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Chapter Text

The feeling of a blade in his hands…

"RODDY! RODDY RUN!"

The sound of screams in the air, accompanied by the scent of blood…

"AAUUGHHH!" 

The air rattling in his chest, traveling through his body that ached and pained…

"You should have just came quietly with me, youngling. This all could have been avoided."

There's a powerful foe before him, something unnatural, something immoral, something that wanted to kill him and those around him…

"RODDY SNAP OUT OF IT!"

Hasn't he done this before?

" HOT ROD! "

Orns previously…

"Hot Rod! C'mere! Need ya for somethin'" 

"Coming! Hold on, Tripper, I'll be there in just a klik!"  

That tone of voice was too cheery for someplace like the Narrows. Don't get him wrong, Nyon's Narrows ain't like Tarn or like the actual Pits of Kaon- but with how things were shaping up in their society at the moment, the Narrows wasn't exactly the nicest of places to have such a positive personality going about.

Especially with Nominus Prime pushing lugnuts. Not that he was going to miss the damned mech, the Prime hardly did anything for the people of Cybertron. But with his death mere deca-cycles ago, things were already beginning to be more than just uneasy for Cybertron… 

Tripper could see some of it trickling down to even their Narrows. The streets were rusting more often, less rust-cleaners were being employed and Tripper was hearing more and more functionist slag outside of the Narrows and around the rest of Nyon. 

"Tripper! I'm here! What did you need?" 

Though, it was sometimes hard to see when you've got someone like Hot Rod around.

Despite the Narrows' dust clinging to Hot Rod's red and yellow frame, his green optics were bright and glowing with eagerness and overwhelming happiness- his EM Field flared with those genuine emotions and brushed against his and as always, it took Tripper aback, his old instincts bristling before he reminded himself that Hot Rod was still technically a newspark, and even then, he was a different kind of newspark.

The Narrow's unofficial shining spark, the kindest light among them and one of the youngest. Freshly forged just a few vorns ago along with his batchmates of younglings. Probably one of the last batches from the lower sparkfields of Nyon. 

There were several reasons why they all considered Hot Rod to be different from the others, and though it was a bit soon to consider it but Tripper was definitely thinking that Hot Rod's EM Field wasn't something normal.

"What'd ah tell you 'bout your EM Field botlet? Reign that flare in." Tripper instructed sternly, prodding the young mech's EM Field with his own with a strict yet undeniably fond nudge. Hot Rod winced before his faceplate scrunched in concentration and Hot Rod's field slowly receded into his frame. "Better. H'nestly kid, y'need to work on yer field control. Ye'r what, eight vorns now? Age ain't gonna be a good 'nuff excuse fer ya soon." 

Hot Rod sheepishly rubbed the back of his helm, the smaller and much younger mech smiling exasperatedly at him. "Sorry Tripper, I'll work on it…" Then, he perked, "Oh right! What did you need me to do?" He asked the older mech whose faceplate darkened and clicked his glossa.

The main reason why Hot Rod was considered different was this;  

"Some crankshaft no-good snuck 'nto mah shop, stole some of mah high-grade an' broke a bit of mah distillery set. Need ya olfactory to work out who dun it an' how they got in." He said, gesturing Hot Rod into his shop. 

Hot Rod's smile dropped into a concerned frown before shifting into pure determination, his field flaring for a brief moment but thankfully dropping back before Tripper could scold him again. "Leave it to me Tripper!" He exclaimed and Tripper made an amused noise as he watched the youngling, just barely into his second frame, start doing that weird sniffing noise he didn't need to do but liked doing anyway when he really used his olfactory senses.

Hot Rod was an outlier. Had to be.

His olfactory senses were off the damn charts, better than the average scanner kind of senses with just his olfactory. Maybe even beyond that. 

Tripper let Hot Rod do his work as he did some of his own; just because his shop got broken into and some of his products were stolen, didn't mean he needed to close down shop or stop working. Bars and bots needed their high-grade after all, and while his distillery was slightly broken, he still had to store some of the good stuff he already made and mark them for delivery.

"Tripper! Over here!" 

Hot Rod called out from the back and Tripper grunted, putting away the sealed cubes of high-grade, making a mental note of where to send them and who ordered what before going to where Hot Rod was. He was in Tripper's distillery room, scene of the crime.

Annoyance and anger sparked within Tripper as he entered the room, remembering the mess he had arrived at when he first came to open his shop and check on his stock as well as the booze that was supposed to be finished by the time he opened. 

Said booze was gone, and part of his machine, broken.

Hot Rod's faceplate was twisted slightly in discomfort- the youngling said that high-grade smelled sharp and uncomfortable to him, but thankfully it wasn't overpowering any other of the scents he got from the room as Hot Rod began to speak. "I've definitely smelled whoever got into here before, as for how they got in… well…" Hot Rod turned to a wall in the distillery room, sniffing the air once more before hesitantly prodding it. "It's through here."

"... Don't tell me…" Tripper groaned, making his way over towards the wall and hesitantly, he knocked on the wall. Frowning at the noise, he knocked at a different part of the wall. Different noise. Thinner. Hollow. "Unicron's fraggin' Pit." He swore, rolling his optics at the look of disapproval from Hot Rod.

Thankfully, the botlet said nothing and merely prodded at the wall again and- click- went a small sound before a portion of the wall groaned and creaked before sliding open. Revealing a tunnel that a mech Tripper's size couldn't easily get through without scraping the walls. Hot Rod sniffed the now open tunnel, "This leads to…" He invented deeply, faceplate scrunched in deep thought. "Bustler's Scrapyard, I can smell melted metal and Bustler's patented oil." 

Tripper frowned in disappointment, entirely aimed at Bustler but Hot Rod wasn't done as he looked back at him with those green optics of his. "It's not Bustler though, someone else. I smelled this scent before but I can't remember their name." He'll admit, he was relieved to hear it wasn't Bustler who stole his slag. He liked the mech.

"Y'know what they look like?" 

Hot Rod tilts his helm before nodding, "Tall, skinny- he's one of the new mechs that came to work for Bustler?" Tall, skinny, one of Bustler's new hire—

Tripper's intake set into a deep and angry scowl, "Ah think ah know who y'er talkin' 'bout botlet. Think his name's Zip-somethin'." He reached over to pat Hot Rod's helm, "Good work tiny. Ah'll pay ya real good after ah get mah booze back. C'mon." 

Much as he'd like to avoid his frame getting scraped and scratched, he wanted to know where exactly in Bustler's Scrapyard it led to. So, he ducked into the tunnel, feeling his shoulders press against the wall from the tunnel that wasn't made for his size. Behind him, Hot Rod followed after him, having no problem since he was a youngling with a smaller frame.

The tunnel seemed old, it had dust and dirt along the floor and walls- but he could now see pedeprints on the floor as he and Hot Rod went through the tunnel. 

He sent a message to his shop's only other worker, Filter, through his COMM. She would have to handle the shop and deliveries for a while. Filter was set to come in soon, she always did after he opened the shop. 

"Must be one o' the ol' emergency tunnels o' Nyon." Tripper muttered both to himself and Hot Rod as they made their way through it. "One o' the first ones ah reckon." 

"Emergency tunnels?" 

Tripper smiled slightly at the curious tone the young mech had, "Ev'ry city has emergency tunnels, lil' bot. Jus' in case. Handy lil' thin's, but they shouldn't be used to steal mah booze." He growled, determinedly going through the tunnels even though his shoulders were leaving scratches of paint along the walls. 

The tunnel led straight to Bustler's alright, right at the edge of it. The tunnel entrance from the scrapyard was a panel from the ground which was hidden underneath a bunch of rusty metal sheets that Tripper easily shoved aside with an annoyed scowl. He looked around- nobody was nearby, only piles of discarded metal and junk- no frames of course, this wasn't that type of scrapyard. 

Tripper took a moment to help Hot Rod up from the tunnel's entrance before looking around again, he could hear machinery at work. Bustler's smelter wasn't on, too early in the cycle but the compactor was definitely being used. "Stick close kid." 

"Don't call me that." Was Hot Rod's only complaint but he did as instructed, good kid. Now if only his two other batchmates were like him- well, one of them wasn't so bad but the other…

Tripper went towards the sound of machinery and unsurprisingly found Bustler with his workers just starting their shifts. Bustler was quick to notice him, probably because Tripper wasn't being subtle in his approach.

"Tripper? You old brass-bucket, what the frag are you doin' in my scrapyard this time of the cycle?" Bustler barked gruffly from his place by the trash compactor. "Pits, what's Hot Rod doin' here too?" 

"Hi Bustler!" Hot Rod greeted cheerily, his field slipping once more and every bot in a mile radius could feel Hot Rod's positive emotions. Like a sudden flare of light in darkness. One of Bustler's bots tripped over something from the abrupt suddenness of it. "Oops! Sorry about that!" 

Usually, Tripper would scold Hot Rod for losing control over his EM Field again but he did manage to trip just the bot he'd been looking for, or at least suspected. He growled, quickly stomping over to grab the mech by the arm and hoist him up- tall, skinny. His designation was Zap-something, Tripper's sure of it.

"W-What the- let me go!"

"Hot Rod!" Tripper barked, ignoring the thrashing mech to present him to Hot Rod and Bustler's alarmed yet questioning look. "Sniff." 

The red and yellow youngling's optics flickered before he leaned in and invented the sputtering mech's scent. Wincing before nodding, "It's him Tripper, he's the one from the tunnel and he stole your high-grade. Drank a little bit too." That froze mech completely, a look of surprise on his faceplate.

"W-What- how - I mean, no! I didn't do anything!" He denied vehemently, but most of the bots around him narrowed their optics at him. Bustler especially.

"Ziplock," Hey, his name was Zip-something, "The frag did you do?" Bustler asked as he stepped forward with his arms crossed. 

Ziplock scowled but there was a panicked glint in his optics he was trying to hide, he went back to struggling to get Tripper's servo off his arm. Unfortunately for Ziplock, Tripper's got quite the grip. "Nothing! Kid's lying! I didn't steal no high-grade!" 

"Pft, Hot Rod doesn't lie, bittybot's too nice!" Someone among the workers called out and there was a wave of agreeing chuckles and murmurs from those who knew Hot Rod. The youngling himself pouted at them, but went back to smiling. 

Bustler frowned and vented before turning to Tripper, "The frag did he do, Tripper?" 

"Stole mah booze, two big cubes, and broke part'f my engex machine." Tripper replied dryly, aiming a sharp spike of anger at the mech using his field. Ziplock flinched and muttered, still insisting he didn't do it and they were accusing him falsely. 

"Slag… Hey Hot Rod, any chance you can find out where Ziplock's keepin' Trip's high-grade?" 

The answer, of course, was yes.

Because that was Hot Rod's outlier ability. Enhanced olfactory senses that were beyond anything Tripper has experienced in his long life.

"What's he smell like?" Tripper asked Hot Rod quietly as Ziplock gets arrested for not only theft, but having slag like Syk hidden on Bustler's property. The mech was absolutely seething, but knew Hot Rod would be upset if he started attacking the high-grade thief and was merely shouting at him as he got arrested.

Ziplock was utterly stunned at the fact most of them seemed to trust a youngling like Hot Rod over a grown mech like him- or maybe it was the fact Hot Rod had found Tripper's missing high-grade so easily and the Syk stash he'd been keeping and been planning to sell in the Narrows. 

Hah, yeah no.

The Narrows weren't like Kaon, or Tarn or even Dead End and Tripper sure as frag didn't want it to become like that either.

"He anythin' like those two others?" Probably not, Hot Rod would have said something but… just in case.

"Confused, shocked, a little bit angry… but not bad, not like the other two." Hot Rod replied quietly, watching Ziplock get taken away by Nyon police. One of the more better ones of course, waving at the familiar officer who clearly recognized Hot Rod.

Tripper hummed, "A'ight." 

Hot Rod was an outlier, with enhanced olfactory senses. His senses were so good, he could smell emotions and intent.  

Hot Rod had always been a weird sparkling, bright and kind but developing habits that no one could really understand. When he started smelling things, no one really paid it any mind. 

But slowly, the Narrows noticed his ability. Even when Hot Rod was saying it to their faceplates like, 'You smelled sad, have an energon treat.' and 'You're lying, you don't smell honest.' no one really took it that seriously.

But after two serial killers tried to terrorize the Narrows, disguised as other homeless bots- well, everyone accepted Hot Rod's ability pretty easily.

Made finding things more convenient at least. 

"Here botlet, fer yer help." Tripper grabbed Hot Rod's servo and dropped some shanix into it. 

Hot Rod's optics widened at the amount he suddenly had, "That's a lot." He whispered, looking a bit lost.

When it looked like Hot Rod was about to give it back, Tripper gruffly swatted his servo and moved it so Hot Rod had it close to his chassis. "'S what ya deserve. Get somethin' nice fer you an' those scraplets ya call batchmates." 

Hot Rod immediately pouted at him, "Don't call Skippa and Accel scraplets! They can behave." 

Tripper snorted, shaking his helm, "Whatever ya say, bittybot. Now shoo, I got mah high-grade. Git." 

"Alright, fine. Bye Tripper! Don't drink so early in the cycle!" 

Tripper watched the young mechling leave, an amused smile on his derma. "An' remember ta keep yer Field reeled in! Stop lettin' it go outt'a control!"

"I will!"

The rest of the Narrows would probably disagree with Tripper's constant reminder -Hot Rod's EM Field was just so positive and soothing- but honestly, it's for the best. A mechling like Hot Rod was rare and precious. It was for the best that he learned how to control his EM Field and keep it controlled constantly as soon as possible.

With Nominus Prime dead and the Senate clearly up to something…

He'll need to keep a closer optic on Hot Rod.

"Roddy!"

Hot Rod was moving on instinct before he even realized it, which was often but he was used to it and it was usually for his benefit. Including now; catching his batchmate his friends siblings civilians save the— before he could tackle Hot Rod to the ground like he originally wanted. He'd only done it a few times, mostly when Hot Rod was really distracted and seemed determined to do it even more.

Accel pouted at him like always whenever Hot Rod caught him but quickly let it go, "Roddy, I heard you got someone arrested again!" He exclaimed cheerily, snickering when Hot Rod spluttered.

"I- n-not really? Someone stole Tripper's high-grade, Tripper asked me to find it and the thief!" He explained, seeing his other batchmate, Skippa, nonchalantly approach with a look of amusement.

"So that's what happened." She hummed, "Glad it was a thief this time instead of a couple of serial killers." All three of them grimaced at the memory of the two psychos, thankfully no one died. Some bots got hurt unfortunately, but no one died.

So many died in the end—

Hot Rod shook his helm, weird thoughts aside (he's used to them), he beamed at them both. "Anyway, that's my cycle so far. How were yours?" Accel beamed, grabbing his servo before dragging him down the street with Accel following right beside them both as the three of them headed back to the youth center for the cycle's lessons and education period.

Hot Rod basked in the presence of Accel and Skippa, his batchmates, his siblings. Focusing on them both and not the constant imbalance that lingered in his processor and chassis.

It's been there since the beginning, he thinks.

Ever since his optics first onlined, and his processor began to understand things- it was always there.

Like there was something missing, something he was forgetting. Something more to him that just…  wasn't clicking somehow, for some reason. It always seemed like it was at the tip of his glossa but he could never say what it actually was, just stuck there, out of reach.

Bits and pieces would come and go, he doesn't know where but they do. 

He doesn't even know what those bits and pieces are. But sometimes they lingered, and it felt like he could understand it and something would nag in him. An uneasiness he couldn't reassure whatsoever. 

But he knows one of them is his sense of smell, he wasn't always able to smell things as he did now. It was a gradual thing that happened over the first three vorns of his life. His faceplate had felt so weird and numb in the beginning but nothing seemed to be wrong despite his worries, not even his check-ups seemed to have picked up anything from it. 

It was slow in the beginning, but then one cycle, it just clicked and suddenly he could smell things beyond the norm and that weird, numb, uneasiness disappeared. 

He could smell bots, he could smell where things went, recognize bots by their scents alone and as of recently in the last couple of vorns; emotions and intent. His olfactory senses were impeccable, and Hot Rod almost believed that it was his outlier ability like everyone else did but…

Something wasn't right.

His olfactory senses definitely weren't normal, but Hot Rod didn't think it was an outlier ability. It didn't feel right to call it that. Not to mention…

That strange numb uneasiness returned, stronger than before.

It was in his chassis, his processor, his very limbs —

Still, he tried not to let it affect him that much! He had his batchmates, he had the bots of the Narrows, he could deal with this just fine! So far nothing bad has really happened for him and…

And he wanted to see what happened.

Probably a bad idea, but the last time the numb uneasiness came around he gained some sort of super sense with his olfactory. He wanted to know if he'd get something this time as well.

"Alright class, our new topic for our education period is Cybertronian Biology!" The teacher, Glyphos, a mid-caste femme that liked teaching younglings, exclaimed soon after Hot Rod arrived into class with Accel and Skippa. Hot Rod frowned as he smelled a scent of discontent, dismay coming from the usually happy teacher.

It stood out among the other scents of excitement and boredom from his fellow younglings in the classroom. Hot Rod made a mental note in his systems to ask her if she's okay after class. 

But at least Accel and Skippa were both interested in the class's new topic, Hot Rod was pretty interested as well!

Learning just what was inside his body his body what was he wasn't he softer wasn't he older wha— was very interesting! He knew where his T-Cog was, he knew his brain module and other little bits and pieces that made his frame! And the slight differences there were between frames, Accel and Skippa were very interested in that part, especially the differences between femmes and mechs. 

But then Teacher Glyphos started explaining their cybertronian ventilation systems.  

"While we do have coolant within our systems, our main way of cooling down from overheating is of course our ventilation systems, our fans and such. We invent and exvent, regularly. And actually, some organics do the same- organics would call what we do breathing, however unlike organics who need to breathe to survive, we merely 'breathe' to cool off our systems and maintain temperature control." 

Breathing.  

The word stuck with him for some reason, something lodged itself in his throat as he tried to focus on the lesson but the word kept bouncing in his processor. It was important, why was it important? He couldn't find the answer, it kept slipping through his fingers like water.

Water Bre—

Hot Rod's helm jerked slightly as Glyphos' voice interrupted whatever thought he was about to have. "Actually, not only can it help us maintain temperature control and cool us from overheating, it is an excellent way to maintain calm and sometimes it could even be used as an act of comfort! It's a rather relaxing thing, I'd say. So, let's all take a few invents and exvents, why don't we? You don't have to if you don't want to, but give it a shot."

Something in him flutters, something that is familiar.  

