse for a diplomatic team in recent Cybertronian history. Initially, the plan had been simple. Helex was a prosperous, and extremely well-armed, neutral city state with access to a not inconsiderable amount of resources. Even Megatron acknowledged that the city could not be conquered without a devastating loss of resources, so it was in the Decepticons’ best interest to keep diplomatic ties with Helex open and reasonably friendly. Powering an intergalactic war machine took a considerable amount of energy, and even while the rest of Cybertron starved, Helex still seemed to overflow with it. As a result, a diplomatic team consisting of himself, Swindle, Onslaught, and Blast Off had been organized to go to Helex and ensure that the trade agreements between the city and the Decepticons remained open. Hook provided inside knowledge about the city and how it ran, Swindle and Onslaught were both highly skilled in the art of diplomacy, and Blast Off provided both transportation and the prestige that came with being a member of the Vosian nobility. No matter how much Hook loathed his city of origin, he had to acknowledge that this had been a solid plan. And then things had started going off the rails. First, Onslaught had insisted on bringing along Vortex and Brawl, claiming that they would be sure to get in trouble without his supervision, and Megatron agreed to allow him to do so. This would have been bad enough, but then, for some unfathomable reason, Megatron had decided to send the Stunticons to Helex as well. He claimed that it was so they could learn about Cybertron and its superior culture firsthand, but Hook was fairly certain that he just wanted an excuse to get the reckless idiots out of his base for a while (not, of course, that he had said that to Megatron’s face). Never mind that the Stunticons wouldn’t recognize diplomacy if it came up to them and said hello; Megatron’s word was law. And that was how Hook had ended up here, outside the gates of Helex, watching Motormaster brutalize Wildrider and a furious Brawl chasing a cackling Vortex with obvious intent to maim. He and Onslaught shared a brief look of frustration, and then the anti-aircraft truck marched over to his subordinates. 

“Brawl! Vortex! Stop this nonsense at once!” 

“HE BROKE MY GUN!” Hook winced. One of the many unpleasant things about Brawl was his complete and total lack of an indoor voice. 

“I will deal with Vortex. Stop chasing him at once.” 

“Uh….YES, SIR!” Brawl bellowed. With one subordinate managed, Onslaught turned to the helicopter. 

“Vortex, we are on a very important diplomatic mission. If you screw things up by sending Brawl into a mindless rage, so help me I will have you grounded for the rest of your functioning,” Onslaught barked. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be a good little copter, all right? Just wanted to get in a little fun before we have to go and act all formal for a week.” 

“You had better.” Although Hook had no love lost for the conniving, treacherous strategist, he had to admit that Onslaught was generally quite good at keeping his subordinates in line….unlike certain other gestalt leaders he could name. 

“Worthless! The whole lot of ya are worthless losers! But I’m gonna beat you into shape if it’s the last thing I ever do!” Motormaster bellowed. Now he was thrashing Breakdown, and for no reason that Hook could see. Corporal punishment of subordinates for misconduct was common amongst the Decepticon ranks, but brutalizing them for no reason at all was barbaric and, frankly, quite counterproductive. Troops who got used as outlets for their leader’s rage usually became either treacherous or paralyzed with fear. Neither was useful for creating a functioning military unit. Not, of course, that Motormaster would ever pay attention to anything Hook said on the matter. The monstrous brute listened to no one but Megatron, and even that was sometimes questionable. Hook wasn’t about to put his life on the line for the sake of the Stunticons. 

“How disgustingly primitive,” Blast Off sniffed. 

“Indeed,” Hook agreed. 

“Eh, what’re you gonna do about it? None of us care enough about those crazy newbuilts to stick our necks out for ‘em,” Swindle asked. 

“That doesn’t make it any more pleasant to witness. Motormaster has no sense of decorum, and the fact that he and his team were sent on this diplomatic mission is nothing short of a travesty,” Blast Off replied. Swindle laughed. 

“Can’t argue with that. Those morons are an interplanetary incident waiting to happen. I don’t know what Megatron was thinking when he decided to send them with us,” he said. Hook frowned. 

“That reminds me. I need to give everyone a briefing about the nature of Helexian society. If we’re to have any success in this particular diplomatic mission, we must be sure to not offend their sensibilities,” he said. Onslaught, Vortex, and Brawl obligingly walked over to join their teammates, and then Swindle started giggling. 

“Good luck getting the Stunticons to stand still long enough to pay attention,” he said, prompting Vortex to start snickering as well. Hook glared at them. This situation was not in the least bit humorous! 

“Motormaster, you and your team need to come here at once. You must be briefed on how to behave in Helex so that you don’t cause a scene,” Onslaught barked. Much to Hook’s relief, Motormaster started to stomp over to him, his hooligans following in his wake. Hook gave the tactician a slight nod of thanks; he appreciated having been saved from Stunticon herding. As soon as Hook was certain that most of his audience was paying attention (Wildrider was undoubtedly a lost cause), he launched into his explanation of Helex. 

“The most important thing to know about Helex is that the city is utterly bound by the laws of functionalism, and has been for a very long time.” Unsurprisingly, the Combaticons looked less than pleased with this news, while the Stunticons, who had no concept of functionalism, simply looked bewildered. 

“What kinda functionalism? We talking “anyone with a flying alt is bad and must be killed on sight” or “all alt modes are equal, but some alt modes are more equal than others”? ‘Cause if I’m gonna be murdered for bein’ a jeep or something, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to bow outta this one,” Swindle asked. 

“The second type. In Helex, the alt mode with which you are created determines not only the professions into which you can enter, but also your station in life. For example, I was built as a construction vehicle. As a result, I was expected to go into the field of construction as a laborer. I was expected to keep my head down around my betters, never complain, and never dream of being anything but a poor, uneducated manual laborer. I certainly wasn’t supposed to teach myself how to be a medic and be accepted into a university in another city-state, and because I did just that, I was beaten, my family was fined a hefty sum, and I was banished from the city limits,” Hook explained. 

“Would I be correct to assume that changing one’s alt mode isn’t allowed?” Onslaught asked. Hook nodded. 

“Unless you are a member of one of the upper castes, it is strictly forbidden, and even amongst the very wealthy and powerful it is generally frowned upon. If I had attempted to change my alternate mode, it would have meant a lengthy prison sentence, if not even worse,” he explained. 

“So, how does this affect us, exactly? We’re not from Helex,” Vortex asked. 

“It doesn’t matter. We will still be expected to abide by the caste system; if we do not, any hope of successful diplomacy will be lost. As a result, it is very important for you all to know where your alternate modes place you in the Helexian caste system, and how you will be expected to behave,” Hook replied. He nodded to Blast Off. 

“Blast Off, you have one of the rarest alternate modes on record. You are a space shuttle, and moreover, you are obviously descended from Vosian nobility. We have also informed the government of Helex that you are an ambassador from Vos. It isn’t true, but they don’t need to know that, and because they isolate themselves from the rest of Cybertron, it is unlikely that they will ever find out. You will be treated with the utmost respect, both as nobility and as an Alpha Caste alternate mode.” 

“Hmm. At least there’s one city-state on Cybertron that still respects proper creation and programming,” Blast Off replied, sounding excessively pleased with the situation. 

“Brawl, you are-” 

“I’m a tank. We’re slow and stupid and violent and not good for nothin’ except carriyin’ heavy stuff. I’m gonna be low-caste.” Hook was a bit surprised that Brawl had been smart enough to put two and two together, but he nodded. 

“Yes. You’re Delta Caste. Swindle, you’re a jeep, so you’re Gamma Caste. That would be the equivalent of lower middle-class elsewhere.” 

“Huh. I was kinda expecting to be lower, seeing as I’m a borderline war-frame and all.” 

“There aren’t many jeeps in Helex, so they simply got lumped in with vans and other types of SUVs. Onslaught-” 

“I’m an anti-aircraft truck. That puts me in the Delta Caste, if not even lower,” Onslaught said brusquely. 

“Well, yes. You are a ground-based war frame; that shunts you into the Delta Caste by definition. Vortex, you are a military helicopter; that puts you in the Gamma Caste. If you were an airplane, you would be beta-caste, but helicopters are slower than planes and Helexian society greatly prizes speed.” Hook couldn’t be sure due to the mask concealing the helicopter’s face, but he was fairly certain that Vortex was grinning underneath his faceplate.

“Does that mean I can tell Onslaught what to do?”  

“Only when we’re in public, but yes.” 

“Nice.” Onslaught glared at the helicopter, who predictably didn’t seem even mildly perturbed.

“Drag Strip, you are a performance race car; you are alpha caste. Breakdown, Dead End, and Wildrider are all luxury sports cars, so they would normally be high Beta Caste. That being said, their familial connection with you will likely be enough for them to likewise be considered Alpha Caste,” Hook said. As soon as he finished saying this, he was struck by a horrible realization: namely, the fact that he was going to have to tell Motormaster that they were both considered members of the Epsilon Caste, which was effectively the lowest caste. (There was a caste known as the Disposables, but the members of that caste weren’t really supposed to exist and legally weren’t allowed to interact with any other caste.) Motormaster was used to being the unquestioned commander of his group; he was not going to take at all well to the idea that in Helex, he would be expected to be subservient to...well….everyone, but especially his younger brothers. And Motormaster was well-known for his tendency to lash out violently at anyone who brought him bad news. 

“What about me?” Motormaster demanded. Hook backed a few steps away from the semi truck, maneuvered himself so that Brawl would serve as a partial shield should Motormaster attack, and prepared to give him the bad news. 

“You are not going to like this, Motormaster, but you and I are members of what is effectively the lowest caste, Epsilon. I’m a crane; you’re a semi truck, but we are both seen as good for nothing more than manual labor. We, and the members of the Delta Caste, are expected to show deference to members of the higher castes. We don’t make optic contact, we don’t speak to them unless we’re spoken to by them, and we are expected to do what they tell us to do.” Motormaster scowled. 

“If Breakdown and Wildrider and Dead End get to be Alpha Caste or whatever ‘cause of Drag Strip, why don’t I? I’m their brother, too!” 

“Two reasons. First, being lifted from high Beta Caste to Alpha Caste due to shared programming is quite a different prospect than being lifted from low Epsilon Caste to Alpha Caste. Second, as long as we are in Helex, you are not their brother. No member of the Alpha or Beta Caste would ever be built to share programming with a member of the Epsilon Caste. Once we enter those walls, you will not be allowed to act familiar-or worse, commanding-around your subordinates. Are we clear?” The blank expression on Motormaster’s face made it fairly apparent that he still hadn’t fully grasped the concept, but Hook had spent enough time on the briefing. If they were to be on time to check in at their hotel, they needed to cross the border into Helex.

Chapter Text

Much to Hook’s surprise and relief, his sorry excuse for a diplomatic team managed to check into the hotel without incident. True, it had only been accomplished because he had refused to let any of the Stunticons besides Dead End speak directly with the mech working at the hotel’s admission desk, but avoiding an embarrassing political incident was avoiding an embarrassing political incident. Now all he had to do was make sure that everyone was aware of their cover stories before they split off into separate groups. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly (a pointless gesture that all of the Earth-bound Decepticons had somehow managed to pick up from the disgusting natives of that planet). 

“All right. Now that we have secured our reservations, we will thankfully be allowed to split off into smaller groups. However, in the interests of avoiding suspicion, I am going to give all of us a cover story so that we may more seamlessly blend into our surroundings. Blast Off, you know your cover story already. You are an ambassador from Vos. Swindle is your accountant and finance manager, Vortex manages your schedule and functions as a secretary of sorts, and Onslaught and Brawl are your bodyguards.” Much to Hook’s irritation, Vortex started cackling like a loon. 

“I’m a secretary ?” Hook glared at him. 

“I have seen your files, Vortex. You have the requisite intelligence to convincingly act like something other than the monster you are for the duration of this mission.” Vortex kept cackling. 

“Have you seen my after-battle reports? I’d be a terrible secretary! Blast Off must be a really stupid diplomat if he hired me for that job.” Hook sighed and decided to ignore the helicopter’s obnoxious antics. 

“Are there any other questions?” 

“No. My team and I will play our roles properly…. Vortex included ,” Onslaught replied coolly. He glared at his subordinate, who waved cheekily. 

“Good. In that case, the five of you are free to go to your rooms,” Hook said. As the Combaticons dispersed, Hook turned to the Stunticons, at least three of whom were clearly only seconds away from doing something incredibly reckless, destructive, and stupid. 

“Before I give you five imbecilic newbuilts your cover stories, I suspect that I will need to lay down a few ground rules. As long as you are staying in Helex, you will behave in a way befitting of your ascribed castes. You will not fight each other, drive around inside, break anything, draw on any walls, get into fights with the other guests at the hotel or other Cybertronians out in the streets, rant about the futility of life or the fact that you’re being watched or your belief that you are some sort of Earthen fruit, or challenge random passersby to contests of any sort. Are we clear?” 

“But I am a pineapple!” Wildrider exclaimed. 

“Even if you are, there is no need for you to constantly enlighten everyone of that fact. You will not bring that up. Understood?” 