Hot Rod subconsciously swallowed, servos nervously fidgeting. He doesn't notice the strange looks he gets from Skippa as he looks at Glyphos. 

"Alright, now invent… " She makes an exaggerated movement, inventing through her intake. 

Hot Rod and several others do the same. Cold air welcomes itself in his ventilation systems, and the movement is familiar but… off…

"And exvent… " She does it again, this time exventing.

Hot Rod exvents, optic ridges furrowing as he feels the movement in his chassis. That's familiar as well but wrong. Something was off, something was wrong.

"Invent…"

Hot Rod invented, subconsciously, he adjusted his frame in his chair, spinal strut straightening, arms set in front of him and both his internal components and processor were quickly trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Exvent."

Hot Rod exhaled, something in him shifts, and that numb uneasiness ripples. Better, not as good, but better. It's something he's grasping onto, something he's remembering.

Remember to tak e as much air into your lungs as possible Ta—

What were lungs? Who was that voice? Familiar again, but Hot Rod doesn't know-

"Invent."

Inhale.

Hot Rod inhales— and promptly chokes on air, coughing as his insides burn with something strange. Too much air??? Not enough???? Why did it hurt?

"Hot Rod!" He hears his designation faintly through his frantic coughing, servos covering his intake and frame trembling slightly as he tried to process what he was feeling.

He'd done it wrong.

No, that wasn't it.

He'd done it right.

He just wasn't ready or used to it in this body.

This body? Hot Rod wondered idly as his HUD glitched slightly.

Do it again. You must do it constantly Tan—

There's servos on his frame, and he inhales—

Something in him rattled and Hot Rod's vision went dark.

"Hot Rod, mechling, what in the world happened?" 

The sheepish look on her student's faceplate at the question was somewhat amusing, but Glyphos was mostly worried considering that Hot Rod had suddenly burst into a coughing fit and passed out shortly afterwards. "Um, I think- I think I brea- uh, vented wrong?" 

Both Glyphos and the doctor, Fortify, gave him a disbelieving look. "You vented wrong?" He repeated as Hot Rod shyly fidgeted on the medical berth of Fortify's clinic. Glyphos had been quick to dismiss the class so she could take Hot Rod here- there hadn't been much time left for class thankfully. 

"Hot Rod, you were coughing a lot and then you just- shut down." Glyphos replied tensely, remembering the terrifying moment when the red and yellow youngling went limp in his chair, almost falling off if it weren't for Skippa's quick movement.

Speaking of the femmeling, she and Accel were no doubt worrying outside. She would have to reassure them soon but first; Hot Rod. 

Hot Rod's expression was both guilty and confused, "I don't know- I just- I was venting. I… I was feeling myself vent and I did something while venting and it just…" He gave a helpless shrug, as if he couldn't explain further. 

Doctor Fortify frowned, optics narrowing before nodding. "Let's get you checked over and scanned, shall we?" 

Seeing Hot Rod was in good servos and so far seemed alright, Glyphos decided to temporarily leave the room while the medical mech checked over Hot Rod. The moment she was out of the room, she was immediately accosted by two concerned younglings, their fields flaring with panic and worry. 

"Is Hot Rod okay-" "Is something wrong with him-"

She expanded her EM Field temporarily, giving off a soothing sensation towards the two young bots. "It's okay, Hot Rod seems alright. Doctor Fortify is checking him over now, so please, calm down before you make a ruckus." She reassured Accel and Skippa. 

The two shared a glance but nodded, reigning in their fields and calming down. But it was clear they were still worried for their batchmate. The three of them were close, if they were Seekers, Glyphos would've called them a trine even. 

She smiled slightly at the thought before venting lowly her more pensive thoughts were beginning to plague the edges of her processor- no, don't think about that yet. Her students needed her, so she wouldn't think about how they may not be her students anymore in the coming future…

Glyphos made sure both Accel and Skippa were alright before she was called back inside by Doctor Fortify, he didn't seem too concerned anymore and was even giving Hot Rod a small energon treat for being so well-behaved during the check up and scan. 

"He's healthy and nothing seems to be wrong, he was telling the truth. He vented in an atypical manner, I asked him to demonstrate- slightly." He gave her a look when she looked like she was going to say something. "He didn't pass out again, merely coughed a few times… The way he vented rattled his inner fans and ventilation systems, it was- strange, to say the least. I've told him not to do it again." 

Glyphos's tense shoulders lowered slightly in relief, "Thank you, Doctor." 

"Think nothing of it, Hot Rod's always been a pleasure to deal with compared to his batchmates." Fortify smiled slightly, like others who knew Hot Rod or were just regularly in the Narrows- he was fond of Hot Rod. "He's free to go now. If you'll excuse me, Glyphos, Hot Rod."

"Bye Dr. Fortify! Tell Waxley I said hello!" Hot Rod exclaimed to the leaving doctor who chuckled and nodded before nudging them both out of the room. Glyphos was a bit surprised to see both Skippa and Accel missing- had they gone to the wasterooms? Hopefully so.

"Teacher Glyphos?" She looked down to Hot Rod who had a guilty look on his faceplate again, "I'm sorry for worrying you, and for interrupting the class- it was really interesting though!" 

Glyphos smiled, reaching down to pat Hot Rod's shoulder in comfort. "It's alright Hot Rod, I'm just glad you're okay. And don't worry about the class, just follow the doctor's orders in- not venting like you did again, okay?" 

Hot Rod was still frowning but nodded slowly, "Okay…" 

Next class, she'll go for something a bit cheerier and safe, just to be careful.

Next class…

"Teacher Glyphos?" Her optics flickered and she focused her attention on Hot Rod again, his green optics looked up at her in clear concern. "... Are you okay?" 

"Am I okay?" She repeated with surprise.

Hot Rod nodded, "Yeah, you're sad. And worried. But mostly sad." 

How? She had her field reigned in tight and- oh. Oh right, Hot Rod could smell emotions, his outlier ability. "I'm… alright. Hot Rod."

"You're lying." Hot Rod replied bluntly with disapproval. "You just grew sadder!" 

Glyphos bit her derma before giving a tired smile, "Somewhat- physically, I'm fine, Hot Rod. Nothing wrong with me like that but… Yes, I am sad." She finally admitted, her spark twisting in her chamber. 

"Why? Can I do anything to help you feel better?" Hot Rod asked determinedly and her smile lightened a bit, always the kind spark, Hot Rod. It wasn't a wonder as to why the Narrows adored him. 

"I'm sorry Hot Rod, I don't think you can do anything to help- I…" She vents slightly, "I don't think I'll be the youth center's teacher anymore. It's not any of your faults, mechling, just the Senate re-arranging funds and moving bots around." More like they were cutting funds and getting rid of anything they deemed 'unnecessary'. It's only been a deca-cyle since Nominus Prime's death and already the Senate was throwing its weight around even more than usual. "I only have a few classes left with you all."

Hot Rod looked confused and sad, before he could say anything though, Skippa and Accel returned. Quite noisily in fact as Accel shouted Hot Rod's name and started running towards him with Skippa following after quite closely.

Glyphos laughed for a moment as Hot Rod spluttered, she had half a mind to scold the two for their actions but there was no need. Hot Rod was already going at it, half-scolding and half-reassuring his two batchmates who fussed over him in turn.

She'd been looking forward to seeing the three of them grow, but now… She doesn't think she'll have a chance.

A pity, she wanted to make a bet with the other bots in the Narrows over how the three of them would end up as; Amica or Conjunxes. She was leaning towards Amica.

"Alright bitlets, let's get you back to the youth center."

Glyphos smiled at them, her smile softening at Hot Rod's look of concern and shook her helm at the silent question he made with his optics. She would tell the others soon enough, for now though, she wanted to spend time with them all and enjoy the last of their classes together.

Hopefully, she would meet with all her students again in the future.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod is a weird bot.

But Hot Rod was his weird bot, his batchmate.

Was it weird that Hot Rod's outlier ability was smelling stuff like emotions? Yes, but it was pretty handy in finding stuff and in catching those serial killers and warning people to stay away from them when they first arrived. Even he'd been a bit skeptical when his batchmate warned him and Skippa away from the two but Hot Rod was caring, and nice and he wouldn't do something like that without a solid reason.

That reason came when those psycho-bots tried to attack some of the poor minibots in the Narrows one cycle- luckily, Hot Rod had been nearby and alerted some of the other adults and even though some people got hurt, no one died so that was a win!

Another weird thing was that sometimes Hot Rod would say something even he had no idea about like when he was hungry, he wanted something called 'rice' and 'udon'. Those were weird sounding energon and treats but they couldn't find anything like that anywhere and Hot Rod had no idea what they even were. 

A third weird thing was Hot Rod's EM Field, but that was definitely a good weird thing. Hot Rod's EM Field was always so warm and nice. During the colder times on Cybertron, and the rare storms, Hot Rod was his and Skippa's personal heater with just his EM Field alone! It sucks that Tripper and a few other adult bots have been telling Hot Rod to control his field. 

Fourth weird thing? Hot Rod was really, really nice. Even when some bots and other younglings weren't, he'd still smile and be nice when they weren't- but that didn't mean he was a pushover! He was- what was the word Skippa used? Tolerant? More tolerant of stuff, he didn't get angry very easily and preferred to just, be happy and nice to everyone. Even when they didn't deserve it.

But he did get angry, when some other bot their age started making fun of Accel's like for pretty stuff (like how femmes walked and how elegant they could be and femme-intended stuff like pretty decals and cool heels and paint design details—) to the point Accel almost, almost cried (he totally didn't cry, shut up). Hot Rod was there looking absolutely furious.  

Another weird thing happens when Hot Rod gets angry, he sometimes speaks in gibberish! No one really knew what he said, not even Hot Rod, but whatever it was, it somehow still got to the point- it sounded really pretty too but again, Hot Rod didn't really know what he was saying and forgot pretty quickly after he got over his anger. 

Accel liked it when Hot Rod was angry- at other bots anyway. Whenever Hot Rod was angry or even disappointed at Accel, he could feel his spark dim and shrivel a bit. There was just something wrong with the thought of Hot Rod being like that to him… Everyone else was fair game though, heh.

What was he talking about again?

Oh right! Hot Rod; weird bot. His weird bot, but still very weird.

His latest weird thing though? Very weird.

"Hot Rod, I thought Doc Fortify told you to stop doing the weird venting thing you're trying to do." Accel complained, kind of worried with how Hot Rod was panting. They were all in their shared habsuite in the youth center and it's been a few cycles since Hot Rod passed out during Glyphos' class.

At first, Accel had been angry that Hot Rod had passed out due to venting wrong of all things. Then it was funny. Now though? It was concerning because he wanted to do it again!

"H-He… he did. " Hot Rod admitted, faceplate scrunched as he vented, normally now. "And I know I should listen but… I just- I feel like I should be doing it?" 

Skippa crossed her arms from her berth with a look of disapproval. "You're gonna end up passing out again." 

"I won't! I'll be careful, promise!" Hot Rod exclaimed back, wincing as he coughed slightly, making both Accel and Skippa tense but thankfully Hot Rod shook his helm. "I'm fine! I just- please, this feels important to me. I need to… I need to do this. Please don't tell anyone?" 

Accel frowned, having never heard Hot Rod sound like this. Sound… sad and determined? Desperate, Skippa would later tell him, it would be a better word to describe it. He didn't like it. But at the same time, he didn't want Hot Rod passing out again… but Hot Rod's optics were looking at him and, ugh.

"Fine." Skippa groaned, looks like Hot Rod's optics got to her too. "You can do your weird venting thing, and we won't tell anyone…"

"But!" Accel jumped in, scowling at his stupid batchmate, "The moment you pass out again you're stopping! And we're getting you back to Doc Fortify! And we're telling on you!" He declared, pointing at him.

Immediately a wave of happiness, gratitude, warm warm love— washed over him and Skippa. Making both of them falter as Hot Rod beamed at them, green optics sparkling. "Thank you! I promise, I'll be careful!" He hopped off his berth to drag Accel and Skippa into a hug.

It was so hard to be angry at Hot Rod when he got like this, all warm and happy and ugh. If Hot Rod's olfactory wasn't his ability, Accel would totally say that his EM Field was it instead. 

His batchmate was stupid and weird.

But Accel loved him all the same.

Hot Rod is probably being stupid. 

He can already hear Accel calling him that. Again. 

To his face. 

Skippa at least was more polite and didn't say it to his face but- it was just hard to explain to both of them why he needs to do this, admittedly, stupid thing.

Venting.

Breathing.

He just—

A strict yet kind bot, mech, man? in a mask presses a calloused and aged servo, hand? against his abdomen. "Do it again. You are not breathing correctly."

… He needed to do this.

Now if only he could do it without being on the verge of passing out or shutting down! 

It was very clear his ventilation systems and fans were not happy whenever he tried to vent in that strange, strange way. His fans kept rattling, his vents would shake, his chassis would hurt, his limbs would feel tingly and his processor would get warnings.

He couldn't go further or else he'd pass out and he really didn't want Skippa, Accel to tell anyone he was doing this. That he was being stupid. It just felt really, really important to him. 

The numb uneasiness was less when he tried to vent like that. When he tried to breathe. And he thinks, if he managed to do it without feeling any pain or shutting down, that feeling would go away again. Just like with his olfactory senses.

Granted, his olfactory senses were easier to do and just- happened pretty quickly. 

Breathing was no doubt going to be harder.

Still, he had to try. 

He wanted to try.

So despite the concerns of his batchmates, he would set some time aside whenever he was back in their habsuite to breathe. He's not making much progress, or any progress at all, but it's only been a few cycles. He just needed to be patient, and figure out a way to not make his chassis hurt whenever he tried to breathe.

Breathe…

Yeah, that's what he's doing.

It's different from venting.

Breathe Ta—

Very different.

"I can't believe Teacher Glyphos isn't going to teach us anymore!" Accel whispered in a contradictory loud way, he looked upset. Which was fair, because Skippa was upset too but she wasn't going to let it show that much. It made her uncomfortable. Even Hot Rod was sad, which made things worse.

Her batchmate groaned, "It's not fair. Glyphos is a great teacher, why can't she stay and teach longer?" 

Skippa shrugged, something she learned from Hot Rod, "You heard her. Senate's new laws are going around and she's being pulled from her job to do another job." That was simplifying things, Skippa's been hearing a lot of grumbles about the Senate from the adults around the Narrows. 

And now her teacher, the same one that's been teaching her, her bacthmates and other younglings for vornsi now, was being sent away to do something else other than teaching. Skippa doesn't even know if they'll have another teacher either, Glyphos didn't say anything about it. 

"Yeah, well, that's stupid. She's a great teacher and she was happy being our teacher. Right Roddy?" Both young bots turned to their third batchmate, who'd been silently trailing after them with a frown on his face.

Thankfully he wasn't doing that venting thing, or well- breathing thing as he kept insisting to call it. Weren't they the same thing? Skippa doesn't understand why Hot Rod's doing it, why he's overcomplicating something as simple as venting, but hey- it seemed important to him for some reason.

"Hot Rod?" Skippa prodded, poking at him.

Hot Rod's distracted optics went back into focus, flickering. "Hm? Oh! Uh, yeah, she was happy being a teacher. She's really sad about going, but I don't think she has a choice." He replied, his optic ridges furrowed, he looked like he had something on his processor.

"Hot Rod? What's on your mind?" Skippa asked, tilting her helm curiously.

Hot Rod hesitated, a faint hue on his faceplate as he scratched the back of his helm. "W-Well, um- I wanna cheer Teacher Glyphos up? I wanna do something for her, so she doesn't have to be so sad when she leaves." He admitted, sparking interest in both Skippa and Accel.

"Oh! Like give her something?" Accel asked excitedly.

A grin crept on Skippa's faceplate, "Let's give her stuff before she leaves! So she can remember us, remember the class." She suggested and soon, her batchmates mirrored her grin. 

"Let's ask everyone else if they wanna do it too! It can't just be the three of us." Hot Rod replied, which was fair. Teacher Glyphos wasn't just their teacher after all, and while Skippa wasn't that close with the other bots of her class, it was still nice to ask them if they wanted to participate in cheering up Glyphos.

They had to be subtle about it though, they wanted to surprise their teacher. Make sure she didn't know until they all presented her something. 

They didn't exactly have a lot of time, Glyphos was leaving in a deca-cycle, and they were all trying to think of what to give her before she left. 

Hot Rod had a brilliant idea though.

This was it, her last class and lesson in Narrows' youth center. 

Soon, she would be transferred elsewhere just because her alt mode 'wasn't suited' for teaching- not only that, her conjunx-to-be was given a new job and didn't want to stay in Nyon anymore. They were moving to Iacon, a rather prestigious city but she would miss her students.

She wanted to stay in Nyon, she wanted to stay a teacher here at the youth center but… 

Glyphos shook her head, no! No more sad thoughts, Hot Rod would notice- he probably would still notice regardless but her students deserved a nice last class with her! She focused on happier thoughts and opened the door to her classroom, wanting to greet her class with a smile on her face.

"Hi Teacher Glyphos!"

Instead, her class greeted her. Quite loudly at that. Her optics flickered and cycled in surprise, and she nearly dropped her datapad as she saw her classroom decorated. With a few drawings already on the screen on the wall that said Goodbye Teacher Glyphos! We'll miss you! as well as other little drawings that were no doubt from her class.

Her students, even the rowdier younglings, were gathered at the front of the classroom, holding little trinkets and even energon goodies in their servos and oh, oh her spark.

From the crowd of younglings, a familiar frame of red and yellow stepped forward, a bright smile on his derma and green optics glowing brightly. "Teacher Glyphos! Sorry to interrupt the class but um, we wanted to give you something for you this cycle! Something to remember us by before you have to go." He said, motioning himself and all the other little bots who nodded eagerly.

"Oh bitlets…" Glyphos whispered, unable to repress her smile even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. "You didn't have to." She stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind her and her class immediately swarmed her. 

"We wanted to!"
"Don't forget us!"
"We had to, you were sad."
"Hot Rod made me get this for you, you're not allowed to give it back."
"Be happier!"
"We'll miss you!"
"Don't go?"

Primus, she was on the verge of tears here. Especially at the last part, whispered by someone but had been loud enough for her to hear.

Either it was showing on her faceplate or Hot Rod was probably, no, definitely, smelling how overwhelmed she was, he exclaimed loudly over the cacophony of young voices with a flare of comfort from his field. She and the others all but melted slightly underneath it and there were definitely a few whines when Hot Rod's field pulled away. "Alright! Everyone! Let's all line up and give our teacher her gifts one by one. Don't crowd her."

Skippa and Plight, a grey mechling that usually stayed quiet in her lessons, led her to her chair which had been moved to the front of the room. 

Glyphos's derma wobbled as she tried to keep her optics dry as her students began to present her 'going-away gifts' as they put it, one by one. From the shy Opica who barely said a word but always had high scores from paying attention to her classes, to even troublemaking Jackback who she personally tutored sometimes when his scores were low. 

She got little trinkets made from scrap and stuff, drawings scratched on metal sheets, a few energon goodies, sweets and rust sticks. Little things yet they felt heavy and valuable all the same. 

Hot Rod and his two batchmates, Accel and Skippa were the last to give her something. 

A folded metal sheet the size of a datapad, inside, a sheet of gold crudely cut into the same of a star was glued into the sheet with a little doodle of what Glyphos can only presume to be her and the whole class alongside other little nonsensical doodles- ones she recognized to be by Accel. He liked doodling in his works but the glyph writing was entirely Skippa, she had such pretty glyphmanship. 

On the star was inscribed, Thank you for teaching us Glyphos! - Your Students

Her spark swelled and she couldn't hold back her tears anymore, "Thank you so much, everyone!" She exclaimed, motioning them all closer so she could hug them. Despite her efforts, she couldn't hug everyone at the same time, but being hugged at all sides by tiny servos and frames- 

She didn't want to go.

She didn't want to leave Nyon, leave her job, her students.

Glyphos spied a helm of red and yellow, her blue optics meeting green. A reassuring gentle smile and suddenly a soothing EM Field enveloping her and her students once more.

Primus-below, she truly didn't want to leave.

Despite her plans to have one last class, one last topic, she spent the rest of her time with her students. A new determination forming in her spark. 

Damn the Senate, she was going to stay.

With her spark flaring in her chassis, her subspace filled with her student's gifts, and still holding on to the simple, silly yet precious metal sheet with the gold star.

Glyphos ended class with a silent promise that she'll see her students again, that she'll continue teaching here in the Narrows.

Surely, her Conjunx-to-be would understand, right?

Teacher Glyphos had seemed and smelled both sad and happy during her last class with them, but at the end, her scent had changed into something fierce. Determined. She had looked at him with something bright in her optics, and Hot Rod had thought, for a moment, that maybe she was going to stay. 

That she'd return the next cycle for class again.

Instead, a mech by the name of Taskline came with a displeased faceplate and a scent of sour annoyance and irritation. He doesn't speak in the same way as Glyphos, his voice is stern, strict, mad-almost. And he doesn't accept questions from the class or even bothers to explain anything further, preferring everyone to keep quiet and to 'listen because I'm not going to explain this again.'  

Completely different from Glyphos' teachings and attitude.

Hot Rod's tanks churned something uncomfortable, he wasn't as bad as those killers from before, but his scent wasn't exactly good.  

He wants to give the mech the benefit of the doubt though, because plenty of the other adults in the Narrows almost had the same scent in the beginning, but gradually, their scents and attitudes became better for one reason or another. 

Hot Rod can't help but be disappointed and sad that Glyphos had left without another word, he'd thought…

Well, he hopes she has a nice new job at least. And maybe a better partner.

"Nothin' on Glyphos?" 

Bustler's grimace had Tripper mirroring the expression, they were meeting in the newly discovered tunnel that connected Bustler's scrapyard and Tripper's high-grade store. A pain to get into for Tripper, considering his size but so far it was the only secure place he could meet with Bustler without anyone knowing, not to mention he and Bustler found some more tunnels that were secretly connected to the one they were in now.

Thankfully most of those tunnels were more accommodating to a mech of Tripper's frame size. His shoulders didn't scrap against the wall in one of the bigger tunnels. 

"Scrap…" It's been a few cycles since Glyphos moved out of the Narrows and resigned from her job as a teacher for the younglings' education period at the youth center. A new mech took her place, some fragger named Taskline who, so far, has not endeared himself to the bots of the Narrows with his stuck-up attitude and clearly Functionist leanings.

Doubly so after Hot Rod admitted that Taskline didn't smell as good as Glyphos did. 

"I don't like this Tripper, the Senate's been diggin' their digits into anythin' they can now that Nominus' is down an' out." Bustler gruffed, cygar clenched in his denta as he and Tripper brooded within the tunnel. "Haven't even found the Matrix an' they're goin' on doin' slag on their own." 

"It's gonna get worse as soon as they find the damn thin'." Tripper replied just as gruffly, his own cygar pinched between two digits. "Heard they're itchin' to put the head o' security, mech called Sentinel, as Prime. They jus' need the Matrix to make thin's official." 

"Where'd you think Nominus stashed it anyway? Mech wasn't holdin' it durin' the Procession." And hadn't that been a shock? Seeing the Prime's chassis get blown open to reveal nothing in his chesplates- there were still rumors that Nominus never had the Matrix in the first place but old recordings had proved otherwise. The mech definitely had it in his early reign, loved showing it off during the first few Primal Processions he held, he didn't do it as often as time went by, and completely stopped when the novelty seemed to have worn off.

The most common theory now was that Nominus hid the Matrix because he knew he was going to get scrapped, Tripper doesn't know if that's true obviously, but the Senate was still trying to find it. Otherwise, they'd show off Sentinel having it by now.

Tripper shrugged, "Damned if ah know… What ah do know is'at thin's 'round here ain't gonna be as peaceful as b'fore… Keep an optic on that Taskline fella, don' let 'im poison the minds of our younglin's with his Functionist nonsense."

Bustler nodded in agreement, faceplate grim and serious before he perked, "Right, by the way, Tripper- some ol' friends of mine reached out. Gave me somethin'." He reached into his subspace, taking out a datapad, "It's a pretty good read, speaks our glyphs and lays it all out for everyone to see. It's been 'round for a while, but with how the Senate's been doin' slag, it's gettin' pretty popular."

Tripper accepted the datapad, the first glyphs he sees were; You are being deceived.

"Huh," His optics began to skim the glyphs but his attention gradually shifted into actual interest. "Who's the writer?" 

"A miner from Tarn, mech's name's Megatron."

"I miss Teacher Glyphos." Accel whispered in the dark of their habsuite. Hot Rod's vents stuttered and he winced, both from the ache in his vents and fans but mostly at the misery in his best friend's voice. "Teacher Taskline is-"

"A fragger." Skippa finished darkly.

Hot Rod grimaced and half-heartedly scolded her, "Skippa, language." He doesn't refute or deny it though, he just hates it when they use 'adult swears' when they were all so young. Doesn't know why, it just makes him a bit upset. 

But he's a bit more upset that both his batchmates were stewing in anger and misery from their new teacher.

It's been giga-cycles since their first and old teacher, Glyphos, transferred from the Narrows and Nyon itself. They hadn't heard from her ever since she moved. They all missed her, the new teacher was…

"He is though!" Skippa growled, for once, sounding more heated than Accel who was uncharacteristically quiet tonight. She sat up, her blue optics glowing brightly as she glared over at Hot Rod. "He's been- he's been horrible to us! To everyone! To you! You said it yourself- he doesn't smell good! Sure, he's not bad like those psychos but he's not good either! And it shows! He's teaching nothing but how 'our alt modes are so important, you should hope your alt mode is something useful' and all that nonsense! He's a- a Fux- a Functionist slaghead!"  

Skippa was spending too much time with Tripper, Primus.

"I'm not saying he isn't- just- Skippa, please, don't use that language until we're older." Hot Rod replied as he also sat up, pleading with his optics.

Accel sat up, his own optics glowing softly, "But Roddy, he treats you like scrap. He doesn't like that you're an outlier." Hot Rod winced again, remembering the sheer disgust that Taskline had in his optics the moment he heard that Hot Rod was an outlier. 

"Accel…" Hot Rod sighs, glancing between his two batchmates. "I know things are- they aren't really that good, but, don't worry. We just need to last the mega-cycle and we're done with the education period of the youth centers. We won't have to see Taskline at all." 

Hopefully.

"For now- get into recharge you two. It's getting late and everyone else in the center is asleep but us." Hot Rod instructed half-sternly, half-gently. 

Both his batchmates grumbled but laid back down with barely a complaint, Hot Rod glanced at both of them before laying down himself. Huffing silently as he tried to focus on his breathing again- he's made progress. It didn't hurt as much like in the beginning but it still hurt. 

He doesn't know what he's doing wrong, but at the same time, it's not supposed to be wrong. But something still felt off as he tried to breathe. His vents no longer shook as much, but they still did, his fans no longer clattered loudly- still it was uncomfortable.

It's not supposed to be uncomfortable.

He doesn't know why, doesn't know where any of these feelings are coming from. That feeling of unease and numbness has lessened, but it's not gone. Not until he can get this right. Actually, right, without feeling any pain or discomfort.

He also needs to be able to breathe while he's in recharge and asleep.

Hot Rod has no idea why, but he has to.

"Are you still trying to do your- breath, thing?" Hot Rod gritted his denta- not in anger, never in actual anger at his batchmate- but in slight pain as the abruptness of Skippa's voice surprised him into breathing wrong from losing his concentration. 

Hot Rod wheezed, "Skippa." He thought he told her and Accel to recharge? In the end, he stops his attempt at breathing again for the moment. "Yes."

"Why? You don't look comfortable doing it Roddy, but you've been at it for giga-cycles now. Maybe it's time to stop?" 

Hot Rod bit his derma, "I can't." He replied softly, turning his helm to look at Skippa, she was on her side on her berth across his. "I have to do this, I need to. It feels… right." As right as it can be anyway, it's keeping that numb uneasiness from growing any bigger, and there's weird moments in his processor like he's about to remember something. Something important.

He can't give up.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

"You don't look comfortable with it." Skippa repeated, blue optics narrowed in the darkness. "I don't get why you're trying to 'breathe' so much, and all the time. Or why you're calling venting 'breathing'..." She trailed off before making a small huff. "Teacher Glyphos said organics called venting 'breathing', and that they need to do it all the time. We don't really need to do that, remember? We're not organic."

She's right.

They're not organic.

Hot Rod wasn't organic anymore.

Anymore?? Hot Rod briefly thought before pushing it aside to focus on something else; the obvious revelation.

He was breathing, he was breathing- but breathing was for organics. That's true. Hot Rod wasn't organic; also true.

So what did that mean?

I'm breathing right for organics, but I'm breathing wrong for cybertronians. Hot Rod concluded and Primus, that seemed so obvious now. 

Venting was like breathing, essentially the same but the breathing that Hot Rod was trying to do was different. It was meant for organics, it was meant for- something else. Something important. It was supposed to be for organics.

Demon Slayers need to Breathe.

Hot Rod needed to breathe differently. 

He needed to breathe in a Cybertronian way instead of an organic way. 

Chapter Text

Hot Rod had no idea how to translate something organic to something cybertronian- translate. As if he was translating something written or spoken, but how does one translate movement? An action? 

Translate wasn't exactly the word, modify? That seemed a little better. Still, Hot Rod would admit that the whole situation was absurd.

But, as absurd as it was, he was determined to do it. Determined to do this.

You can do it Ta—ro!

Breathe.

Cybertronian way.

Aware of his flawed thinking, of his flawed approach to breathing- Hot Rod tried to adjust his way of breathing even more. Trying to figure out how to breathe in a more Cybertronian way, try to step away from the organic aspect of it even though a part of him felt strange for doing so.

Strange at the fact he even had to do it in the first place. 

Breathing for organics was required, at least for some, he thinks. It helped those organics live, while cybertronians like Hot Rod, didn't really need to breathe to live. They breathed to regulate their temperature, to control it and also maybe keep control over their emotions. 

Or so said Teacher Glyphos, he wishes she was still around so he could ask her things. Ask if she knew how organics really breathed, ask more in depth on how their ventilation systems worked. 

He couldn't ask Taskline, Accel was telling the truth in that the mech didn't like him. He's made several snide comments during class that left Skippa and Accel fuming, but he didn't let it get to him. How could it? When his batchmates and others in the Narrows cared so much for him? He loved them so much.

Anyway, if he wanted to learn more about ventilation systems… He'd have to ask Doctor Fortify. 

Hopefully he could help with Hot Rod's dilemma.

Eager green optics looked up at him, even without the EM Field, he could practically feel the pleading the young bot was giving off through those optics alone. It amused him to no end as they stood outside of Fortify's home and clinic.

"You want to learn more about the cybertronian ventilation systems?" He repeated, just to make things clear as the mechling Hot Rod nodded rapidly. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with your previous mistake with venting?" He chuckled when he saw the mechling's faceplate blush and some embarrassment slipped out of the young mech's control.

"Well, y-yeah? Kinda? I um… wanna know why it was wrong." Hot Rod admitted slowly, thoughtfully as his embarrassment slowly disappeared. Instead, it was replaced with a curiosity that Fortify couldn't help but want to nurture. "I wanna know more about it, really. It's been kinda on my mind lately, and you've got the cycle off today! So I was wondering if you could, well, teach me about it?" 

Fortify hummed, considering it. He did have the cycle off today, and Hot Rod's education period was joors away… At the thought of the education period, he snorted a little derisively as he thought of the new teacher that came to replace Glyphos.

Taskline wasn't even half the teacher the femme had been, but Fortify knew why he'd been sent to the Narrows. It was clearly a punishment for the arrogant mech but also a tactic to enforce Functionism into the young minds of the Narrows. Too bad for the Senate but their younglings wouldn't accept those teachings so easily.

Not with bots like Tripper and many others of the Narrows making sure the younglings knew it was all nonsense… But Fortify was worried for the next generations of younglings- the Nyon lower sparkfields and hotspots may be dimming, but there were still some lights there. Hot Rod's generations were one of the last, not the last… 

And Primus-forbid the middle and upper sparkfields, those definitely still had sparks being born. If the middle and upper youth centers were being taught this slag too then— 

"Dr. Fortify? Are you okay?" Hot Rod interrupted, suddenly looking very concerned for him. 

Ah right, empathic sensing through his olfactory sensors. Extraordinary if a bit strange outlier ability. Although, it wasn't the only thing extraordinary about Hot Rod of course. "I'm fine, young bot, just thinking unpleasant thoughts." He answered truthfully because Hot Rod could smell those as well. Truths and lies. Intent. 

The most amazing part of Hot Rod's olfactory senses is that, as far as Fortify knew it, Hot Rod wasn't smelling EM Fields whenever he smelled emotions, or even truths and lies and intent. He'd done a few tests, with his own EM Field locked away tight yet Hot Rod knew how he felt regardless. 

Remarkable.

Fortify should really request a more advanced scanner to use on Hot Rod at some point. At Hot Rod's dubious look, he smiled, "Alright then, come on. You wanted to learn about cybertronian ventilation systems, no? Let's get started." Immediately Hot Rod's expression brightened and Fortify hummed as he felt Hot Rod's EM Field happily flare and brush against his own.

The warmth he felt, the sheer bright happiness- if Fortify was as religious as Waxley, his conjunx, he'd say Hot Rod was a star trapped in a mortal frame. 

He definitely wasn't that, but he could understand the sentiment. "Now now, remember what Tripper's told you." He gave Hot Rod's Field a gentle nudge and immediately the Field was wound tight within Hot Rod once more with a sheepish expression on the bitlet's faceplate.

He ushers Hot Rod into his clinic and towards his habsuite above the clinic- they passed a few bots on their way there. Each cheerfully greeted by Hot Rod.

"Hi Epicenter!"

"Mn."

"Be careful with that leg, Pointdexter!"

"Don't have to tell me twice bitty!" 

"I hope you feel better, Shinelight!" 

"Always so kind, lil' Roddy, have a nice cycle dear."

"Hi Fidget! How are you?" 

"He-Hello Hot Rod! I'm, I'm doing good." 

Fortify smiled warmly at each response, each bot, mech, femme and more, easily returned Hot Rod's greetings. Some more reserved than others, but no less fond of the mechling who did his best to spread kindness and happiness around the Narrows ever since he could walk on his pedes. 

While the Narrows weren't cutthroat like other lower sides (aka slums ) of other cities, it wasn't always this friendly. And though they had looked after each other before, Hot Rod's influence over others, especially the younglings themselves, somehow made things more… welcoming, in a way. Friendlier even. 

The community was closer than ever before.

Fortify just hoped it would stay that way despite the Senate's looming intimidation in the distance. 

He was quick to shove those thoughts and emotions aside, lest Hot Rod take notice but thankfully Hot Rod was a bit preoccupied with talking to his front-desk worker, Fidget. The cycloptic-mech (Fortify hoped to change that soon, he'd already restored his servos) was gesturing happily with his servos with Hot Rod more than happy to gesture back. "Hot Rod." He called after a moment, nodding at Fidget who nodded back.

"Oh, right! Bye Fidget! Have a nice day at work!" Hot Rod bade before hurrying over to Fortify.

"B-Bye Hot Rod! Thank you!" 

Fortify took him upstairs to the second floor of the building, where he stayed with his conjunx who was out on a sermon this cycle. Despite worshipping Adaptus so fervently, Waxley wasn't a Functionist, thank Primus. 

"Wait here for a moment, mechling. I'll get some energon for us and something else to help with learning about our ventilation systems." Fortify told Hot Rod, motioning him to sit down on the couch. 

"Okay!"

It took a few kliks, but soon, Fortify had two small cubes of energon as well as a datapad with him and he sat beside Hot Rod to begin the mecha-anatomy lesson.

"Now this, Hot Rod, is the ventilation system for the average cybertronian." He showed Hot Rod the picture on the datapad. "Sometimes it can vary or be very different when it comes to certain other frames because of several factors; their altmode, their frame size or perhaps even a body modification. However we'll only be talking about the average ventilation system since that's what you have." 

Hot Rod nodded in agreement, looking intrigued as his optics looked over the medical diagram of the cybertronian ventilation system. 

"You were wondering what you did wrong with your venting, correct?" At the reminder of his mistake, Hot Rod blushed lightly but nodded, "You were venting inefficiently, incorrectly- you took in air from your intake, which itself isn't incorrect but you took too much through your intake and you left both sets of your rib-vents closed, front and back." He used his digit to gesture to the diagram, pointing at the areas.

"Rib-vents?" Hot Rod repeated, looking stunned. 

Fortify chuckled, patting the side of his chassis, "Rib-vents." He confirmed, "They're subtle, as they should be. We all have different vents, some mechs have vents on their pauldrons, on their helms, but unless they were forged differently or had frame modifications, every cybertronian has rib-vents." He invented deeply, not through his intake, but through the side vents- he made sure it was obvious for Hot Rod to see and feel.

The cool air circulated into his systems, and at the same time, his back-vents exvented the lingering hot air from his frame. His internal temperature meter dropped as a result and he stopped inventing so deeply, not wanting to shift to a cooler temperature. "You were mainly using your intake to vent in air, subconsciously you closed your other vents but that left you without any way to exvent properly. Your exhaust pipes were struggling to accommodate, and vent fans were overstressed from the overabundance of air and the important energon lines along your throat and other areas were compressed as a result." 