“Yes, Captain Hook. Make sure you watch out for the crocodile,” Wildrider replied. Hook stared at him for a few seconds, completely nonplussed. 

“Wildrider?” 

“Yes, Cap’n?” 

“Let your brothers do the talking.” 

“Aye-aye, me hearty!” Hook sighed. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this one. 

“The rest of you are responsible for keeping him from disrupting everything, understood?” 

“Got it, Doc. And don’t worry. I won’t have any trouble keeping Rider in line. I’m awesome like that,” Drag Strip boasted. 

“And all of you will remember to not act like hooligans?” 

“Though it will undoubtedly prove to be a futile endeavor, I will do my best to ensure that we all stay on our best behavior,” Dead End said mournfully. 

“Good. Now for your cover stories. Drag Strip, you, Dead End, Breakdown, and Wildrider are here on vacation. You come from wealth and privilege, so do your best to act as though the luxuries that you will be showered with here are normal to you. Furthermore, Drag Strip is a famous racer. I would say that he should remember to act arrogant and entitled, but knowing him, he will not have any trouble with that ,” Hook replied. 

“Of course I won’t! I’m the best!” Drag Strip exclaimed, proving Hook’s point. 

“Precisely. Now, are there any other questions before I dismiss you to your luxury suite that you will not run roughshod over?” Much to Hook’s surprise, Breakdown raised a shaking hand. 

“W-w-what about M-M-Motormaster? Isn’t he staying w-w-with us?” The other four Stunticons looked equally puzzled, and Hook frowned in mild irritation. Had none of the Stunticons been paying attention to what he had told them earlier about Helex’s caste system? 

“No, Motormaster will not be staying with you. According to Helexian law, the four of you are in a much higher caste than he is, and, as such, he would never be permitted to share quarters with you,” Hook replied. 

“And this is because his alternate mode is considered less prestigious than ours?” Dead End asked. 

“Yes.”
“Wow, that’s really stupid,” Drag Strip remarked. 

“It does not matter. If this diplomatic mission is to be a success, we must abide by the rules of functionalism, loathsome as they may be.” 

“All right, so if I ain’t with them, what is my cover story?” Motormaster demanded. Hook winced, hoping against hope that Motormaster wouldn’t react to the cover story with violence. 

“The only long-term relationship a member of the Epsilon Caste would ever have with a member of the Alpha Caste is as a servant, so we are going to have to say that you are indentured to them. For the purposes of anyone who asks, your creators fell into debt. To pay it off, they entered into service to an Alpha Caste family, the one that Dead End and the rest belong to. The idea was that they would work as unpaid servants until the debt was paid, but since the cost of fueling and sheltering them was added to their debt, there was effectively no way for them to ever get out of debt, or out of service to the Alpha Caste family. When your creators died, you inherited their debt. For all intents and purposes, they own you...and you had best act as though they have owned you for your entire life,” Hook explained. 

“ Meanin’ ?” Motormaster growled. 

“Meaning that you are not to act as though you are their equal in any way. For as long as we are on this mission, they are not your brothers, and they are most certainly not your subordinates. On the contrary, you will be expected to act as their subordinate. You will be expected to do what you are told, when you are told, exactly how you are told, or you will face severe consequences. As a member of the lowest caste, you always show your betters the utmost respect, and you will address Dead End and the rest either as “Master” or “sir” when they speak to you. You do not make optic contact with them, you do not speak to them unless you are spoken to, you do not sit in their presence, and you do not ever threaten or harm them. And you will act properly grateful that they have deigned to acknowledge you as their servant at all. In Helexian society, you exist to serve them. The fact that they are willing to keep you fueled and sheltered is an undeserved mercy. Are we clear?” 

“I ain’t doin’ none of that! That’s stupid!” Motormaster bellowed. Hook frowned. 

“You will , and you will not complain about it. Megatron expects us to maintain diplomatic ties with Helex so that it will continue to supply our war efforts. If this mission goes awry and we lose our trade deal with the city, he will have our heads,” he said sternly. At the mention of Megatron, Motormaster’s expression shifted from murderous rage to resigned frustration. 

“Lord Megatron ordered us to blend in?” he asked. 

“Yes.” Hook replied. This was an oversimplification of what Megatron had actually said, but when talking to Stunticons, it was best to keep instructions as simple as possible. Their processors were far too underdeveloped for them to understand more complex orders. 

“Then I’ll do it. But I ain’t gonna like it.” Hook resisted the urge to sag in relief. He had actually expected a bit more pushback from the enormous brute than that, so it was a pleasant surprise to see him give in so easily. 

“As long as you play your role properly, you are not required to like it.” 

“Whatever. So, if I ain’t stayin’ with them, where am I stayin’?” Motormaster replied.

“Members of the Alpha Caste regularly travel with servants. As a result, most hotels in Helex have rooms that are designed to house their servants, and that is where you will be staying-in the servants’ quarters. The quarters will be on the same floor as your brothers’ room, of course, since servants need to be close enough to be at their masters’ beck and call, but it will be in a clearly delineated area, so you should not have trouble finding it. Furthermore, you will be expected to stay in the servants’ quarters unless you are specifically summoned. If you are found outside of them without your masters’ express permission, you will get into serious trouble,” Hook explained. Motormaster’s scowl deepened, and his hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t fly into a rage. For him, this was a rather admirable display of self-control. 

“Can we go now?” Drag Strip asked. 

“Yes. You, Breakdown, Dead End, and Wildrider are dismissed,” Hook replied. 

“Sweet! Race you to our quarters, Wildrider!” Drag Strip exclaimed. Before Hook could react, both he and Wildrider bolted towards the stairs, with Breakdown and Dead End following at a marginally more sedate pace. 

“No running in the halls!” Hook yelled, but it was too late. The four smaller Stunticons had already disappeared. 

“Buncha idiots,” Motormaster said. Hook was inclined to agree with this assessment, but it was not one that it would be safe for Motormaster to continue to express in public. 

“Be that as it may, you had best not express that opinion in public. They are Alpha Caste; for you to question their intelligence is a crime.” Motormaster’s engine growled, a sure sign that his frustration was continuing to build. 

“And one more thing before I dismiss you-you had best keep that temper of yours under tight control. You are not allowed to show anger towards your social superiors. Are we clear?” 

“Yeah, we’re clear .” 

“Good. If you were to lose your temper and strike one of your teammates, it could very well wreck the entire mission. Keep that in mind, Motormaster.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll remember. So can I go already?”