In a fully grown cybertronian, that wouldn't be that much of a problem. However Hot Rod was a youngling, his frame was still growing, spark settling. Younglings were much more vulnerable and breakable than a grown cybertronian, his inner components were fragile, which was why he didn't want Hot Rod doing this atypical and strange venting again. Something he made very clear to the youngling. 

Hot Rod didn't reply, but something like determination slipped from his control of his field and Fortify took that as confirmation. (it wasn't) 

"Energon lines… does venting affect energon flow?" It's not a question that Fortify expected, but Hot Rod had a strange look in his optics, masked by curiosity. 

"Yes, to an extent, energon flow is mainly regulated by a pump connected to your spark chamber." Fortify zoomed in on the diagram, switching layers to show the pump right besides arguably the most important part of a cyberronian; their spark chamber. "Venting is important for temperature control of energon and our engines, if your frame is too cool or cold, it slows down your energon flow. In rare cases or extremely cold climates, it can even freeze energon which is very dangerous. On the opposite, in hotter climates and cases, it can accelerate flow at the risk of boiling energon which is also very dangerous." 

Hot Rod's helm tilted as he looked at the datapad with narrowed optics, "Teacher Glyphos-" his voice wavered at the name, Fortify reached over to pat his shoulder reassuringly. He missed her too. "She said that organics needed to vent- well, breathe to survive. Um, what's the difference between their breathing and our venting?" 

Fortify hummed, "I've not much knowledge pertaining organics, Hot Rod. I'm a medical doctor, not a biologist interested in the subject. That question is beyond me, unfortunately. Still, I can only offer you speculation about the differences." Hot Rod seemed a bit put out but nodded nonetheless. 

"The most obvious difference is of course; organics being organic in nature, of flesh and blood and us being more mechanical in nature, of metal and energon. Organic species may confuse us with machines, perhaps within reason considering our metallic structures and bodies yet we are still alive. We bear sparks, we experience emotions, we live and we die. We are living metal, we are metal, yet we are alive." The last part sounds something his conjunx was more likely to say, but he needed this to be understood by the mechling who seemed so interested. 

Fortify doesn't know of Hot Rod's future, but perhaps he will meet an organic species one day, one that would not look kindly upon his metallic nature; the neighboring alien species of Cybertron were still insulting cybertronians after all- still calling them 'automatons' as an insult. Autobots.  

Although Fortify has been hearing that someone has been 'reclaiming' the word to mean 'autonomous robots' instead. While a nice sentiment, Fortify still wasn't sure about it. 

"From what little I know of organics, 'breathing' is required for them to live, to survive, they need air- some organics require specific gases or even liquids to function and live yet we, cybertronians, don't exactly need that. In fact, there's very little natural forms of gases and liquids that actually, physically affect us. Thus we can breathe almost anything we want, within reason. Although some cybertronians are more suited to air or liquids than others- like those with alt modes of a more aquatic nature."

Fortify looked back down to the datapad, and inputted a few commands. "However, that doesn't mean we still can't experience things like 'choking'. Having something lodged in your throat, right next to your vocalizer is unpleasant." He showed the diagram now showing an obscure object obstructing the throat. "An organic would have died if this went on for more than a few kliks, but for us? Unless it's an object that is fatal or continuously injuring the cybertronian, it would just be unpleasant. Because…"

"... Because we have more than one place to vent in and out air?" Hot Rod continued after a prompting look from Fortify, who smiled back and nodded at his answer. 

"That, and, once again, we do not exactly need air to live." Fortify patted Hot Rod's shoulder. "If you have any other questions Hot Rod, feel free to ask them."

Skippa deserved a treat for setting Hot Rod on a new, better path with his breathing. And Dr. Fortify deserved something nice to help Hot Rod understand his biology better.

Hot Rod had completely forgotten about his rib-vents. They were mostly closed most of the time, unless he was doing something particularly strenuous, which wasn't often, otherwise they remained closed- that was normal, according to Dr. Fortify. And whenever he tried to breathe, he'd forget about them completely because the breathing he attempted to do was entirely through the intake- he sometimes tried with his olfactory but that just made him smell things, not actually take in air.

Organic breathing was through the intake and olfactory, or at least, that's what Hot Rod is thinking? Again, he doesn't know where that knowledge is coming from, but it's instinctive, he's trying to do it.

Suck in air through your teeth, your nose, you must brea—

Hot Rod had been breathing correctly for an organic, but it's not working too well for him because he's not organic. 

Honestly it seems so obvious now that it's been pointed out at him. 

Again, he needs to get Skippa a treat later. 

Leaving Dr. Fortify's clinic (and saying goodbye to every bot he passed), Hot Rod checked the time- just a couple of joors before education period back at the youth center. For the first time ever, Hot Rod considers skipping the education period. But only for a brief moment.

As much as he didn't like Taskline, Skippa and Accel would never forgive him if he skipped the period without them. And Hot Rod didn't want them to skip either, if only because he didn't want their records to be marked. Hot Rod and his batchmates hadn't skipped a single class before, even at Accel's insistence sometimes, and he wasn't going to do it now.

There were still a couple of joors left before he had to go, so he could try to breathe just for a bit. If he ran afterwards, he'd be able to get to the youth center just fine.

Hot Rod wandered over to a less occupied space near the clinic within the Narrows, waving at familiar bots with a happy smile that grew every time someone waved or greeted back. 

The Narrows bustle was always slow around this time of the cycle, no matter the area unless there was an event happening somewhere. The streets were concerningly rusty though, he hasn't seen much of the usual rust-workers these past giga-cycles, and the streets were beginning to get rustier and rustier.

Hot Rod found an alcove by a nearby building without any bots around, with a raised wall that could be used as a temporary seat. He sat down, optics dimming as he tried to focus on his ventilation systems, keeping in mind Dr. Fortify's words.

He had vents, rib-vents… front and back… His intake wasn't the only entrance and exit for air, his olfactory was virtually useless in actually breathing. He had a pump for energon right next to his spark chamber- he doesn't know why he's thinking about that too but he is.

Feel your heart pump—

Hot Rod's servos clenched and unclenched and then he breathes.

Inhale

Through his vents- not just his intake- air sucks itself through his front rib-vents and his intake.

His faceplate scrunches as he tries to do this new, cybertronian way of breathing instead of organic human breathing. It's-

Hold.

Strange.

So strange, over the giga-cycles he'd been trying to breathe, he got used to the organic breathing but now—

Exhale

Air spilled from his vents, heated, rushed and he feels…

Excited.

His whole frame is thrumming- oh there's still pain but it's a different pain. Better? 

He doesn't feel or hear his fans rattling in him, his chassis is pressured in a way that doesn't feel too uncomfortable. It's not something he's used to, but it's something.  

Something better, something good.

The organic way had felt right despite the pain, but this? 

Oh this was so much better.

He could feel energon pumping through his frame, his protoform underneath the plating seemed to bulge slightly as he tried to keep it going- tried to keep breathing- because this sensation felt so family. It got his heart racing—

Heart?

Set your heart ablaze!

Hot Rod gasped, coughing as his vision glitched and blurred slightly. That voice, that strange voice, familiar and- and- speaking in that equally strange but familiar language. He clutched his chassis, feeling pain from his inner systems and components. It wasn't like the first time he tried breathing, it was different, better but also…

There was an incomprehensible sadness in his spark, coming from that- that voice. That phrase.

RENGOKU-SAN

Set your heart ablaze?

Hot Rod didn't know what a heart was.

No, he suspects what it is. Kind of. 

It was in the middle of his chest, his chassis held his heart, didn't it? His core, his spark.

Hot Rod stumbled away from the alcove, despite the slight pain, despite the sadness, he felt… Energized. Like he could run for miles on his pedes for joors, like he could do heavy labor with ease. There's a high in his processor underneath the incomprehensible sadness, slowly overtaking it.

Hot Rod stood straight, panting lightly as he experimentally bounced in place. Feeling energetic, his vents fluttered- he felt more aware of them than ever now. 

A giddy sensation spread through his frame, the sadness had lessened- it didn't disappear, it was there for some reason and it was staying but he felt happy now. Because- he did it, didn't he?

He managed to- he did it!

He did Total Concentration Breathing!

Total Concentration Breathing??

Was that what that was?

Okay! Whatever! 

And sure, it wasn't for a long time, but he managed to do it. He achieved it and he just- he just needed to practice more! Eventually, he was going to do it in recharge! Thought that would definitely be hard! 

His internal reminder pinged as he sees that he's only got a joor left before he had to go back to the youth center, to attend education period and he grins.  

Immediately, his pedes moved and he runs.

Runs faster than he's ever did, with his frame energized and eager. Even when his protoform quickly began to ache, he doesn't stop running. When he quickly became tired, he doesn't stop running. There's a new determination in him, inspired by a phrase that came from nowhere, that bore sadness in his spark but made it flare brighter than ever before.

Set your spark ablaze, Hot Rod!

"Roddy! There you are!" 

Accel had his servos on his hips, frowning at how Hot Rod was panting, some condensation on his frame as he supported himself on his knees. "Primus, Roddy, where'd you run from? All the way from Big Bustler's scrapyard?" He asked as Hot Rod stood up, slightly taken aback by the bright look in his optics and the way his Field brushed against his with a sense of determination and glee.

It felt different from before. 

Brighter.

How the frag was it brighter? Hot Rod's happiness was already so bright! Like a star! Was he trying to turn into a sun?

"From- whew- from Dr. Fortify's clinic." Hot Rod answered after a few deep vents, normal vents, not the weird breathing thing he keeps doing at their hab. He also reigned in his Field.

Accel's optics flickered in surprise, "From Doc Fort's place? Wow Roddy, you out of shape or something? That's like, not that far from here by running? Like uh… took us like, fifteen kliks to run from there to back here in the youth center last time right?" He searched for his memory files of the races he, Hot Rod, Skippa and a few other younglings did in the past.

Out of boredom one cycle, he goaded Hot Rod into running from Doc Fort's clinic back to the youth center and that had taken… about 8 kliks, full speed? So maybe that's why Hot Rod was so tired. 

Hot Rod's excited grin grew, "Yeah! But like- I timed m-myself and- ough, and I got here in five kliks."

Accel's optics widened and he immediately grabbed Hot Rod's arm, "Shut up! No way you got faster! Roddy- Primus, Roddy! You totally gotta show me later on! We're gonna race after education period!" He exclaimed determinedly, wanting to see for himself. "From the youth center all the way to Doc Fort's! We'll get Skippa to time us!" 

"You and Roddy having another race after education period?" 

Accel jumped at his batchmate's voice behind him while Hot Rod just smiled brightly at Skippa, "Hi Skippa!" 

"Skippa! Yeah, Roddy and I are gonna race after education period! You gotta time us!" Accel whirled around to excitedly, seeing the amusement on her faceplate. Only to feel confused when that amusement turned into a glare- not at him though. 

Hot Rod made a noise and Accel whirled back to face him-

Ah.

Teacher Taskline stood behind them both, leveling a disapproving sneer at the three of them. At Hot Rod especially. "A race, you say? How quaint, from the spoiler growing on your back, I would dare say you'd be a race vehicle- shame you can't be a proper one with your ridiculous outlier ability." He told Hot Rod snidely, his batchmate said nothing, just kept a polite neutral expression on his faceplate.

Taskline was a large mech, painted a more luxurious yellow and green with his plates always shiny and buffed. His altmode was a truck, which apparently meant he had plenty of opportunities or so he kept saying. 

He graduated from both Polyhex's Institute of Higher Learning and Iacon's Academy of Science and Technology, he was supposed to teach at either or another prestigious school but he ended up teaching in lower Nyon's youth center instead and he never failed to make it known that he shouldn't be here. With every class he'd complain for kliks before, during or even after a lesson.

And each lesson was lackluster compared to the enthusiastic and cheery Teacher Glyphos, she at least tried to engage the entire class- Taskline had favorites, and even then, he was condescending to them. About them. 

"Hello Teacher Taskline." Hot Rod greeted, grabbing Skippa and Accel's servos and gently dragging them to the side. Letting Taskline go through without another complaint, even when the large mech sneered at him once again- Hot Rod squeezed both Accel and Skippa's servos when he felt them bristle beside him.

As soon as Taskline was inside the youth center, far enough away, Skippa ripped her servo out of Roddy's grip just so she could rudely gesture at Taskline's retreating frame. "Fragger." She spat much to Hot Rod's dismay.

"Skippa! No! Don't do or say that!" 

Skippa was usually so laid back, but ever since Taskline showed up, she's been more and more agitated, for good reason! Taskline was a fragger, an aft-head, and so many other swears that Hot Rod would definitely not approve of. 

He and Skippa have been hanging out a lot with Tripper lately, so they knew a lot of swear words- Hot Rod hated it. 

Accel smiled slightly at the thought, "C'mon guys, let's go before Taskline decides we're late." Even though they had plenty of time from the actual start of education period. 

"Yeah, yeah…" Skippa grumbled, opening the door so they could get in. "Anyway, race after education period?" 

Accel's smile turned into a grin while Hot Rod beamed, "Race after education period!" 

Taskline's class was going to suck like always, but that was fine! Accel had his batchmates and a race to look forward to afterwards!

Tsk, my talents are wasted here. Taskline thought darkly as he sifted through the 'work' these damned lower-class younglings submitted. Some were alright, passable at least, others were underrated and failing- didn't they listen to his teachings at all? Lower-caste idiots.  

Nyon's low district, the Narrows, as they called it, was subpar. The streets were beginning to rust, the buildings were worn and old and getting more and more dilapidated, which just showed how subpar things were, and steadily getting worse no doubt. 

The only saving grace and shining positivity to his situation was the fact Taskline hadn't been sent to- ugh, anywhere like Dead End or even Kaon or Tarn. Then again, it was impossible for someone like him to end up at Dead End- the lower fields there were finally dry so no new sparks were being born there. Good riddance.

Still, Taskline was supposed to be in Harmonex, Polyhex perhaps- he would've even begrudgingly accepted the middle-caste youth center here in Nyon! 

But no, he was sent to the Narrows as punishment for not kissing the right aft. 

And now he was in the Narrows, teaching worthless low-caste punks who didn't listen to a glyph he uttered- and worse. One of them was an outlier, one with the most ridiculous and useless ability he's ever heard.

Enhanced olfactory senses, hah!  

It really was a shame, if Hot Rod wasn't an outlier, not even a useful or powerful one at that, he clearly could've been a racer. The mechling was fast, he's seen him run around the streets of the Narrows with admittedly impressive speed, and loathe for Taskline to admit; the youngling was at the very least, polite.

As he should be towards his superiors, still, it grated on Taskline at the fact Hot Rod was an outlier. He would've pitied the newspark had he not heard the rumor of Hot Rod saying ' Taskline doesn't smell good ' to practically every other bot in the Narrows.

And now most other adults who seemed associated with Hot Rod regarded him with misplaced distrust! Honestly! 

He doesn't understand why these Narrow bots seem to just adore the damned youngling. Well, they all seemed protective over all of their younglings- something even he could begrudgingly respect. He'd give more respect if they just listened to his fragging lessons and words, seriously the Narrows didn't seem to care of the Senate's clearly superior teachings. 

Every bot had a function and must stick to their function. 

None of that Decepticon nonsense he's been hearing about from his old colleagues. Ugh, even one old colleague seemed interested in it, or so says the others; the top of Taskline's old class from both the Institute of Higher Programming and Academy of Science and Technology. Orion Pax.

There were rumors that Orion was starting to reclaim the old organic insult for cybertronians, Autobots? Funny mech, that bot, but then again of all the jobs he could go for, Orion Pax went for police work. And wasn't even doing a good job- didn't he do something radical? 

Taskline didn't know, and didn't really care. It was just a little funny that his top-class mech got into trouble with something. Served him right, the optimistic aft.

Smirking to himself, Taskline started making his way out of the classroom of the youth center to finally head back to his apartment. To the peace, quiet and luxury of his habsuite. 

However, just as he exited, he heard a loud screech of- "YOU CAN CHANGE FRAME-TYPES?!"

He froze at the words, at those absolutely absurd words.  

In the nearby distance, he sees two younglings, familiar. The batchmates of that damned Hot Rod, their designations were… Accel and Skippa.

Two low-caste younglings who were talking about what?

They didn't seem to have noticed him yet, their backs facing him as the femmeling nodded disgustingly enthusiastically at her batchmate. "I heard from Tripper! He had a friend who changed from a mech to a femme! Isn't that cool?! Even changed alt mode somehow! She used to be a drill but now she's a car." 

"Woah…"  

"Just what do you think you're doing?" 

Both younglings jumped, whirling around to see him looming over them with a hard and dark look on his faceplate. The look of fear on both their faceplates barely did anything to calm his quickly building rage, "Such talk is not allowed." He told them both sternly.

Unfortunately, the femme's optics dared to spark with defiance. "What talk? About changing frame-types or altmodes? I think it's amazing!" She replied stubbornly, crossing her arms. "Right, Accel?" 

The mechling faltered, but only slightly before being falsely emboldened by his batchmate's defiance. "Y-Yeah! It's- it's really cool!" He agreed and Taskline glared at them both harsher, feeling viciously satisfied at their flinches from the simple act.

"It's abominable, that's what it is! Changing from what you were forged as- You are born with an altmode and frame and you must function as such! Even cold-construct s seem to understand that better than you lowly bots!" He growled, servos clenching. "Do you even understand what you're talking about, brats? To change frame types- to change your very altmodes- you'd be torn apart! Everything that made you, cracked and shredded, for what? A false body?! A false altmode?!"

Just the thought of it had him shivering in disgust and horror. 

"You two have been spending far too much time with that damnable outlier batchmate of yours, not to mention those uncouth and unruly bots that think they're so much better than the glorious Senate! The Senate gives order, gives structure and function to even worthless blocks of metal like you and everyone else in this Primus-foresaken place!"  

Despite his shouting, the two younglings suddenly seemed even more defiant. A fury of their own burning in their optics. "Don't insult Roddy and the Narrows!" Accel shouted, small servos clenched. 

"Roddy and everyone else in this Primus-foresaken place is worth a hundred times more than your stupid Functionalist Senate!" Skippa shouted imperiously, seething and snarling like a fragging animal. 

Well if she wanted to ACT like an animal—

"SKIPPA!" Accel screamed when Taskline grabbed the puny femmeling, gripping her by the arm, his servo easily able to lift her up. The femmeling yelped in surprise and pain, clawing at his servo to let go, pedes flailing in the air.

"Watch what you're saying scrapling." Taskline snarled at her, unphased by her struggling. If anything, it annoyed him more since it was only slightly painful and she was ruining his paint. So, he squeezed, making her shout. 

"LET GO OF ME!"

Enraged, the mechling started punching and kicking at Taskline's leg, also ruining the paint there. "LET HER GO YOU FRAGGER!" Taskline sneered shifting then kicking the mechling, perhaps a little too hard since it sent the young bot tumbling away with a pained shout. 

"ACCEL!"  

Taskline tsk'ed at both pathetic attempts of harming him, but hey, this gave him the inventive and reason to finally get rid of these two from his class. Hopefully from the actual youth center itse—

"Taskline you glitchin' slaggin' fragger! YOU PUT HER DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"  

Oh what now?!

Taskline turned to see that old mech that owned Narrows' only alcohol store, decent booze but not exactly his palate. Even worse, the hunk of junk Tripper was someone who'd been opposed of Taskline's teachings since the first cycle he came- he found that the old mech was repeatedly telling the younglings not to listen to the important teachings he was bestowing them on behalf of the Senate. Not to mention the first mech to listen to Hot Rod's ridiculous Taskline doesn't smell good rumor. 

Speaking of the mechling, he wondered where the frag he was, usually that brat was nearby any one of the three here. He sneered at Tripper, who was approaching quite quickly in an enraged walk. He wasn't afraid of this old mech, he could take him.

Suddenly, Tripper froze in place.

Not just him, even Taskline froze as a sudden wave of—

F u r y

—washed over the area. 

An anger so sudden and bright, so hot and mighty, a small sliver of fear grew from the depths of Taskline's tanks. Frantically, he looked for the source and-

There, from the corner of the youth center's building, stood Hot Rod .

The mechling's face was thunderous as his optics glowed a crackling, pure green. 

Smoke leaked from Hot Rod's intake, a grey smog that somehow made the youngling more intimidating as he glared straight at Taskline.

"R… Roddy-" Someone, one of the younglings, he doesn't know which, whispered and immediately-

Hot Rod was sprinting at Taskline, and his alt must truly be a racing vehicle because he was fast as he was suddenly in front of Taskline, jumping in the air.

The next few moments happened in snapshots, later on when Taskline finally onlined, he could only find these snapshots when he frantically looked back on what happened.

Hot Rod jumping in the air.

Hot Rod dodging Taskline's punch. 

Hot Rod grabbing his shoulders.

Hot Rod rearing his helm back and—

Crunch

Taskline's vision immediately darkens.

But the sound of what happened before he blacked out will haunt his flux and recharges for vorns to come.

Chapter Text

"Ugh…" 

Tripper snorted at the groan the mechling was giving as he laid on the medical berth, there's still plenty of disbelief in his system as he watched over the groaning youngling.

"Fraggin' Primus-below bitlet, jus' what 's y'er helm made of ?" He asks to no one in particular, or well- he was asking Hot Rod, but the mechling was in no shape to answer. 

The young bot was currently in stasis- very short-term stasis, there was a slight dent in his helm and his chevrons were a bit bent but compared to that slagger, Taskline? Hot Rod was in tip-top shape. 

Doc Fort had told him in the past that Hot Rod's helm was ridiculously strong, his plating and protoform there was abnormally thick. The doctor had even joked to Tripper that even a grown bot would like to avoid being headbutted or even hitting Hot Rod's helm lest they break several digits or crack metal. 

No fragging kidding.

Tripper had tasked himself to get Taskline to Fortify's clinic- while two youth center workers transported Hot Rod, Skippa and Accel. Carelift and Liftlock. The 'twins' who weren't twins, they just said they were twins because they share one word in their designations- just in case the slagger onlined but those were low chances considering what Hot Rod did.

Tripper wasn't a medic, but he's had his helm cracked before and Taskline's helm was more than cracked. His optic lenses were shattered, his helm was cracked and dented, his faceplate had bent inwards and deformed from Hot Rod's solid hit and energon leaked from the small openings of the cracks.

Mech was online of course, which was ultimately good, Hot Rod was too young to have any energon on his servos like that. It would upset the youngling to no end no doubt…

Despite acting all high and mighty, Taskline had been a big mech with thick plating. Despite thinking alt modes were slag, Tripper knew that the bots who turned into trucks were literally made of tough stuff. But by the looks of it, Hot Rod's helm was made of tougher stuff.

One hit and the mech was knocked the frag out. Thankfully he stayed down throughout the entire trip towards the clinic, and the look on Doc Fort's face would've been more hilarious if there hadn't been two crying younglings in the hands of Carelift, who was big enough to carry both Skippa and Accel with no problem. Liftlock had Hot Rod in his servos, cradled carefully. 

Poor younglings had been crying out of worry for their batchmate even though they were both more injured than him, there were servo-shaped dents on Skippa's arm, while Accel straight up had a crack in his chassis. It was thankfully small, but it was a crack nonetheless! Hot Rod only suffered from a bent chevron and a slightly dented helm; the only worrying thing was that he was unconscious when he shouldn't be but he didn't seem to be in any actual medical danger, which was the only reason why Doc Fort focused on them first- well, first after Taskline.

Unfortunately (well, fortunately really) the slaghead was the most injured from the encounter, as he deserved but since he was the most injured then Fortify had to focus on treating him first. Make sure he wasn't leaking energon anymore at least.

"Ugh… Mrgh… Ngh…" Tripper's optics focused away from his thoughts to see Hot Rod shifting on the berth, faceplate scrunched and optics flicking online. Accompanied with it was his field which conveyed a slow confusion. "Trip…per?" The mechling muttered hesitantly as the older mech loomed over him. 

"Hey there bitty," Tripper murmured quietly, using his own field to sooth over that confusion, "Glad t'see ya up."

Hot Rod's optics flickered before abruptly widening, seemingly remembering what happened. Tripper immediately braced himself for—

"Taskline!"  

Tripper gritted his dentae as he felt the wave of panic and anger that washed over him as Hot Rod snarled- this was exactly why he wanted Hot Rod to learn control over his Field, Hot Rod's EM Field was simply too overpowering, overwhelming. It could reach so far and yet still feel as potent as being right next to him, and Hot Rod's emotions were strong.  

There'd been a reason why Tripper and Taskline froze the moment they had felt Hot Rod' furious field.

Primus, he'd never felt Hot Rod that angry before. 

It actually… frag, he can't believe he's saying it, but for a moment there, he'd been scared of Hot Rod. Just for a moment. But then that moment passed as he realized that suddenly the mechling was running towards Taskline. 

Jumping in the air, dodging a wild swing from the bigger mech and—

Crunch

Yeah. Crunch. 

Tripper snarled back at Hot Rod, engines revving loudly and his EM Field trying to contend and overtake Hot Rod's wild panic and anger with a stern reassurance and scolding. "Calm down Hot Rod! Taskline's not a problem, frag's down, an' y'er batchmates 're with Doc right now." He growled, glaring into those green optics of his. 

Hot Rod flinched back, the anger in his field quickly dwindling into worry and concern. It's startlingly quick, but this was Hot Rod, he was the kind of spark to worry over the state of his batchmates rather than continue to be angry at a slagger that deserved to be taken down several notches. "Skippa and Accel- they're with Doctor Fortify? They're okay?" 

Tripper nudged him, both with his servo and his field, "They're tough lil' bitlets, an' y'know Doc. They're in good servos." Steadily, Hot Rod's field receded, tingeing with clear relief. 

Hot Rod vented deeply through his intake, rib-vents flaring from how deep of a vent he takes. "T-Taskline, he's- you said he was down?" He asked quietly, uncertainly. Tripper wondered just how he was feeling about taking down a full-grown mech, of attacking someone bigger than him, of doing something violent for the first time in his life; it was all to protect his batchmate of course but Hot Rod was a kind spark.

"More than down, kid, ya knocked 'im 'nto stasis. Doc says he'll be down fer more th'n a few cycles at least, maybe a deca-cycle most." Tripper told him, carefully watching his reaction.

His faceplate flashed through a few complicated emotions before settling into a look of stubborn determination with just a hint of guilt. But no regret. "I… I did it to protect my batchmates, he was being- he hurt them." Hot Rod said, probably to himself rather than Tripper but Tripper nodded anyway.

"Tha' he did, Ah say ya did th'right thin'. Slaghead got it comin'." Tripper replied with a small smile, clasping a reassuring servo on Hot Rod's shoulder. Hot Rod gave him a weak smile back, though before either of them could say anything else, the door slid open and like rockets, two smaller bots bounded towards Hot Rod's medical berth.

"Hey now! Careful you two!" Doc Fort's warning was for naught as Skippa and Accel launched themselves as Hot Rod with a loud cry of 'Hot Rod/Roddy!'.

Tripper was quick to try and catch them, only managing to catch Accel while Skippa fully crashed into Hot Rod onto the berth. Hot Rod groaned while Skippa didn't seem phased at all, "You're awake!"

"Tripper! Let go! Roddy! Are you okay?! Doc, check on Roddy now- Skippa and I are okay!" Accel exclaimed, squirming determinedly in Tripper's hold like the unruly youngling he was. When it looked like Accel was willing to bite him, Tripper huffed and set him on the same berth as Hot Rod and Skipper, fully reuniting the three batchmates with two fussing over the perplexed but ultimately relieved Hot Rod.

Doc Fort went to stand by the berth, "Yes, yes- just both of you stop moving so much! Remember, Skippa, not to move your arm too much and Accel- be careful of your chest plating!" He admonished as he forced both younglings to sit still besides Hot Rod who only did so because Hot Rod was giving them both a severe look of concern.

"I'm okay Hot Rod." Skippa muttered, holding one of Hot Rod's servo while Accel grabbed the other. "Accel's okay too."

Accel nodded vigorously with determination, "Mhm! Skippa and I are o-kay!"

Hot Rod's Field control wavered again, relieved happiness curling around the room as he squeezed both their servos, optics shining with unshed coolant tears. "I'm so glad." He admitted, derma wobbling. Accel and Skippa's fields flared in turn, reassuring their batchmate and sitting as close as they could without impeding Doc Fort's job. 

Tripper and Doc Fort shared a look of amusement and their own relief at seeing the three of them like that. After a moment, Tripper cleared his throat loudly, using his Field to prod the three younglings, "Alright bitties, tha's 'nuff 'o that. Let the Doc do 'is job, hm?" 

Once their fields were reigned in, Doc Fortify leaned over to look over Hot Rod's helm. "Let's see now…" Hot Rod sat still, both because he was just a polite patient and he was appeased with the presence of his batchmates beside him, letting the doc carefully prod his dented helm and bent chevrons. Wincing slightly at the touch but keeping still otherwise, Doc Fort's helm shifted, a mini-scanner appearing to cover one of his optics to scan Hot Rod's helm. A red light going over Hot Rod's helm and faceplate.

"I'd like to do a more thorough scan with you later mechling, but so far, I don't see anything wrong with your internal components. Your self-repairing nanites are already working on the dent on your helm and your chevron, just remember to fuel with the medi-grade I'll be giving you and your batchmates before recharge later this cycle." The doctor said after finishing his scan, his mini-scanner shifted back. 

Accel and Skippa were relieved, smiling happily at their batchmate who beamed back. Only to falter and turn towards the doctor once more. "What about Taskline? I hit him hard." 

Skippa's smile turned into a scowl, "What about Taskline? He deserved it! He hurt me and Accel and was a functionalist fragger." She growled, her field flaring with anger that Hot Rod was quick to corral with his own.

For once, Hot Rod didn't reprimand the use of the swear but aimed a disapproving look at Tripper who gave a shrug back with a smirk. What could he say? The femmeling liked spending a lot of time with him in his shop, learning how to brew some good high-grade.

"I hate him." Optics turned towards the usually rowdy mech, Accel leaned into Hot Rod, hiding his face in his shoulder while pressing his free servo against the fresh weld on his chassis. "Roddy I hate him, he's mean, and he hates you and he hurt me and Skippa. Please don't tell me you feel bad for hurting him, you did that to protect us." 

Immediately, Hot Rod lets go of Skippa's servo so he could wrap his arms around Accel. Skippa was quick to scramble to Accel's other side to hug him as well, turning Accel to be their centerpoint instead of Hot Rod. "I don't! I don't feel bad for protecting you, he really did deserve it for hurting you both!" Hot Rod replied firmly, field flaring as if to make sure both younglings could feel his sincerity. "And I don't really feel bad for hurting him, I just… I hate that I had to do it in the first place. He shouldn't have tried to hurt you."

"Yeah, really shouldn't 'ave." Tripper agreed grimly.

Doc Fort nodded quietly before venting, "Taskline will make a full recovery, however he'll be in stasis for a few cycles, at most, a deca-cycle. It will give us time to think on what to do."

All three younglings looked over in confusion, "What do you mean?" Skippa asked warily, already sensing something not exactly right from both adults.

Taskline's dermas scowled and Fortify's faceplate was more than a little downcast.

For all the pride they had for Hot Rod in taking down Taskline and protecting his batchmates, it didn't change the fact that Hot Rod had essentially attacked someone of 'higher status'. They could definitely spin a self-defense outlook for this, however there would inevitably be consequences for this action alone.

Whatever those consequences were… They needed to make sure these three younglings would be okay at the end of this mess.

"Hot Rod of Nyon, you are now officially emancipated from the Narro-ahem, from the Lower Section of Nyon's Youth Center. You have thirty kliks to gather your items and leave the premises."

Actions have consequences, Hot Rod knew that.

Even before Tripper and Doctor Fortify had said about it deca-cyles ago, Hot Rod knew that there'd be an outcome to what he'd done to Taskline. 

Just Taskline because Hot Rod wasn't the only one to leave the Youth Center in the end. Which is a silver lining between all of this.

To make long story short; Taskline had predictably been furious the moment he registered what happened after he came back online from his cycles-long stasis. As soon as he was able, he tried to get Hot Rod punished for attacking him.

However there were several problems with that;

Hot Rod had hurt him, yes, but only because he'd hurt his batchmates. He had acted in defense on behalf of his very close batchmates.

Not to mention, Hot Rod, Skippa and Accel were younglings. They were nearly a mega-cycle from their transformation cog's being officially matured enough to safely transform to their alt modes with provided alt mode kits for further health and safety but they were less than half a vorn away from being actually registered adults.

And there were, of course, laws against the harm of younglings that affected a mech like Taskline. 

Which led to him being fired as the Teacher from the Narrows' Youth Center and sent elsewhere.

Hot Rod didn't fully understand the legal jargon that was happening but all he knew was that while Taskline couldn't exactly punish him like he wanted ( "Fragger was demandin' empurata." Tripper snarled. ) but he still managed to ensure that Hot Rod would no longer be able to stay at the Youth Center with his batchmates (Skippa and Accel were exempt, thankfully, merely given marks on their records, they got to stay) or have the protection of the Youth Center.

"This isn't fair! Hot Rod shouldn't leave because Taskline was a complete fragger!" Jackback spat only to whine when Hot Rod's servo bopped his helm non-too-lightly for his language. "What?! It's true! He never lets us ask any questions in class, doesn't even try to help us with our grades like Glyphos did!" 

The name sends a wave of sadness throughout Hot Rod and his numerous batchmates, not just Skippa and Accel. But the other sparklings that came around the same time in the same field, Hot Rod cared for them as well- Skippa and Accel however had emerged from the spark fields with him practically at the same time, mere nano-kliks apart and they'd been grouped together since then and stuck to each other from the very beginning.

Among their batchmates, they were his batchmates. His… his…

Onii-san!

Siblings. Yes, that's the word. 

Right?

Anyway, now though… Hot Rod would be leaving the Youth Center before they could, separating them for the first time ever. 

Hot Rod could always visit, and he promised them all that he would visit the youth center every cycle, but they knew it just wasn't the same. 

There would be a glaring spot in their… In Skippa and Accel's habsuite now. The first thing they see in each cycle would no longer be Hot Rod's glinting green optics waking them up, and every other youngling would no longer wake to the soothing hum of a warm field and a warm smile reserved for them in the early joors of the cycle.

Opica, the smallest and shiest among them, had her servos clutched around Hot Rod's servo. Stubbornly holding on even as Hot Rod tried to, ever so gently, get her to let go. All he ends up doing is having her latch onto his side instead but at least it frees his servos so he could continue packing.

Accel and Skippa help him, very, very reluctantly. They were clearly sharing the opinions of the rest of their batchmates, but they were still careful with Hot Rod's things- his datapads of differing subjects like cybertronian biology (mostly the ventilation systems) to the basics of chirolinguistics, his little art supplies (mostly leftover gold sheets and utensils), as well as the posters he had of various Velocitron racers. Mostly Moonracer and Knock Out, the rising racers in the latest vorns. 

"You'll come visit every cycle, right?" Dustload, Jackback's group batchmate alongside Opica (a strange but endearing trio of batchmates among their lot of batchmates), asked, peering into the already crowded habsuite room. 

Hot Rod's generation of younglings had been less than a hundred in the beginning, some they'd lost over the vorns due to illness and complication, which led to a little less than sixty younglings left for their generation. Hot Rod did a quick helmcount in his processor, fifty-seven younglings.

Fifty-seven younglings who were very unhappy that they were about to become fifty-six. 

"Of course I will!" Hot Rod exclaimed to the orange mechling, managing to coax Opica from his side and towards Dustload instead. Jackback gave a relieved but grumpy look, Hot Rod couldn't tell if he was relieved that Opica was with Dustload or because Hot Rod confirmed he was going to visit. 

There were a lot of emotional scents in the air, mingling and mixing together. More emotional than normal anyway, and sometimes, Hot Rod couldn't exactly pinpoint what the scent actually meant in terms of emotions or which emotion belonged to who when they were all grouped up together like this.

Plus, it was really crowded in the habsuite. "I'll try to visit before or after every educational period! Just to see how you guys are doing!" He said, patting the nearest youngling nearby, which was Plight who happily accepted the servo to the helm. 

There were many complaints from the younglings, especially those crowded at the doorway, "Why not earlier?!" Someone asks.

"I'll be working, remember? I have a job now! Two even!"

Being emancipated from the Youth Center meant providing for himself, he needed a place to stay and shanix to feed himself. Hot Rod was extremely lucky that Bustler had extra room at his scrapyard and was willing to house him, and he already had a job thanks to him and Tripper! 

His first job was working at Bustler's scrapyard, he'd help with sorting out scrap metal and discarded junk but his main job would be working as a local delivery bot for both Bustler and Tripper. 

"You'll still see me around! If I'm not too busy on the job, then I could even talk for a bit! It's going to be okay, you'll see." Hot Rod reassured his batchmates, smiling when Accel reluctantly gave Hot Rod his container packed with his things. 