“Yes. You are dismissed.” With that, Motormaster stomped off towards the stairs, and Hook left the hotel, transformed, and drove towards the quadrant of the city that was predominantly inhabited by members of the Epsilon Caste. As he continued his journey, his surroundings became increasingly shabby, dirty, and cramped, and Hook had to resist the urge to shudder. He was a master surgeon, with two doctorates in medicine from Cybertron’s most prestigious universities, and he had accumulated a not-inconsiderable fortune over the vorns. In spite of this, coming home made him feel like a charlatan. How could a member of the Epsilon Caste, good only for mindless manual labor, be a proper doctor? Look at the filth and the poverty he had grown up amongst! No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t deny his origins when they were staring him in the face. Hook was proud of his abilities. He was proud of what he had made of himself...but it was hard to focus on his accomplishments when he was surrounded by all the reasons he wasn’t good enough or smart enough to be anything other than a laborer. 

Hook’s feelings of unease increased exponentially when he pulled to a stop and then transformed into robot mode in front of what passed for a residential building in this quadrant of Helex-one with which Hook was all too familiar. He, the best surgeon this side of Ratchet, had spent his earliest vorns living in a building that was little more than a shack. And as if that reminder wasn’t painful enough, his kin still lived here, and they likely wouldn’t be too pleased to see him. However, since no hotel in Helex would admit a member of the Epsilon Caste who wasn’t a servant, and Hook would rather be eaten by a Dinobot than act as a servant to Stunticons, this was the only source of shelter he really had. He steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation, and then knocked on the door. It was answered by his creator, Hightower. 

“Creator, I...” Hook began. Before he could get very far, Hightower angrily cut him off. 

“How dare you come back here? You and your wicked ambition nearly destroyed our family!” Hook winced. While he was determined to never apologize for having the courage to defy functionalism and pursue medicine, it was impossible to deny that his decisions had come at a price. Not only had he been beaten to within an inch of his life and thrown out of the city, but his kin, already poor, had been heavily fined and subsequently forced to indenture themselves to a member of the Alpha Caste to stay alive. They did have reason to be angry with him, even if he maintained that Helex’s government was primarily at fault for what had happened to them. 

“I am here on a diplomatic mission for Lord Megatron and the Decepticon army. All I request of you is that you allow me to stay here until said mission is complete. It should be no more than two weeks at most,” Hook said formally. At the mention of Megatron, some of the fury in Hightower’s face drained away and was replaced by fear. Mentioning the name of the Great Slagmaker tended to have that effect. 

“In that case, I suppose I have no choice but to allow you to stay-but I will expect you to earn your keep. It isn’t exactly like we have enough credits to support a guest,” Hightower replied. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Hook said. Surgeon or not, he still did plenty of construction work as part of Scrapper’s team. It wasn’t as though he was out of practice. 

“Then come in. If nothing else, I’m sure your siblings will be glad to see you…”

Chapter Text

“Why you, Slag, step on me, Snarl's tail?” 

“If you Snarl wasn’t in me Slag’s way, me Slag wouldn’t have stepped on you Snarl’s ugly tail!” Swoop winced and exchanged a nervous glance with Sludge. This wasn’t going to end well...

“Me Snarl’s tail not ugly.” 

“You saying me Slag stupid ?” 

“Me Snarl not say that.” 

“Yes, you Snarl did!” Snarl snorted. 

“Whatever makes you Slag happy.” Slag growled. 

“Me Slag not stupid! Me Slag am smartest Dinobot! Me, Slag bash you, Snarl’s brains for calling me, Slag stupid!” he bellowed. He pawed the ground and prepared to charge, but luckily, before he could, Grimlock stormed up to him. 

“You Slag had better leave him, Snarl, alone, or me Grimlock will bash your brains!” 

“But him Snarl call me Slag stupid!” Grimlock turned to Swoop curiously. 

“You Swoop and you Sludge saw what happened. Did him Snarl call him Slag stupid?” 

“No. Him Snarl just ask him Slag why him Slag stood on him Snarl’s tail,” Swoop replied. 

“What...him Swoop...say,” Sludge added. 

“That what me Grimlock thought. You Slag have been picking fights since us left Earth, and me Grimlock have had enough. You Slag will behave, or me Grimlock will munch you Slag’s metal. Understand?” 

“Me Slag hate you all!” With that, the grouchy Triceratops marched over to the other side of the ship that the Dinobots were taking to Cybertron. 

“Everything goin’ okay back here?” 

“Things going fine, Jazz. Me Grimlock was just dis-ci-plin-ing him Slag for trying to beat up him Snarl,” Grimlock replied. 

“Cool. Just heard a lot of shoutin’ and wanted to make sure everything was still goin’ smoothly,” Jazz replied. 

“How….much...longer...until...us get….to Cybertron?” Sludge asked. 

“We’ll be landin’ in about ten minutes, so y’all should probably sit down and buckle in,” Jazz replied. With that, he disappeared back into the ship’s cockpit, where he had been sitting with the Aerialbots. 

“You heard him Jazz. Buckle up!” Grimlock ordered. Swoop, Snarl, and Sludge obeyed immediately, but Slag huffed. 

“Me Slag not doing it!” 

“Yes, you Slag is!” 

“No, me Slag not!” 

“Yes, you Slag is! Transform to robot mode and get in seat, or me Grimlock turn you into Dinobot flambé!” 

“Fine! But me Slag hate you forever!” With that, Slag transformed, stomped over to his seat, and sat down in it with a loud THUMP . 

“Him Slag really need to work on him Slag’s bad attitude,” Grimlock muttered as he sat down next to Swoop. Swoop nodded. 

“You Grimlock right. If him Slag keep getting into fights over stupid stuff, him Slag going to get into real big trouble.” 

“And him Slag might get the rest of us Dinobots in trouble along with him. Me Grimlock just glad that you Swoop, him Sludge, and him Snarl less stubborn than him Slag,” Grimlock replied. 

“Me Swoop glad of that, too. Team not big enough for two Slags. It barely big enough for one.” Grimlock barked out a laugh. 

“Yes. Him Slag have big behind. Take up lots of space.” Swoop had to hold back a giggle. Slag knew better than to attack Grimlock, but he wouldn’t have any problem punching Swoop for laughing at Grimlock’s comment once they landed, and Swoop preferred to avoid getting into a fight with his grumpy older brother.

“Me Slag not have big behind!” 

“Yes, you Slag does. Me Grimlock have been sat on by you Slag before, and you Slag weigh a ton!” 

“No fair! Him Sludge way bigger than me Slag, and you not say him Sludge have big behind!” 

“Him Sludge have big everything . You Slag’s behind dis-pro-por-tion-ately large. You Swoop and you Snarl agree, right?” 