Hot Rod let his EM Field slowly creep out to give assurance to everyone within the vicinity, he kept it up even as a regretful and morose Carelift came to tell Hot Rod it was time for him to go. 

"Sorry kid, it really shouldn't have come to this." Liftlock murmured as he and Carelift escorted Hot Rod towards the front door where Tripper and Bustler were waiting for him. Right behind them was, of course, a parade of Hot Rod's batchmates with Skippa and Accel in the lead.

Hot Rod shook his helm, "It's okay. Thank you for taking care of me for so long Carelift, Liftlock. You're both great caretakers, you'll look after everyone else, right?" 

"'Course." Carelift nodded firmly, making Hot Rod grin. 

"We can take care of ourselves." Accel grumbled behind them, it made Hot Rod laugh.

Tripper and Bustler stood at the entrance of the Center, waiting, Tripper gave Hot Rod a look as he felt Hot Rod's Field even from the end of the hall but glancing at the parade behind Hot Rod, the mech thankfully said nothing just yet. 

"Got everythin'?" Bustler asked softly, smiling in greeting to some of the younglings as well as both caretakers of the center. 

Hot Rod nodded, what wasn't in the container was in his still developing subspace. It couldn't hold that much yet but it was enough. 

Hot Rod turned around to face his batchmates, his siblings. Accel's optics were shiny with coolant while Skippa scowled heavily, her scowl softened when Hot Rod nudged her field with his. "You'll be okay, I'll visit every cycle- and you can visit me! Right Bustler?" 

Bustler glanced between the three of them and chuckled, "'Course. Just don't cause any trouble in my scrapyard." 

That seemed to cheer them up slightly, enough that Skippa's scowl finally dropped and Accel took in a deep vent and grinned. Small but bright. "No promises, you old rustbucket!" Bustler barked a laugh while Hot Rod groaned good-naturedly at Accel's rude nickname. 

"We'll visit you too!"
"Whenever we can!"
"I wanna live at the scrapyard too, there's so much stuff there!"
"I wouldn't, it always smells weird. I dunno how Hot Rod can handle that- and he's the one with the weird olfactory!" 

There's a clamor as the younglings stumble over their goodbyes and farewells, a few of the more sensitive younglings were already crying and even Hot Rod's reassuring and gentle field couldn't really stop them. 

Accel and Skippa gave him one last hug before he went with Tripper and Bustler away from the Youth Center, his batchmates waving him goodbye with Carelift and Liftlock- the cycle was ending and soon it would be time for them to head inside for refuel and such.

Hot Rod's spark ached as he finally reigned in his field, not wanting to bother both adult mechs with his EM Field and emotions. 

"You're alright, Hot Rod." Bustler reassured, large servo pressing down on Hot Rod's helm. "I'm surprised though, botling, Tripper offered you a space in his shop didn't he? Why the scrapyard? It ain't that close to the Youth Center…"

Tripper grunted, displeased at the reminder. He'd been so sure that Hot Rod would accept his offer, however… "I'd like the manual labor." Hot Rod replied with a wry smile, "I don't mind running from the scrapyard to the Youth Center either."

There was another reason why Hot Rod chose Bustler's scrapyard instead of Tripper's hab or even shop.

It was on the edge of Nyon with plenty of open space and was fairly private, and from the scrapyard, Hot Rod could fashion a makeshift pole as a sword.

A sword.

Ever since he onlined from headbutting Taskline's helm with his, he's been plagued with these… visions? Memories? Broken, mostly blurry but they all featured a few key things;

Breathing.

Swords.

Water.

He doesn't have Total Concentration Breathing totally mastered, with the whole things with Taskline and his own emancipation, he didn't really focus on it. But whenever he went into recharge, those strange fluxes and dreams haunted his processor, stuck around enough that Hot Rod's just itching to try them out.

That aching, numb uneasiness had grown with each memory haunting him. Of fluid sharp blades wielded by weirdly soft servos wearing fibers that were often seen on higher class or famous mechs and femmes from bigger cities like Iacon or Harmonex.

Flashes of a red faceplate with wide black optics and a strangely bulbous nasal extension, white fuzz, blue cloth- another faceplate, but pale and more squishy, deep blue eyes, longer black fuzz, and a mismatched fiber covering of yellow, orange and green on one side and a maroon color on the other side.

They both talked in that strange language that Hot Rod slipped into whenever he was angry or emotional, and Hot Rod thinks he's beginning to understand it. Not much, but there's… there's a feeling there. 

A feeling when he sees them in his recharge, and the swordmechship. 

Primus, the swordsmechship. 

It was so fluid, like liquid, like water!

Water Brea—

His servos itched for some reason, from the tips of his digits to his palms. His wrists ached all the way towards his shoulders, to his chest, to his hips, legs and pedes- all over.

Hot Rod needed to understand.

Hot Rod needed to try it out.

Just like Total Concentration Breathing, 

Those memories… 

He needed to know.

The bar was such a good place to get things; engex, high-grade and depending on the location something more. Be it recreational circuit boosters like syk, one night stands, meetings and Skunge's favorite thing; information.  

Information went a long way, no matter the source or what the information was in. You just had to make sure the information was legit, real, or real enough. Depending on what it was, it could be valuable. If you knew the right mechs? It'd be a jackpot.

So when Skunge goes into a decent enough bar in Tarn, he keeps his modded audials open. And though he does enjoy a glass of engex, he keeps his mind sharp and ready, combing over what he's hearing from the decently filled bar. 

"Did you hear the Senate putting up that new law? What are we suppo—"
"—are being deceived, and I'm like- huh, okay? Interesting enough start, let's see where this goes—"
"—utobot, honestly! Reclaiming it to mean something else than an insult? Dunno who Orion Pax is bu—"
"Can't wait for the next Speedia race broadcast from Velo—"
"—is place is such slag, but it's better than Kao—"
"—on't need a t-cog, I'm telling you. Alt modes? Useless, the true way is monofo—"
"—upid fragging outlier piece of slag. "

Skunge perked at the last mutter, said with clear vitriol and oh? Outlier?

He looks around the bar to see the source, a mech was on his lonesome in one booth. A bottle of heavy high-grade by his side, downing a shot from his glass cube. Yellow and green paint, large frame, good polish- not a mech typically found around these parts of Tarn, down on his luck slagger that got demoted probably.

What a nice opportunity.

Information on an outlier. Depending on the ability and the buyer, outliers were pretty good merchandise. 

Skunge smiled, waving over the bartender to order a higher class high-grade, something better than the drunk and angry mech's bottle. 

It would take a while, but Skunge was patient and the mech- Taskline? Taskline was so easy to gain information from, being drunk and angry always made it so easy.

Chapter Text

The first deca-cycle without Hot Rod in their habsuite was the hardest. 

He and Skippa were so used to having their batchmate waking them up with just a gentle but excited flare of his EM Field and a bright smile on his faceplate. He was the reason why they got up first thing in the cycle, early enough that they could do whatever they want together.

In contrast, they were used to talking to each other at night, lulled into sleep with each other's voices and a round of Goodnight Hot Rod, Skippa, Accel.  

Those first few cycles without Hot Rod during the night, he and Skippa would never tell anyone else that they both slept in Hot Rod's berth, cramped as it was, they made it work. As if they could feel the lingering warmth of their batchmate who they dearly missed despite seeing him earlier in the cycle. 

And during the day, they'd try to hang out with Hot Rod as much as they could before education period at the Youth Center or before Hot Rod had to do his job as courier delivery bot. Speaking of education period, they had a new teacher. Again.

Their new teacher thankfully wasn't like Taskline, but she wasn't like Glyphos either. Teacher Pointscript was an older, strict but not unkind femme. At the very least, she answered questions in a gruff manner and it didn't seem like she was a functionist like Taskline. Skippa was cautious though, so were several other bots.

She lacked the warmth and personality that Teacher Glyphos had though, she helped but wasn't as thorough as Glyphos had been. She was indifferent to outliers, she greeted Hot Rod politely enough whenever she saw him before or after education period, visiting his generation of batchmates as he promised even though sometimes, he seemed really, really tired. 

It helped that Hot Rod, discreetly this time, sniffed her and said she was okay.

Not good, not bad, but okay. That eased things a little.

Still, things were different without the cheery and positive mech within the Youth Center. They all missed having Hot Rod around constantly, and though they could still see him around the Narrows in their free time, Hot Rod was busy delivering this and that all over the place.

It's a new routine that Accel absolutely hates, but it's one that he has no choice but to adjust to. He's starting to think that he and Skippa should've been emancipated alongside Hot Rod, sure they'd been attacked but it just wasn't fair that Roddy was punished for defending his and Skippa's afts from that utter slaghead Taskline.

That had been probably the most terrifying moment of his life so far, same for Skippa. They both had bad fluxes about it, waking up in the middle of recharge at the memory of being hurt by Taskline- it was made worse that Hot Rod wasn't around to help. 

It was just him and Skippa. 

For now.

Someone else might move into their habsuite, Accel's heard it from Carelift who heard it from Liftlock who heard it from other caretakers at the Youth Center. Things were changing, lots of things were changing among the adults and Accel didn't like it.

Didn't like the possibility of someone taking Hot Rod's old berth for themselves. Of someone else moving into his and Skippa's habsuite- even if it was someone else from their generation. He liked his other batchmates, he really did, but he wanted Roddy back with him and Skippa.

It really was unfair.

But they didn't really have any other choice but to deal with it and adjust to the changes.

The changes weren't all that bad though.

"Accel! Skippa!"

"Roddy!" Accel beamed, smiling widely at Hot Rod as he stopped by them- education period was joors away and it looked like Hot Rod wasn't too busy this cycle if he was stopping by to talk to them at the moment. He was usually busy around this time!

"Hey Hot Rod, got some time to hang out?" Skippa asked with some hope in her tone, she and Accel vented and pouted when their batchmate shook his helm.

"No, sorry, not right now, I've got another delivery waiting for me on the way back." Hot Rod apologized with a wane smile, faltering at the sight of their disappointment but was quick to perk right back up. "But! I do have something for you both!" 

He grabbed a couple of things from his subspace, presenting it to the both of them with a beaming smile and a few licks of excitement from his Field brushing against them. They didn't need his Field to feel excited the moment they saw what was in his servos.

Posters.

Not just any posters though, one poster was of the Wreckers. A rising military task force that was infamous to those who knew about them- they were soldiers who were the toughest, strongest and greatest fighters of Cybertron. At the forefront was Threnody, leader of the Wreckers with his second in command Crest and a rising Wrecker duo called Ultra Magnus and Kup.

The other was of the Maximas, a mercenary group that was mostly made of femmes who were on par with the Wreckers or so it was said. But unlike the Wreckers, they separated from the Senate and Cybertron for reasons unknown. However they still helped Cybertron during great crises like attempted invasions from other species or protecting cybertronian colonies. At the forefront was Maximas' current leader, Elita-One and her second and third in commands; Strika and Obsidian.

Accel was actually bouncing on his pedes, "You got us posters?!" He shouted, reaching out only to be stopped by Skippa who was looking at the posters with wide-optics.

"You got us CHROME posters?!" She blurts out and Accel double-takes, taking a closer look and seeing the faint prismatic sheen of along the poster's surface and has to latch on to Skippa just to shake her. 

Hot Rod laughed brightly at their reactions, as if he wasn't handing them something extremely precious and not at all cheap. "Well, it's almost our transformation days so I wanted to get you two something special! It's… It's an apology gift." 

Accel's excitement faltered as Hot Rod's smile gained a sad tilt to it. "I broke our promise; to stay together all the way to the end of our stay at the Youth Center. I left first, and I… won't really be there for your transformation cycle, and you won't be there for mine. Mine's been scheduled ahead since I've been emancipated." 

Skippa's digits are digging into Accel's arm the same way his were digging into her pauldrons. Right. That. Another thing they just had to take away from them. They couldn't even do their transformation cycles together like they'd planned, Hot Rod was going to transform into his alt mode first without them around. 

And he'd have to wait for Accel and Skippa's alt modes later in the mega-cycle. 

"Since I broke our promise, I got you both an apology gift. Well, Tripper and Bustler helped me get it of course, so you better thank them when you see them!" He shook the posters in his servos slightly, his smile brightening once more. 

Carefully, Accel extracted his digits from Skippa's frame and took the Maximas poster from Hot Rod. Skippa did the same for the Wreckers poster. "Roddy… thank you." It must've cost a lot, getting two chromatic posters at the same time. Even with those two old mechs chipping in, which yeah, of course they would thank them the moment they saw those two.

After stowing their respective posters away into their subspace, careful not to get even a single crinkle on them, he and Skippa lunged at Hot Rod for an impromptu but very much deserved hug. Their batchmate lurched but managed to stay standing, laughing and patting their backs.

"You're welcome! I'm glad you like them!"

Sharing a look with Skippa over Hot Rod's shoulders, they vowed they were going to do something nice for Roddy as soon as they could.

Calloused fists collide against his abdomen, the collision causes pain and he wheezes. "Wrong! You forgot to brace your core again!" An old voice barked strictly, "From the top!"

Hot Rod winced, the phantom sensation of pain across his abdominal mesh is weird but he's gotten used to it. It's not like he's actually in pain there, it's just- it feels like he is because of that… ghost, memory thing? The flash of red with that bulbous nasal ridge across his optics has him shudder but also feel- fond? 

Again, it's weird.

And again, he's used to it.

He readjusts his stance, pedes spread apart and braced his core. His chassis is loose, relaxed in contrast, to let himself breathe easier and he reminds himself to keep his vents open. To keep breathing. His arms lift in front of him, to do the form that he thinks is right.

An old hand grabs his wrist, adjusting the stance—

Hot Rod adjusts it a bit more, servos flexing a bit.

Trying to follow these fragmented memories is hard. 

He finally found the folder that held these fragmented memories but they were all- well, corrupted, incomplete and encrypted. He had no idea how to open them or to fix them, and honestly, he doesn't think anyone else he knows, knows how to either. 

Hot Rod had thought about revealing these weird things to at least Dr. Fortify but he's a bit scared the doctor would dismiss the file as a virus and try to delete them. The very thought of it had something in his spark trembling, like something bad would happen if the files were gone, one of which being that that uneasy numbness would take over completely. So, he kept it to himself.

Besides, the files were self-repairing. Kind of. 

He's still getting fragments, unfinished and only semi-connected but they're slowly getting clearer by the cycle. Not to mention, the locked and encrypted memories would sometimes unlock and decrypt on their own! 

It helped if he tried to mimic the things he's seeing, especially while doing Total Concentration Breathing.

He's gotten better at that too! He still can't hold it for long, and he still forgets to use his vents from time to time. But the longest he's kept it up was nearly a joor straight, and interspersed through the cycle while delivering things all over the Narrows, he can keep it up for a handful a kliks while going at top speed!

It's really helped with his job, both as a courier bot but also at the scrapyard where Hot Rod has been slowly picking up heavier and heavier stuff. He's not allowed to pick up the really heavy stuff yet according to Bustler and the other workers but he's been doing things in secret.

Like right now.

He was training just a couple of kliks away from the scrapyard, in a private little cave that he found and turned into his training area. It was just the perfect place! There were naturally glowing crystals that gave him enough light to see without adjusting his optics, there were tons of climbable areas that he constantly used and the walls and ground were pretty solid.

And then there were the boulders.

He found a gigantic boulder in the cave, bigger than him.

It triggered a few memories in his processor.

"If you slice this boulder, I will allow you to enter Final Selection."

It invoked… doubt, awe, shock, disbelief which quickly turned into determination, despair, more determination and-

Red on white, a strange faceplate with a mark on the cheek, bright orange fuzz (it's called hair??). Strong. Encouraging. Another faceplate- no, it's not a faceplate, a mask? Actual faceplate is soft, blue green eyes, kind smile. 

He's seen a boulder this size cut in half. 

'I beat him, I sliced the boulder, where did he go, I cut the boulder in half' Tan—o thinks all at once—

He has the strangest urge to wrap a wire and silver strips ( rope and paper? ) around the boulder. And pay respects. He doesn't know why.

There's another memory of the boulder. Different.

"You must move this boulder… one cho."

More awe, inspiration, doubt but more and more of that determination.  

Hot Rod wants to cut the boulder. He wants to move that boulder one… cho? What was- oh, three miles. Hm. 

He wants to do both.

But he's not ready for that yet.

He's barely ready for the sword moves he's trying to recreate.

Still, Hot Rod was determined to do it. To keep at it, and to uncover the memory files that were in his processor.

Even though it was slow going because a lot of the memories he has can't exactly be replicated…

Running down a mountain filled with traps.

Knives embedded in the earth in a pit, knives thrown in the air, the air feeling so thin his lungs hurt.

Sharpened sticks lodged in a moving log, thin wires on the ground, between the trees.

And Hot Rod was doing this all on his own without anyone else helping…

Red mask, white hair, calloused hands and blue coat- no, jinbei kimono. 

He was still going to try and do his best.

Set your spark ablaze, Hot Rod!

Hot Rod smiled to himself, could practically feel the spark in his chamber flare at the phrase that embedded itself into his processor code the moment he thought of it. Despite the ache he felt, the uneasy numbness, it flared with an ever growing sense of determination.

Yeah, he was going to do his best.

(He should have done better, Hot Rod thinks despairingly in the future.)

"Hot Rod, mechling, you need to take on less deliveries." 

Those tired green optics flickered at him with a bewildered and confused expression, "What? Why?" 

Bustlier pressed a servo against the lids of his optics, "Hot Rod, you're burnin' fuel and energon with the amount of deliveries you've been puttin' on yourself. You're a growin' mech, you may be emancipated now but you're still a younglin' that doesn't need to overwork himself to slag." 

"But-" He interrupted the red and yellow mechling's protest with a stern look, "And don't think I don't notice you goin' off somewhere only to come back even more tired than usual! Primus, Hot Rod, let yourself rest. Relax! You're the only bot your age askin' for overtime."  

Don't get him wrong, Hot Rod was probably the best courier bot they had in the Narrows at this rate.

A couple of deca-cycles had passed since Hot Rod's emancipation, since Hot Rod moved into Bustler's scrapyard with him and his workers. His main job was technically hauling scrap around the yard with the workers, but with how fast Hot Rod was, his secondary job of delivery bot was more often what he was doing. 

The mechling was a speed-type frame, no doubt about that. And that was just his pedes, when he finally got his wheels going, he'll probably be the fastest bot in the Narrows. Bustler was tempted to say all of Nyon too, but it was too early to tell. 

And that was the point.

Hot Rod was still young. He shouldn't be asking for overtime or more deliveries.