“Umm….” Swoop said. 

“Me Snarl not getting involved with this one,” Snarl said flatly. Swoop sighed in relief at the out Snarl had given him. 

“What him Snarl say!” 

A few minutes later, the Autobots’ shuttle landed on Cybertron’s surface, and Swoop and his brothers all got off of it. They were met by Jazz and all five of the Aerialbots. 

“Aerialbots, Dinobots….welcome to Helex!” Jazz exclaimed, pointing at the gleaming city that they had parked the shuttle near. 

“Helex? Uh... me….Sludge...thought us Dinobots...were going...to Cybertron.” Much to Swoop’s annoyance, the Aerialbot with the cat ears and the Aerialbot with the orange head started laughing at his brother. It wasn’t Sludge’s fault that he sometimes got confused, so why did the other Autobots make fun of him for it? 

“Air Raid! Slingshot! Stop laughing at Sludge!” 

“C’mon, Silverbolt! We can’t help it!” 

“Yeah. It ain’t our fault that those dopey Dinobots don’t know nothin’!” 

“You Aerialbots want me Grimlock to show you what this “dopey Dinobot” know about bashing your brains?” Grimlock growled. 

“I’d like to see you try, you prehistoric throwback!” 

“Yeah! You peabrains don’t hold a candle to us!” Suddenly, a car horn sounded. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill out, everybody. We’re all on the same team here,” Jazz said. 

“Then tell them planes to stop laughing at him Sludge!” Grimlock snarled. 

“I’m gonna, Grimster. Just hold off on the maulin’, all right?” 

“All right. But you better make them knock it off.” 

“Slingshot, Air Raid, laughing at someone for bein’ confused isn’t cool. You wouldn’t want me to make fun of you for not knowing about Cybertronian history, would you?” Air Raid looked sheepish.

“Well, no…” 

“Then you shouldn’t make fun of Sludge for not fully understanding Cybertronian geography, you dig?” 

“Sorry, Sludge,” Air Raid said. 

“Me Sludge...forgive you. But me Sludge...not want...you Air Raid...to do it...again.” 

“I won’t.” Swoop could tell that Air Raid meant it. 

“Good. Now Slingshot, what do you say to Sludge?” Jazz prompted. 

“I’m sorry you’re stupid, Sludge,” Slingshot said. Then he chuckled a bit nastily, which made Grimlock growl angrily. 

“ Slingshot !” Silverbolt exclaimed. He sounded embarrassed, and Swoop felt bad for him. He knew what it felt like to have embarrassing brothers.

“C’mon, bro, Jazz is right. You should apologize. It really isn’t that funny,” Air Raid added.

“‘Sides, if Grimlock decides to attack you, I don’t know how long I can hold him off,” Jazz joked. Slingshot gave a big huff that made him sound more than a little like Slag. 

“Fine. I’m sorry , okay?” 

“And it’s not gonna happen again, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep my trap shut,” Slingshot muttered. 

“Good. Now, as for your question, Sludge, we are on Cybertron. Helex is just a specific city on Cybertron, kind of like how Portland is a city on Earth,” Jazz explained. 

“Oh. That...make sense,” Sludge replied. 

“I like this city. It’s really pretty,” Fireflight remarked dreamily. Swoop agreed with him. Unlike most of Cybertron, which had been destroyed by the big war, Helex was shiny, pretty, and undamaged. 

“That’ll be because Helex is a neutral city. Because it’s really well-defended and never picked a side in the war, it managed to escape the devastation that the war wrecked on the rest of Cybertron,” Jazz explained. 

“And that neutrality is also why we’re here, right?” The last Aerialbot asked. Swoop could never remember what his name was. 

“That’s right, Skydive. Helex is overflowing with energon and resources, and since they’re not allied with the Decepticons, we have a shot at getting some of it if we play our cards right. We’re here as diplomats for the Autobot cause, and Optimus hopes that we’ll be able to make a trade deal with the government of Helex to help support our war effort. It’s a real important job,” Jazz replied. Grimlock puffed out his chest. 

“ Yes . Me Grimlock on important dip-lo-matic mission!” Jazz nodded. 

“Yep. And because this mission is so important, there’s some stuff I gotta tell y’all about Helex.” Skydive raised his hand. 

“Are you referring to Helex’s caste system?” 

“Cast system? How city have broken bones?” Grimlock asked. Swoop was equally puzzled. Ratchet had told him that only organics used casts. 

“Not c-a-s-t cast. C-a-s-t- e caste. A caste is ‘ a form of social stratification characterised by endogamy, hereditary transmission of a style of life which often includes an occupation, ritual status in a hierarchy, and customary social interaction and exclusion based on cultural notions of purity and pollution’,” Skydive replied. 

“What that mean?” Swoop asked, utterly bewildered. 

“Yeah, Skydive, where’d you get that definition, the dictionary?” Air Raid added. 

“Well, yes, but...” 

“A little simplification might be in order, Skydive,” Jazz said.

“Oh. In that case, a caste system is a cultural setup in which you are effectively created into a job and a social standing. You can’t change jobs or improve your status in life; in fact, it’s considered morally wrong to do so. Most caste systems are also full of inequality, and Helex’s caste system, from what I’ve read, is no exception,” Skydive replied. 

“Unfortunately, you’re right about that, Skydive. Helex is governed by a system called Functionalism, which decrees that some alt modes are inherently better than other ones. The alt mode you’re created with determines how much respect others give you, what jobs you can work, where you can live, where you can refuel, and how much freedom you have...and changing alt modes is completely forbidden,” Jazz said. 

“That sound awful,” Swoop replied. 

“It is awful,” Jazz agreed. 

“So, if this place is so awful, why do we want to make a trade deal with them?” Air Raid asked. Jazz sighed. 

“Trust me, none of us want to. But if we wanna keep our war efforts going, we don’t have much of a choice in the matter. And in order to make this trade deal, we’re gonna have to play along with their caste system,” he said. 

“But I don’t want to treat anyone as though they're worse than me because of their alternate mode,” Skydive protested. 

“Neither do I, Skydive...but we’re here to make a trade deal, not to start a revolution,” Jazz replied sadly. 

“Me Grimlock think that if old government is stupid, us Dinobots should just overthrow it and make trade deal with new one.” 

“As tempting as that idea is, Grimster, I’m afraid that we can’t do that. First, even though Helex is terrible, we don’t have a right to overthrow its government through force. That’s not the Autobot way. Second, Helex is incredibly well-armed. With a force this small, there’s no way we could overthrow the government even if we wanted to,” Jazz said.