Also there were times where Hot Rod would go off somewhere nearby, likely exploring the area but even then, he'd come back exhausted and covered in more dirt and dust than ever. Thankfully for him, since Bustler and his workers lived at the scrapyard where things tend to get dirty pretty regularly, Bustler had a pretty good washrack area. 

It made Bustler worried, but since Hot Rod wasn't hurt whenever he came back and he always did with a field of satisfaction, he let it slide. For now at least.

"Hot Rod, if this is for tryin' to pay back those posters I helped you buy for you and your batchmates- don't." He settled a servo against Hot Rod's shoulder, "It's an early transformation cycle gift for you three." Hot Rod had his own chromatic poster of Velocitron in his room here at the scrapyard. Youngling had tried to protest but against both Tripper and Bustler, he had no choice but to accept.

Pit, he and Tripper had intended to buy it with their own shanix but Hot Rod had managed to convince both of them to use some of his hard-earned shanix.

"'S more than that." Hot Rod grumbled, rubbing his faceplate after a moment of staring. "... I'm trying to build up stamina. Deliveries help me do that and get shanix for it." 

Bustler gave a nonplussed hum, "That's all and good, bitty, but you're givin' yourself no time to rest. Which is counterproductive in buildin' stamina. Not to mention, ain't your transformation cycle comin' soon? You'll need the rest to transform properly, Doc's not gonna be happy if he finds out you've been overworkin' yourself before it."

Hot Rod shifted, a guilty but frustrated look on his faceplate that made Bustler vent. "That's it, no deliveries until you get your alt mode, and no overtime here in the scrapyard either. Spend some time with your batchmates for Primus' sake mechling." Hot Rod's helm jerked up and Bustler wasn't going to heed any of the youngling's protests, ushering him towards his room.

He'd comm Tripper about it soon afterwards, though unknown to Hot Rod there was another reason why he didn't want Hot Rod doing any more deliveries for a while.

More and more strange bots were popping up around the Narrows, bots with undetermined pasts, presents and futures. The rust in the streets were spreading, the Senate's laws being enforced and rumors of a Clampdown being enacted in an effort to stall for more time. Nominus Prime's Primal mourning period is practically over now yet the Matrix still hadn't been found. Of course, there were a few rumors of it being the opposite, the Senate found the Matrix but it wasn't acting like they wanted.

There'd be more reasons to it, no doubt. Either way, it wasn't looking good. 

Tripper was having the pits of a time ensuring the safety of the Narrows, also he's been asking for more writings from the writing miner Megatron. Something Bustler was happy to provide considering the Tarnian miner's works so far have been riveting, especially in these trying times. Though, he's hearing talk about more outgoing and loud bots calling themselves Decepticons after the mech's writing.

He could see why.

Functionalism was on the rise with how the Senate was acting, not to mention the laws they were trying to enforce and pass- the fact that Hot Rod was allowed to be emancipated at this age, and for his transformation cycle to be moved ahead… 

It's not something Bustler likes at all, but the best that he, an old rustbucket that owns a scrapyard, could do was ensure Hot Rod was safe and could grow without the slag of the world trying to drag him and the other younglings down.

But just in case, Bustler and a few others have been exploring the tunnel system underneath the Narrows, trying to map it all out and maybe build something there. It was a secret project, probably illegal, but like frag they weren't going to use the tunnels now that they knew about it.

He just hoped he didn't have to.

That the younglings wouldn't have to.

But just in case…

Digits pressed against sequencing buttons, cataloging the information he'd just gathered before he decided to finally use his commlink.

<: [PRIVATE COMM-LINK] : SPRATT * SKUNGE : NYON * TARN [CONNECTING…] :>

His client's voice came as soon as the connection was established.

<: Spratt! Just the mech I was expecting, touchdown at Nyon alright? :>

He huffed, answering briskly. .: It went fine. I arrived a couple of cycles ago and spent the rest of it confirming the information given. So far, everything's been accurate, to say the least. :.

<: Couple of cycles? Just to confirm information on a youngling? If it were any other mech, I'd say you're slipping. :>

.: The Narrows of Nyon is a tight-knit community, Skunge. :. His glossa clicked in annoyance, both at the comment of 'slipping' and at what he said. He let the comment slide seeing it was strange that it took a couple of cycles for him to get that information confirmed. .: They don't take kindly to outsiders coming into their territory looking for information about one of their own, especially younglings. Emancipated or otherwise. :. 

<: That makes sense, still, a couple of cycles from you? There's more to that, you're one of my best contacts here. :>

He rolled his optics at the flattery, ignoring it to focus on the task at hand. .: Again, tight-knit community. But so far the information's been accurate, the outlier's designation is Hot Rod. Recently emancipated, recently employed as a scrapyard worker and a delivery bot around the Narrows. Mostly delivery bot from what I could observe from afar, I don't see why you're interested in this one. His outlier ability of 'enhanced olfactory senses' doesn't seem incredibly useful. :.

<: On the contrary! Trained right and the outlier could be a rather nice bolthound for someone, or maybe there's more to him than meets the optic- he did put a mech twice his size into stasis with just his helm. In the end, it all depends on who might want him! Waste not, want not. Got any more information? :> 

Looking over the files he's gathered so far, through theft of course, he let out a hum. .: His slated transformation cycle is due soon, from his deliveries, I'd say he's a speed-type alt mode. :.

<: Oho? A speed-type alt mode you say? Even if he wasn't an outlier, that's rather interesting- there's a rise of speed frame popularity going on with Velocitron's races about to start again. Keep observing him, get a look of his alt mode and see if you can test his enhanced olfactory senses somehow. I need more accurate information if I want to make a good sale out of this. :>

For a moment, he considers saying no but remembers that Skunge was paying him pretty well for this, he vents and says yes.

It's not like it's going to be that difficult in observing a brat from afar- sure the Narrows were obviously wary of him and any other outsider but Spratt was a professional. 

He could do this just fine and easy.

Just a cycle before his scheduled transformation cycle, the Senate released big news. 

A new Prime was being chosen as they found the missing Matrix from Nominus Prime. Apparently the Prime had hid it somewhere in his personal habsuite for some reason. Hot Rod didn't know, and quite honestly, Hot Rod didn't exactly care.

There were other things to care more about, to be more concerned about.

Like the Narrows.

Now that Bustler had forced him to rest, forced him to essentially slow down- Hot Rod was noticing things he hadn't before. He'd been too preoccupied with the deliveries to notice it completely.

The Narrows were changing.

Not just the steadily rusting streets, but the mood of the adult bots that was beginning to set in. He'd notice them all becoming more and more protective over them- the younglings, the kids. Even with the new Teacher, Pointscript, not being like Taskline, the other adults made sure that the younglings learned beyond what the teacher was saying.

And then, there were these new bots that were appearing with varying unpleasant scents. Some not as bad as the others, but a few that Hot Rod would definitely tell Tripper and Bustler about later on. He made sure he remembered what they looked like and maybe even their designations if he could find out…

For now, he kept an optic and olfactory out. 

"Roddy!"

Well, actually, for now, he should spend some time with his batchmates. All of them.

Bustler, the sneaky old cog, decided to tell his batchmates ( all of his batchmates) that aside from his scrapyard work, he was pretty much free for the next couple of cycles until his transformation cycle. So of course his batchmates jumped at the chance to hang out with him. Accel especially.

Smiling helplessly, Hot Rod let himself be dragged into whatever chaos that Accel dragged him back towards the Youth Center despite it being joors away from education period.

Seeing how excited they were, Hot Rod felt a little guilty. He has spent his free time not on deliveries training in the cave… Maybe he should tell Accel and Skippa about it, after his transformation cycle? He could show them!

They were his closest batchmates, his siblings after all.

"Alright, alright, stop dragging me Accel!" Hot Rod laughed, trying to stop himself from being dragged forward by his batchmate. They were right in front of the Youth Center. 

"You were getting heavy anyway." Accel sniffed, grinning at him. Hot Rod grinned back only to stiffen, Accel noticed immediately, "Roddy?" He asked quietly with a look of concern. 

Hot Rod looked around sharply, seeing nothing but his olfactory could smell a sharp scent of energon. Old, came from a living being, layered in a familiar way- like those killers from before. Less, but no doubtedly dangerous. "Get inside." Accel hesitated but Hot Rod didn't give him any time to argue. "Now." The tone of his voice was enough to get Accel into the building.

Hot Rod looked around one last time, trying to find the source of the scent or at least a direction before following Accel inside. 

From afar, optics watched with intrigue.

Notes are taken.

And Cybertron prepares the dawn of a new Prime.

Chapter Text

Bzzt- click!

[ —ent of grief. Now, we must look forward to a new era! A new dawn! A new Prime! ]

"Looks like they found it." Three sets of optics watched the screen.

A sharp digit tapped mindless rhythms against the surface of the table, glancing between the screen and his companion. "Looks like they did."

[ -ows promise and all the signs of affinity. Of being worthy of bearing the Matrix— ]

An intake filled with sharp denta grinned crookedly, "Hah, sure he did. Like how Nominus showed the same signs…"

"Still, with Nominus dead, the Senate falling more into corruption and a new Prime taking over… that means-"

[ —sent to you… Sentinel Prime! ]

Both of them tense as they see the new 'Prime' take the stage. "... Things are going to get a lot more complicated."

One of them let out a harsh laugh, "You think? Nightbeat, it's been complicated the moment we met!" He stood up, finally turning off the screen and facing Nightbeat once more, both sets of his eyes gleaming. "Old friend, I have a feeling we're going to be a lot busier than usual soon now that they've found out that the Matrix's fake."

The blue and yellow mech smiled wanly, tiredly, "I'll talk to Rung." His smile persists even after he's regarded with complete confusion.

"Who?"

"... Did you know that the Matrix was fake? "  

Two mechs sat in the confines and privacy of one large room, one of them, a large mech of blue, yellow and red paint sat on the couch. Cradling a glass of high-grade, with a bottle situated on the table nearby. He was… troubled, to say the least as he stared down at the glass in his servos. He didn't answer the question yet, 

The other mech, a bit smaller than the other, painted in green, blue and white, sat beside him on the other end of the couch. He had his own glass of high-grade in his servo, and his optics were trained on the other mech with a look of complication. "Dai? Hello? Dai… Dai Atlas."  

Dai Atlas jolted out of his thoughts. Energon nearly spilling in his glass and he gave his companion an apologetic look, "I- no, Shockwave. My apologies, I didn't know the Matrix was fake. I swear." He replied with a sigh, adjusting on the couch and pressing a servo against his faceplate. 

Shockwave's derma thinned as he looked at his friend and fellow senator. "What's on your processor, Dai Atlas?" He asked as the larger mech's optics were quick to look troubled again.

"... I'm trying to figure out just how long the Matrix has been fake." Dai Atlas finally admitted with a sigh, digits coming up to press against his forehelm. "As far as I remember it, the Matrix was most definitely real when Nexus held it." The mention of the old Prime had Dai Atlas' faceplate darken, like he always did whenever mentioning Nexus. 

"You're sure about that?" 

Dai Atlas nodded immediately, "Very. At least… at the beginning, it had been real. That, I'm very sure of." He admitted as he thought back to the past, when things weren't so bad between him and Nexus before shaking his helm. "Later on however… I'm uncertain. Nexus and I grew apart, especially after what he did to Crystal City with-" He faltered, unable to continue. Not wanting to continue… The lives of six bots, horrifically and forcefully combined into one- those were memories he'd rather lay to rest.

"... I thought you and Nexus grew apart when Tailgate disappeared." Shockwave said, optics glancing over to one of the pictures hung on one of the walls. Of a white and blue minibot with teal and yellow little decals. standing on the tips of his pedes in an elegant display of balance whilst holding a giant steel cube with both servos above his helm. Small. Elegant. Strong. Primal Vanguard; Tailgate!  

Dai Atlas' optics glanced over as well, a nostalgic smile on his faceplate at the picture of an old friend. He took a sip from his glass before speaking, "I did, that was when we first started drifting away from each other. Tailgate… the minibot was one of the best of us, and I think he was the one who held Nexus back from most of his plans and kept us together. After he disappeared… it all fell apart."

Or maybe it already was, and Tailgate's disappearance just confirmed it all… Dai Atlas' expression changed into a more thoughtful one. "Tailgate… Before he disappeared, he seemed worried about something."

Shockwave leaned in, "What of?"

Dai Atlas frowned, "For the life of me… I cannot recall." He admitted slowly, a bit perturbed as he tried to remember just what the minibot was so concerned about. 

Tailgate's voice wavered in and out of his audials. Strange static that cleared in a moment. "—ember him?! First Nexus, Tyrest, everyone else and now even you- something's wrong!" Confused, Dai Atlas opened his intake to reply but Tailgate continued on. "I need to speak with Tyrest and Nexus!" The minibot ran off before he could even say or do anything else.

"He went to speak with Tyrest and Nexus afterwards, I remember that." Dai Atlas murmured, "They had an argument, or so Tyrest told me, it was about Nexus' population augmentation program, the spark-splicing. He couldn't tell me everything, Tyrest was quite literally thrown out of the argument by Tailgate halfway, and by the end of it, Tailgate stormed off and then disappeared."

He saw Shockwave's intrigued and calculating look and knew what the mech was thinking, "Tyrest had nothing to do with Tailgate's disappearance. He came to me shortly after we considered Tailgate missing, told me everything that happened at that cycle of the argument and he had a solid and undeniable alibi. Trust me, I checked." 

"And Nexus?" Shockwave prompted expectantly. 

Dai Atlas hesitated and sighed once more, venting deeply to the point his vents rattled. "Nexus… also had a solid alibi. Solid enough that most mechs thought him innocent."

Shockwave hummed, "Most mechs… Not you." He noted and Dai Atlas smiled wryly. Shockwave was too smart for his own good sometimes. 

"No, not me. I always had my suspicion about Nexus, that probably helped drive a wedge between us in the incoming mega-vorns. Then came… everything else." The combiner experiment, the near-total destruction of Crystal City, his carrier and sire nearly dying due to Nexus' hubris, Omega Supreme.  

His fellow senator in green, blue and white hummed again. "Well, if you believe that the Matrix was real at the beginning of Nexus' reign- then at some point he switched it to a fake Matrix for some undisclosed reason. But why?"

"That's the question isn't it? Why?" Dai Atlas groaned, trying to make sense over the new information that was revealed. Not to mention, how? Despite the distance he'd put himself between Nexus and especially Nominus, he should have known that the Matrix that either was carrying was fake. 

Sure, the mysticism of the Matrix had waned over the mega-vorns but he had chalked it up to the slow yet steady corruption that was seeping into the processor of the holders. A corruption that Dai Atlas was woefully unable to prevent despite his efforts. 

He might actually have to contact his creators at this rate… Something he was very hesitant to do, for various reasons. 

"If only we had more time in examining that fake Matrix, or better yet, had clues to find where the real Matrix was." Shockwave said into his drink, faceplace scowling as he continued after drinking some more high-grade. "But the other senators just want to put Sentinel in the spotlight as the new Prime as soon as possible." He and Dai Atlas' suggestions in examining the fake Matrix had been cast aside, outvoted in favor of propping up the new Prime, the false Prime in the optics of the public. 

While Shockwave wasn't very religious, he respected those who were, however even he was uneasy at the fact that they were going to promote Sentinel, who was once the head of their security, into a Prime. Still use the fake Matrix, parading it to be real. A figurehead, a puppet- they had better things to focus on! Like finding the real Matrix! Find out what happened to it. Or, perhaps, the calculated energon shortage that would happen on the horizon.

But no, the rest of the Senate would rather be pulled along with the Functionalist Council and seep into their corruption with the arrogance and shortsightedness that Shockwave absolutely despised. Not to mention, his original plan with turning his friend Orion Pax into a Prime would be impossible without the real Matrix. 

He'd rather not follow the other senators in using a fake one for Orion, and he just knew Orion could take up the real Matrix. He just needed to prove it.

Perhaps he could lead a private search for it, there had to be clues somewhere…

"I know that expression, Shockwave." Dai Atlas interrupted his trail of thought, there's a look of caution in his optics sent his way. "My friend, whatever you're thinking of- please be careful. You're already treading on thin ice with your Academy. Proteus-"

Shockwave scowled and interrupted him, "- is a funtionalist fool. They all are. They cling to their superiority over what? The fact their alt modes are so rare? That they have a place in the great Adaptus-Primus plan? They're feeling threatened by my students, by younger mechs with gifts that have 'no place' in their rigid structure of thinking!" He seethed, angered by the thought of his students, the younger ones especially, being shunned because of their wondrous abilities.

Abilities that contended against the Functionist Council's apparently delicate sensibilities. It was as humorous as it was angering. 

"Shockwave." Dai Atlas vented, leaning over to press a comforting servo on the mech's pauldron. "It angers me as well, but you must be careful in your words and actions. The more you act against them openly, the more risk you pull to yourself and yours. Your influence has already diminished thanks to you saving that Rodion cop of yours." He warns, and honestly, Shockwave knows that. Some part of him even agrees, yet he was stubborn, more than just slightly bitter and a little incensed at his mention of his friend.

"So I suppose I should just roll over and wait like you have all these mega-cycles?" The comforting servo flinches back, hurt, maybe? However Dai Atlas' faceplate gives nothing but disapproval. Shockwave almost wants to apologize. Almost. "And that cop is named Orion Pax. Also, I have no regrets in helping him. Inaction will just lead to more injustice, Dai Atlas. We need to rise up above it all—"

"You've been reading Decepticon writings?" 

Shockwave snorted, "The designation isn't to my taste, yet it's not exactly inaccurate. The writing though… It's compelling. It speaks to me, it speaks to a lot of bots, Dai Atlas. Orion has been enamored with the Tarnian's writings, he suggested it to me and it's been riveting. At this point, it's a waste to keep him at Messatine, I wish I had the power to free him myself- but oh, I'm sure you wouldn't approve. Since you want me to be careful."  

Maybe it's the high-grade, and the frustration, and the tension and the- there's a lot of things to it. But Shockwave sets down his empty glass and stands from the couch, "I'll see myself out." 

"Shockwave, I- goodness sake. Shockwave!"  

Shockwave keeps walking, but for a moment, he stops right outside the door. When he hears nothing but quiet curses, not pedesteps, he can't help but feel disappointed. Disappointed in what exactly? He can't say. Either way; he leaves.

"Got anythin'?" 

Tripper grunted and scowled, shaking his helm. "Nah, asked 'round 'n slag. Nobody saw nuthin', then 'gain, weren't that many bots 'round there durin' the time th'bitlet smelled somethin' off. Could'a been a bad bot walkin' past an' Hot Rod caught 'is scent." 