“In other words, we’re going to have to play nice with the jerks,” Air Raid replied. 

“Pretty much, yeah. About the only positive thing is that most of us are considered high caste in Helexian society, which means that we won’t have to put up with getting treated like garbage. I’m a sports car, so I'm in the high Beta Caste, which is the second-most prestigious class. Aerialbots, you’re all planes, so you’ll be Beta Caste, too,” Jazz said. 

“What about the Dinobots?” Silverbolt asked. 

“Well, Helexian society doesn’t have a proscribed caste for dinosaur alt modes, so since they’re enormous and working with us, they’ll be treated as members of the Beta Caste as well.” Swoop felt relieved. He’d been worried that the alt modes he and his brothers had would make them low-caste, and he was relieved to hear that they wouldn’t have to put up with being treated badly. 

“So if planes and sports cars are a big deal, and they don’t have any category for Dinobots, then who’s in the low castes?” Slingshot asked. 

“Slow, ground-based vehicles, mostly. Things like tanks and construction workers and big trucks,” Jazz replied. 

“Does that mean that Helex would treat Optimus Prime like a member of the lower castes?” Silverbolt asked, sounding appalled. 

“You got it. In fact, when word got out that the bearer of the Matrix was a truck, Helex refused to believe it and convinced themselves that the newest Prime turned into something else. I think the current theory is that he’s some sort of race car. Somehow,” Jazz replied. 

“How them Helexians think that? Have them Helexians never seen holovideo or picture of him Prime?” Swoop asked. 

“I don’t think they have, honestly. Helex is really isolated from the rest of Cybertron, and its leaders are determined to never let its citizens know what the universe is really like outside of the city’s borders. If they did, some of them might start questioning Functionalism, and they can’t have that,” Jazz replied. 

“Government of Helex sounds stupid,” Snarl said quietly. Swoop agreed. This trip to Cybertron no longer seemed like it was going to be very much fun.

Chapter Text

Drag Strip had always known that he deserved the best out of life. He was the fastest and the bravest and the smartest and the most handsome of the Decepticons, and he had long dreamed of the day when his greatness would finally be acknowledged. Now it seemed as though that day had finally come. Ever since he had arrived in Helex, he had been treated like the royalty he had always known that he was. The hotel staff fell over itself keeping him happy, and his luxury suite had completely redefined his idea of what finery looked like. He, Breakdown, Dead End, and Wildrider all had access to Energon in more flavors and of better quality than they had ever dreamed existed, and the entertainment the hotel provided them was nothing less than stellar. But the best part of the whole experience was the fact that he was the center of attention wherever he went. All he had to do was walk into a room, and he was showered with goodies and limelight and praise. It was amazing ! 

“Sir, could I interest you in buying-” 

“Do you need anything from me, sir?” 

“Could I offer you a complimentary-” 

As the traders of one of Helex’s marketplaces swarmed around him proffering their services, Drag Strip grinned. This was everything he had ever wanted. 

“Oooh...shiny! I love all the shinies!” Wildrider exclaimed as he grabbed yet another useless trinket. 

“If you like it, sir, it’s yours.” 

“Mine!” Wildrider exclaimed happily, only to bolt off in the direction of another useless shiny thing a few seconds later. Drag Strip indulgently ignored his brother’s idiocy. Wildrider couldn’t be expected to have tastes as excellent as Drag Strip’s own. 

“You say that this polish is the highest-quality in the city?” Dead End inquired of yet another trader.

“Absolutely. I would offer nothing less to someone as illustrious as you, sir,” the mech replied. 

“Then I will take it. I may be doomed to an early demise, but I intend to leave behind a beautiful corpse when I am inevitably sent to the crypt.” 

“One for me, too,” Drag Strip added. If he was going to look shiny, he was going to do it with the very best polish. 

“Of course, sir. I am flattered by your patronage,” the trader said. Drag Strip had no idea what that meant, but it sounded cool. 

“How ‘bout you, Breakdown? You want some polish, too?” 

“N-n-no! It might be poisoned!” Breakdown shrieked from his position behind Motormaster. Drag Strip hadn’t wanted Motormaster to come along, but Breakdown had refused to leave their suite if he didn’t have someone to hide behind, so a sacrifice had had to be made. Drag Strip just hoped that Breakdown appreciated his incredible generosity in agreeing to let Motormaster come with them on this shopping expedition. 

“Just the two, then,” Drag Strip said. 

“Of course, sir.” The trader bagged up two cans of the polish and handed it to Dead End. 

“Thank you,” Dead End said. 

“You’re quite welcome, sir. I truly appreciate your interest in my products.” Suddenly, Wildrider skidded in, knocking into the booth in the process. He dropped almost all of the junk he was holding, and the cans of polish in the booth went flying. 

“Drag Strip, look! I got another shiny!” he exclaimed, proudly holding up a wrench that he would never actually use. Drag Strip just shook his head. Wildrider was such an idiot sometimes. 

“Good for you.” 

“I know! I’m gonna have so many shinies by the end of this shopping trip!” Wildrider exclaimed as he started to gather up his worthless junk. If only there was some way to keep Wildrider from doing this all over again the next time he got excited and bolted off somewhere...

“Hey, Wildrider, instead of you carrying all that stuff, why don’t you give it to Motormaster?” Drag Strip asked, very proud of himself for coming up with such a brilliant solution to the problem...one, moreover, that would allow him to get back at the stupid brute who had done his level best to make his life miserable. Wildrider paused, looking confused. 

“Huh?” 

“Don’t you remember what Hook said? Mototmaster works for us here. If we tell him to carry our stuff, he has to do it,” Drag Strip said. With that, he walked over to the semi and shoved his own purchases into his hands, prompting Breakdown to shriek and bolt towards Dead End. For a few seconds, Motormaster just stared at Drag Strip, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Drag Strip smirked. Payback was even sweeter than he’d imagined. 

“Wha...what do you think you’re doin’ , Drag Strip?” Motormaster asked quietly (well, quietly for Motormaster). 

“You are carrying our stuff, because you are our servant. Which is also why you had better start addressing me with respect. I’m Master Drag Strip to you, remember?” Drag Strip said quietly. Motormaster’s engine growled threateningly....only for Wildrider to bounce up to him and add all of his junk to the pile in his arms.

“Thanks for carrying my shinies!” he exclaimed cheerfully. For a second, Drag Strip thought that Motormaster was going to slug Wildrider, but, much to his surprise, the big brute actually managed to keep a handle on his temper. 

“You don’t need to thank a servant, Wildrider. Isn’t that right, Motormaster?” Motormaster scowled, but Drag Strip could tell he knew he couldn’t win without jeopardizing the mission.  

“Yes…. Master Drag Strip.” Motormaster spat the title out like it was making him physically ill, and Drag Strip’s smirk grew wider.

“I’m glad to see you remember your place around your superiors,” he said smugly. Motormaster’s engine revved again, but otherwise he did nothing, something which apparently emboldened Dead End to add his purchases to the pile in Motormaster’s arms as well. 

“Do be careful not to drop those. They are of very high quality, and I would like to keep them from their inevitable destruction and decay for as long as possible,” he said. 

“All right. Now that we’ve sorted that out, we’ve got more shopping to do!” Drag Strip exclaimed. The next fifty minutes proceeded smoothly, with Dead End purchasing a number of boring data pads, many more cans of polish, and a soft, high-quality polishing rag, Breakdown buying an elaborate alarm system and number of mesh blankets to hide under when they returned to their suite, Wildrider grabbing even more shiny junk, and Drag Strip himself buying several mirrors, a few more cans of polish, and a large container of energon goodies, all of which were added to the pile in Motormaster’s arms. 

“Hurry it up, Motormaster! We ain’t got all day!” Drag Strip barked. Ridiculously strong though he was, Motormaster was starting to struggle to carry all of the things that he had been given. That wasn’t Drag Strip’s problem, though. His convenience was more important than the comfort of some servant. In response, Motormaster snarled and his engine roared. 

“If you want this junk carried fast so badly, you carry it!” Drag Strip just laughed. 

“I’m your master. If I tell you you need to move faster, then you do it. You don’t have a choice,” he sneered. Motormaster’s scowl deepened. 

“You know what? There’s only so much crap I’m willin’ to take from you , even for a mission! I quit!” With that, he unceremoniously dropped all of Drag Strip’s wonderful goodies on the ground, which caused some of the mirrors to shatter (and also caused some of Wildrider’s junk to be destroyed, but that was less important). 

“My shinies!” Wildrider wailed. Drag Strip was equally upset. 

“How dare you do that to my stuff!” he yelled. On impulse, he slapped Motormaster across the face, and immediately hissed in pain. Scrap , that had hurt. 

Why you pompous little runt !” Motormaster bellowed. Before Drag Strip could react, the semi backhanded him so hard that his visor broke and he was knocked to the ground. As he pulled himself back to his feet, an eerie silence seemed to fall over the marketplace, as all of the costumes and traders stared at him and Motormaster in apparent shock, and it was only broken when a pair of mechs walked over to them and slapped a pair of stasis cuffs over Motormaster’s wrists.

Chapter Text

As the crowd continued to stare at Breakdown and his brothers, the Lamborghini couldn’t stop himself from whimpering. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to leave their suite. He’d known that one of his brothers would do something that would attract attention and reveal them as outsiders, he’d just known it. And Drag Strip slapping Motormaster in front of an entire marketplace? That was even worse than he’d anticipated! They would all be thrown out of the city for sure for that, and then the mission would fail and they’d lose all of the resources that Helex had to offer and Megatron would be so angry at them. Why, oh why, had he let Drag Strip and Wildrider talk him into leaving their suite? 

“Why’re they only handcuffing Motormaster? Drag Strip hit him first,” Wildrider asked. Breakdown wasn’t sure. Dead End sighed wearily. 

“From what Hook informed us about Helex, Drag Strip striking Motormaster was probably socially acceptable. After all, they believe that Motormaster is our servant, and all four of us are of the most powerful and important caste. Motormaster returning the blow, however… that was completely unacceptable. He is of the lowest caste; in their optics, Motormaster striking one of us would be like one of us hitting Lord Megatron,” he said. Breakdown stared at him in shock. 

“Y-y-you mean they’re only m-m-mad at Motormaster?” he asked. How could that be?

“Yes. Why else would they be offering so much concern and aid to Drag Strip for the blow he just received?” Dead End replied, pointing to the small group of mechs that had gathered around Drag Strip. Much to Breakdown’s surprise, he could see that Dead End was right. All of them seemed to be worried about Drag Strip and very eager to make things better for him. 

“Are you all right, sir?” 

“Do you need medical attention?” 

“We are all so sorry that you had to suffer such an indignity, sir.” 

“If there’s anything we can do for you, just tell us. We’ll ensure that it’s done.” Drag Strip actually looked a little bewildered by all the concern. While he had loved the attention and praise the Stunticons has received once they arrived in Helex as much as Breakdown had hated it, he seemed to be just as confused as Breakdown about why a simple backhand blow had stirred up so much alarm. All of the Stunticons had received injuries that had been far more dangerous than that . 

“Easy, everybody. I understand that you’re worried about me and my awesomeness potentially being damaged, but it was just a backhand. It’s not like I’m really hurt. Just get me a new visor and everything’ll be fine.” At this, one of the two mechs who had slapped the stasis cuffs on Motormaster stepped up to the race car. 

“ Just a backhand? Sir, you were just violently assaulted by a mech who isn’t worthy to polish your feet! For him to ignore your exalted status in such an egregious way isn’t only a horrific insult, it is a crime of the highest order! You should be furious !” 

“I should?” The other mech who was apparently arresting Motormaster nodded. 

“Absolutely. You would be well within your rights to order this pile of scrap metal executed for what he did to you.” 

“ Executed ? You mean, you would…you would kill him if I told you to?” 

“Of course, sir. He exists to serve his betters, and by striking you, he has made clear that he is incapable of doing so. Death is a very suitable punishment for such a wretch.” Horrified, Breakdown let out a frightened whimper. If Motormaster was executed, they wouldn’t be able to form Menasor anymore, and Megatron would be furious with them. What were they going to do ? 

“Death? I don’t know about that . I mean, we only have so many servants…” Drag Strip said. Dead End nodded. 

“My brother is correct. While our servant’s behavior was indeed reprehensible, we do not have the time or the desire to find and train a replacement. You understand how it is. Besides, he’s been with us since we were quite young, and my youngest brother–” here he gestured at Wildrider- “has become quite attached to him in spite of his flaws. We do not wish to have him executed.” 

“Then we will accept your wishes.” 

“Could we handle his discipline ourselves?” Dead End asked. Breakdown hoped fervently that the two mechs would agree, both so that he could get away from the crowds that were staring at him and so all of them could avoid having to explain why they had allowed their superior officer to be punished. 

“I am afraid that won’t be possible, sir. Your servant violated one of our most basic social tenants in public, and an example must be made of him. We don’t want any other Epsilons getting ideas about being disrespectful to their betters.” Dead End sighed wearily, and Breakdown whimpered again. There went any hope that he would be able to come out of the after-mission briefing mostly unscathed…

“Understood. What would the usual punishment for his behavior be in this case?” 

“Since you have opted not to execute him, the standard punishment would be thirty lashes with the electric whip and the amputation of one of his hands.” Breakdown felt as though he was going to purge his tanks. They were going to cut off one of Motormaster’s hands ? Drag Strip and Wildrider looked just as horrified as he felt, and Motormaster…well, Motormaster looked more frightened than Breakdown had ever seen him. 

“Is there any way we could have the punishment commuted to something less…severe? Breakdown here is quite delicate; I fear that witnessing such a brutal punishment might do him irreparable harm,” Dead End asked.

“You already commuted his sentence when you decided not to have him executed, sir. Any further reduction of the sentence would reflect badly on us and upon your exalted stations.” With that, the two mechs who had arrested Motormaster shoved him onto his hands and knees, and then one of them pulled out what Breakdown assumed must be the electric whip. It was a long, surprisingly thick metal cord that crackled with electricity, and he could tell just by looking at it that even a few lashes from such a whip would be unbearably painful. And Motormaster was going to get thirty ? The mech holding the whip raised it above his helm, then brought it down hard on Motormaster’s back. Motormaster jolted in obvious pain, but didn’t scream, a startling reflection of just how durable Motormaster’s armor really was. The second, third, and fourth lashes likewise produced no verbal reaction, but the fifth lash succeeded in drawing out a pained shout as the whip cut through the first layer of his thick armor and sent even more electricity coursing through his frame. And there were still twenty-five lashes left to go! 

By the tenth lash, the shouting had turned to outright screaming, and by the fifteenth, Motormaster’s back was absolutely dripping with a mess of both coolants and oil. Breakdown promptly purged his fuel tanks at the sight, then threw his hands over his optics. He couldn’t watch any more of this…and they were still only halfway done! 

“Please–surely that’s enough!” he heard Dead End exclaim after the sound of two more lashes. 

“Sorry, sir. We’re obligated to give him all thirty lashes. He stepped out of line in the most unforgivable way, and his punishment has to reflect that.”

As the horrible whipping went on and on, Motormaster’s screaming slowly transitioned into outright begging. While Breakdown had no particular love lost for his cruel leader, he had never wanted to see (or rather, hear ) Motormaster pleading for mercy— especially not like this. 

“Stop! Please—AAARGH!---stop! I’m sorry for hittin’ him an’ steppin–AAAAGH!--out of line, really I am! Just please stop! Please!” The words had no effect. Motormaster had never stopped punishing Breakdown or his brothers when they begged; now he was receiving the same treatment. But Breakdown couldn’t take any satisfaction out of what was happening here. Brutal though he was, Motormaster was still his oldest brother—and this punishment was even worse than what he did to them. 

“This punishment’s too good for you, you piece of slag. You should be grateful your masters were willing to let you live after what you did….and if you don’t thank them for their mercy after we’re through with you, you’ll wish you’d never been built .” The mech with the whip snarled. There were three more lashes in quick succession, and then the whip finally went silent. Relieved that the horrible beating was finally over, Breakdown uncovered his optics just in time to see the two mechs pull Motormaster back to his feet….only to shriek when one of them pulled out a sword! 

“Hey! What’re you doing? Didn’t we tell you we wanted him alive?” Drag Strip yelled. He sounded just as shaken as Breakdown felt. 

“We aren’t executing him, sir. We’re just amputating the hand that he struck you with. My apologies for worrying you, your excellency.” Although the situation wasn’t at all funny, Breakdown almost started to laugh. Motormaster had been whipped so badly that he was barely able to stay upright and was about to be mutilated , and these mechs were apologizing for worrying Drag Strip ? 

“ Please --I’ll be good…Please don’t …” Motormaster pleaded. The words were totally ignored as one of the two mechs grabbed his hand and held it steady. Breakdown wanted to cover his optics again, but found that he wasn’t able to look away. He watched in sheer horror as the second mech raised his sword and then swung it down through Motormaster’s right wrist, neatly severing the hand. Motormaster screamed in agony, and Breakdown purged his fuel tanks a second time. How did mechs in Motormaster’s caste live in Helex knowing this was what faced them if their superiors thought they’d stepped out of line? 

“Remember this the next time you think about disrespecting your betters, turbohound ,” the mech with the sword snapped. With that, he unlocked the stasis cuffs and his partner marched Motormaster over to Drag Strip and forced the semi truck back to his knees. Under normal circumstances, Breakdown was sure that Motormaster would have fought back as soon as the partially immobilizing stasis cuffs had been removed, but in the state he was in right now, it was a minor miracle that he was still able to walk , let alone fight. 

“Thank your master for his mercy,” the mech ordered. 

“ What mercy?” Drag Strip asked. He sounded as though he was in shock, and Breakdown couldn’t blame him. 

“Most mechs of your stature would have had this wretch executed without a second thought. You not only requested that we spare his life but actually tried to spare him the entirety of the punishment that he received in lieu of his execution as well. You are a very lenient master—far more lenient than this piece of scrap deserves.” 

“Well, I am awesome like that–but, uh–he’s in really bad shape. Can’t we save the gratitude for later?” 

“I’m afraid not, sir. As we mentioned before, we need to make an example of him. Otherwise, the Epsilons might start getting ideas—and we can’t have that .” Then the mech turned back to Motormaster. 

“Do you need me to whip you again to make you open your ungrateful mouth?” he snapped. 

“N…No–* krshhk *---sir. Please don’t-* krshhk *---h….hurt me ‘gain,” Motormaster slurred, voicebox spitting static. 

“Don’t talk to me , idiot. You’re supposed to be addressing your master !” 

“Th…ank you—-* bzzzt *----ma…ster…for your—* krshhk *---mercy,” Motormaster said weakly. 

“That’s better. Just remember, turbohound —next time you won’t get off so easy.” The mech bowed to Drag Strip, and then he and his partner walked off. As soon as they were gone, the crowd started to disperse, and Breakdown, Dead End, and Wildrider rushed over to Drag Strip and Motormaster. 

“M–M–Motormaster, a-a-are you…a-a-are you…” Motormaster looked up at Breakdown; in addition to the expected anger and pain, his optics were filled with fear. 

“He just got his hand cut off , Breakdown! Do you think he’s all right?” Drag Strip exclaimed, as though the whole mess hadn’t mostly been his fault. 

“W…wh…y do you—* bzzzt *--- care ? You c…ca..can have me killed if you wanna. You ain’t gotta worry about—-* krshhk *---some turbohound , M…Master. If you don’t wanna order me ‘round,  just please—leave me alone!”