Neither of them doubted that Hot Rod had smelled someone, another psycho most likely, walking around the Narrows. It'd be foolish to do so after all this time, and they'd rather not have a repeat of last time but worse. The Narrows trusted Hot Rod's outlier ability in sensing stuff like that.

Tripper once asked what 'bad' bots smelled like, and Hot Rod's answer was simple though some of it went through one audial and out the other without sticking around but he remembered Hot Rod's answer about smelling particularly bad bots. Like the serial killers.

"They smelled like energon. LOTS of energon." Hot Rod said quietly, "Not like regular energon but like- like energon that came from someone. And that smells different, everyone's energon inside them is different- they smelled like energon. But rotten and in like- layers? It's hard to describe it, they have lots of different energon scents, rotting, layered and… and they smell bad- I can't call it anything else… They smelled… like malice."

That conversation had haunted Tripper's processor for a while, and he had to wonder just how Hot Rod could smell something like malice before shrugging and thinking that his outlier ability was just… that good. He had to, really. It wouldn't make sense otherwise.

So when Hot Rod commed him in the middle of the cycle (when he was supposed to be resting and enjoying his time off), telling him that he's locked himself and everyone else with the Youth Center after smelling 'old, layered energon like those killers from before', Tripper wasted no time in gathering Bustler and a few other bots into not-so-subtly guarding the Youth Center. 

He and Bustler went around asking for information, if they saw anyone lingering around the center or anywhere near it. Slim chance as it was.

It would be easier to have Hot Rod sniff around however, with the influx of strangers coming in and out of the Narrows- he's getting paranoid over Hot Rod's safety. Yeah it was technically public knowledge now, what with slagging Taskline and the emancipation but…

Primus damn it all.

"Think we should get Hot Rod to sniff 'round?" Bustler hesitantly suggested, quickly adding, "Not on his own o'course! Someone'll be with him all the time. We have'em do delivery, but with an escort 'n slag." 

Tripper bit down on his cygar, chewing at the smoking rod before puffing a cloud of smog. "Later, 'fter the mechlin's transformation cycle. 'S'mportant after all." They shared a look of fond amusement.

Granted, it's a bit bitter considering that Hot Rod's transformation cycle should be with his batchmates but with his emancipation calling for an early transformation cycle- at the very least, Hot Rod's alt would no doubt be a speedy thing. It'll help in not only deliveries, but in ensuring Hot Rod's safety.

Tripper was going to make sure to get it into Hot Rod's ridiculously thick helm to drive away from danger. The fact the bitlet had ran towards Taskline in a rage was still in his processor and although it was downright commendable that Hot Rod wanted to protect his batchmates-

He was a youngling.

Younglings shouldn't be running towards something like that, towards mechs like Taskline.

Younglings shouldn't have to be involved with mechs like Taskline, towards danger and violence.

So Tripper would have Hot Rod run away, drive away. 

And if Hot Rod could do that, then Tripper will add some self-defense too.

Because life is slag, and though Tripper always wants Hot Rod running away from danger for his own safety. He of all mechs knew just how dangerous life could be.

<: [PRIVATE COMM-LINK] : SPRATT * SKUNGE : NYON * TARN [CONNECTING…] :>

.: I take back what I said. :.

<: What? :>

.: The mechling's outlier ability, it's useful. Doesn't make any sense but then again that's outlier abilities, not to mention annoying, but definitely useful in the end. :.

<: Oh? What brought on this change of opinion, Spratt? :>

.: Did some digging, broke into some places, kept an optic on the kid- you're right. He'll make a great bolthound, actually he'd probably be more than just that. :.

<: You're gonna have to elaborate on that Spratt, tell me all about it. :>

.: His outlier olfactory sensor does not make any fragging sense. Yes, he has enhanced olfactory senses, he can find anything as long as he has a scent as far as I can tell, I watched him track a femmeling's lost toy by scent alone the other cycle— :.

<: As expected. :>

.: But that's not just it. Little mech's able to smell more than just normal stuff. I'm not an intellectual class mech or interested in that type of science slag, you'll probably have to hire some smart aft to confirm it but I'm pretty sure that mechling can smell who to trust or not. Emotions, EM Fields even when they're repressed and all that slag:.

<: What? :>

.: Saying it out loud makes it sound outlandish I know, but you know me. I don't exaggerate things. I've been watching the mechling and I was almost caught by him more than twice. He's got impressive range, had to adjust from where and how I had to watch him. :. 

<: … I know you're not one to exaggerate things Spratt, it's one of the things I like about you. If he can sense you, then that's pretty notable already but for the rest… :>

.: Need more tangible proof? :.

<: If you'd kindly provide. :>

.: I'll send you some footage I have of him. And an interesting case file I found from the local police department. :. 

<: Hmm… My only question now, is if this is going to be a problem for you. Considering what you've told me, dubious as it is, are you going to be able to get him? :>

.: The outlier's still just a youngling. The other bots are going to be annoying but they shouldn't be much of a problem so long as I time it right. They'll be protective over him for a bit, but there's always a chance for me to get to him. So long as I'm paid accordingly. :.

<: Hahaha! Of course, of course. Your payment's secure don't worry, you might even get a little more depending on things. I've already got a few interested buyers lined up, so do make sure to get him soon. :>

.: Alright, expect the delivery of the outlier in, hm… a deca-cycle at least. Give or take a few cycles. :.

There's a body splayed all over the floor.

Well, technically there's body parts all over the floor. It all made into one body however, and despite the phrase 'There's body parts all over the floor' it wasn't a crime scene.

No they left that place joors ago, they were now in the autopsy room. His partner's favorite place to do his one well-most known thing; full body autopsy.

Seriously, Tumbler has never known anyone else who wanted a full body autopsy on pretty much every case that involved a dead body. 

"So, what killed this poor femme?" He asked his partner, Prowl, who was crouched over the torn chassis of their unfortunate victim. "Was it the energon draining, the brain module smashing or the chamber tearing?" 

"It was both the drain and the tearing." Prowl replied sternly, frowning as he turned towards the remains of the brain module processor that was at the far end of the laid out parts. "The brain module was broken post-mortem, after the victim died of rapid energon draining with spark chamber tearing. It happened simultaneously." There was both intrigue and frustration in his voice and Tumbler knew why.

This was another victim of a string of murders, officially she was the second, but unofficially, there were others that spanned vorns in the past. Or so Prowl said since he was getting interested in cases like these, and being honest, so was Tumbler. Just a little bit. 

"This is the third time in the last two mega-cycles, the time spans are getting shorter." Prowl muttered, carefully prodding the torn casing of the chassis. 

Tumbler couldn't help but say to him, "That's assuming we've found every victim that was like this, we could be missing bodies. The only reason we even know about this is because this femme was part of Iacon high-society as an alt-exempt."

Prowl's doorwings hiked up and he looked over to Tumbler, "You're right. There could be—"

Both their comms pinged, gaining their attention.

It was from their superiors of the Iaconian Mechaforensic Division.

Prowl's faceplate darkened with clear anger and annoyance while Tumbler vented a sigh.

They were just taken off the case.

Again.

Even Prowl was noticing something off with their orders lately, so clearly, whatever was happening wasn't exactly good.

Nobody was surprised at Hot Rod's alt mode.

Hot Rod was a speedster, a race car. 

It was an extremely basic, small, youngling-alt mode of a race car. Though he would need an alt mode kit in time not only for his health and safety, but to understand his capabilities better. Not to mention deeper knowledge of how to maintain his new kibble- he had a proper spoiler now! No longer small, and blunted. It was like all the cool other racers from Velocitron! 

He could barely move it before- and well, he still couldn't really move it just yet but it was bigger, shinier, and it would move properly once he was more used to his new kibble and transforming between his alt and root mode.

There were exhaust pipes on his arms now, some of his frame plating was bulkier, blocky. His biolights were now a bit more prominent on his frame, green like his optics. 

Doctor Fortify told him he was healthy, with a few weird things about his frame- his helm still being hard as slag and his ventilation systems were weirdly strong even for a speedframe like him (Hot Rod didn't comment on that but felt vaguely proud)- but otherwise? A successful early transformation cycle.

Hot Rod just needed to adjust to his new kibble, the new height, the new weight and also the ache of first transforming. The doctor instructed Hot Rod to transform multiple times a cycle to get used to his t-cog being fully online and operational to the point that transforming between root and alt would be seamless and comfortable.

No excessive movements, especially while driving. Doctor Fortify emphasized greatly on being careful while driving to Hot Rod, that even though he needs to get used to driving and should do a joor of driving with his transformations, not to overdo it.

Clearly Tripper and Bustler had talked with the doctor about Hot Rod's earlier bad habits.

Damn.

Anyway, after his transformation cycle, he'd been confined to the scrapyard for a couple of cycles. Looked over by Bustler and the workers as he drove laps around the entire scrapyard along the chain fences while driving- it's good. It's right.  

Right in the way of Breathing, but more. It's him. Hot Rod.

Hot Rod gets to drive and transform, this was uniquely him.  

That doesn't mean he doesn't also love the weird, memories of not-him. The organic that was maybe him? 

He's still figuring that out of course. He hasn't done Total Concentration Breathing as a car yet, he'd need to learn all over again because his internals are weird and very much different that root mode Breathing. But in root mode, he's lasted even longer with Total Concentration Breathing, his new ventilation system as a race car is great for his Breathing.

While getting used to his new alt mode, he hasn't snuck back to his cave to train- see Tripper, Bustler and Fortify? He so could look after himself! He could take breaks! He could listen to stuff! 

Anyway, Hot Rod was a race car. And he loves it. Loves being one, and imagines, one day, he'll be able to race on Velocitron. Maybe even compete!

The Total Concentration Breathing would make him so fast! The swordsmechship was just flat out cool, the racers from Velocitron had other cool hobbies they were well-known for- Knock Out was a frame artist, he made cool decals and stuff. Moonracer was a master marksfemme! 

Hot Rod could be known for his Water Breathing swordsmechship! 

Whenever he manages to properly do it anyway, he's still trying to build up to that.

Speaking of that, he had made a promise to his two precious siblings- a new one, made after he gave them their posters. 

"C'mon Roddy, show us your alt mode already!" Accel hollered, tugging at his servo- they were somewhat a few miles away from the scrapyard. At the bottom of a nearby cliff, near his training cave, he was going to show them that next right after he showed off his alt mode. 

Accel and Skippa had already spent the last few kliks gawking and tugging at his new kibble- Hot Rod had yelped when they tugged at his new spoiler like before, quickly reassuring them that he was fine but told them not to do that again, that was surprisingly sensitive now- and now they wanted to see his alt mode.

"Okay, okay! Calm down!" Hot Rod laughed, patting Accel before stepping back and letting himself transform into his speedy alt mode. "Ta-da!" His spoiler bounced and his EM Field brushed against theirs with pride and excitement, feeling both their own excitement and slight envy.

He could also note a bit of their sadness, which was- yeah. They couldn't transform with him. He revved his engine, he could do that now! And not sound awkward! Surprising them into delight.

"Look at you! You look great, Hot Rod!" Skippa exclaimed, pressing a careful servo against Hot Rod's warm hood. "You almost look like Knock Out." 

Hot Rod's spoiler fluttered, "Do I really?" 

"Yeah, if he had like, some yellow panels, was smaller and stuff. I think it's because your paint shades are almost the same…" Accel agreed, before frowning, "You shouldn't look like him though. You should look like you! I know! Why not paint like, flames along your sides!" He patted against Hot Rod's doors.

Flames along his sides?

Flames at the edge of his cape. Flames in his hair. Fire burning in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. 

A flame-shaped guard on the hilt of his sword—

"Roddy?"

Hot Rod would cycle his optics if he could, but since he was in his alt mode right now, all he could do was flicker his new headlights. "Huh? S-Sorry, I was- distracted." There was an ache, a pain in his spark for some reason. But also, a happiness, a fondness. "I think that's a great idea Accel."

Accel's EM Field was concerned and unsure, "A-Are you sure? You went quiet there for a moment, you don't have to if you don't want to Roddy."

"No no! I want to! I really do, I… I want to paint flames on me, make it permanent." It feels right.

Like him, but also organic-him in a way. A bridge between that.

Skippa tapped his windshield, "If you're sure. I think you'll look great with flames on you Roddy. Now, how fast can you go?!" She asked excitedly, sharing a grin with Accel  and Hot Rod's engines revved loudly once more, Field flaring with excitement and determination.

"Very fast! You'll see!"

He was fast with Total Concentration in his ventilation system on his pedes, but driving? 

Oh, driving was different.

Feeling the ground underneath his wheels, the wind against his hood, his glass, his spoiler. His engines rumbling underneath his metal, exhaust pipes spitting out hot air that Hot Rod swore would spark sometimes if he went any faster—

It was fun!  

Laps around the scrapyard had been amazing! But Bustler and the others always controlled his speed, reminding him not to overdo things like Doctor Fortify said. And he listened then.

Now?

He wanted to show off to his siblings, just this one time. 

Hot Rod sped across the ground, zooming past his cheering batchmates multiple times as he made laps around the area- sticking to the cliffside before burning rubber when he made a turn to lap back. 

He felt free, he felt happy, he felt—

Danger!

Hot Rod abruptly transformed on instinct, something small and fast embedding onto the ground behind him, just missing him as his mass shifted from a wide alt mode to his slimmer root frame. 

Suddenly he was skidding along the ground fast and somewhat painfully on his side. His metal plating scratched along the ground and he gasped in pain and adrenaline as he finally came to a stop. 

His vision glitched slightly from the pain, but he forced himself to his knees and looked at what he'd dodged.

A sort of metal barb that was sparking with electricity.

Chapter Text

"Roddy's so fast!" Accel cheered, grinning widely as he watched Hot Rod zoom off from them- he and Skippa protected their faceplates from the dust and debris that Hot Rod kicked up from being so fast. "Do you think he'd be fast enough to race on Velocitron with the other racers?!" 

Skippa grinned back at him, "It's Hot Rod- he'd definitely be fast enough to race on Velocitron! Hot Rod would be the best racer, he'd win all the races." She replied, exaggerating but she had faith in her batchmate's speed and skill. He was already so fast now, she could only imagine how fast he could be in the future! 

"Definitely!" Accel nodded, rocking on the heels of his pedes as he eagerly waited for Hot Rod to come back again at high speeds. "I can't wait for our transformation cycles- I wanna race with Roddy so badly in our alt modes! I'd definitely lose but it would be so fun!"  

His femme batchmate looked over at where Hot Rod had driven off to, "It would…" Her optics narrowed and she shuffled a bit uneasily, "... Hot Rod's taking his time getting back." She finally said aloud, by now Hot Rod would've been back to lap around them again. Or at least, they'd see him come back from afar.

So far though? Nothing.

She couldn't even hear Hot Rod's engines from where they were. 

Accel stopped moving, reaching out to grab Skippa's elbow, his EM Field flaring with concern. "Roddy's- do you think he crashed?" He asked, immediately going to the worst possibility that he could think of. 

Skippa's EM Field flared with slight panic before smoothing over to reassure herself and Accel. "Doc Fortify told Roddy to be careful, Hot Rod's usually the responsible one between the two of us… W-We should go check, see what happened." 

As soon as she said that, she and Accel were running off towards the direction their precious batchmate had gone. Anxious about what could have possibly happened that prevented Hot Rod from driving back to them. On the way, they tried to comm him, but were unable to connect to Hot Rod for some reason. It didn't help their nerves whatsoever and a bad feeling was starting to set in.

It didn't take long for them to find Hot Rod, especially with the way Hot Rod's EM Field was flaring out in wild panic. That made them run even faster, "Hot Rod!" Skippa shouted, she and Accel turned the corner to see Hot Rod huddled behind a bunch of big rocks. 

Hot Rod's frame was a mess, paint and finish covered in dust and all scratched up.

Hot Rod's optics snapped towards them both and immediately his EM Field lashed out at them danger/run/go/flee/hide/GO! "GET TO BUSTLER'S!" Their batchmate screamed, waving an arm frantically at them. 

"But wha-" Accel tried to say only for Hot Rod to interrupt him, "No time! Run! RU-DUCK!"  

The warning came a bit too late.

CLUNK—

Two younglings hit the ground

— BZZZZ

Only one of them was conscious as the other convulsed, electricity running along their frame before slumping, limp and still.

"ACCEL!" Skippa and Hot Rod cried out as the mechling's optics blacked out, terrifyingly still. Skippa scrambled, grabbed Accel and dragged him back around the corner, flinching at the pain she felt as electricity arced off of his body. It didn't knock her out like Accel (please just be knocked out please just be knocked out) but it was still painful.

She found the source of the electricity, a metal barb was sparking, lodged into Accel's shoulder. Skippa gritted her denta and reached over, holding back a scream of pain as she grabbed the barb and tore it out of Accel's plating. Her servo was slightly burnt, and energon was now leaking out of Accel's shoulder.

"Accel? Accel, c'mon, wake up! Accel-" Skippa shut her intake at the sound of rapid pedesteps and the sound of something hitting the ground. Her frame tensed, clutching Accel's body pleasedon'tbedead only to cry with relief when Hot Rod came around the corner, frantic, panting. 

Hot Rod dropped to his knees, vocalizer making a strangled noise torn between fearful and angry at the sight of Accel please in Skippa's clutching arms. "R-Roddy he's-" Skippa choked, shakily reaching up her injured servo towards him.

Hot Rod gently grabbed it, that same noise came again, but more concerned and Hot Rod's EM Field flared with distress and underlying anger. "He's alive." Skippa looked down, relieved beyond measure. "Skippa, Skippa I need you to listen to me."

Reassurance pressed against her panicked Field, trying to calm her down enough so she could listen. "We're going to run, okay? I'll take Accel, but we need to run- as fast as we can. And while we run, we- we need to use our comms. They're not working, but- but we should still use them. Okay?" Skippa desperately wiped at her optics, nodding furiously. "Good, okay, okay- Skippa. One more- one more thing. Don't stop running. Don't stop running until you get someone- keep trying to call for help."

Hot Rod helped her to her pedes while hauling Accel's frame on his back with his servos firmly supporting Accel. "Ready?"

No. "Y-Yeah." 

"Run."

Skippa has never ran as fast as she was trying to now, vents quick but deep as she tried to keep up with Hot Rod, who, despite carrying Accel and scratched up- was still outpacing her. She hated it.

She hated it because Hot Rod was trying to slow down for her. 

Keep her by his side, even with Accel on his back. 

He wasn't even venting as heavily as she was! Was he doing that weird other venting thing, his breathing thing!?

Either way, she felt like she was holding her batchmate back.

She hated it so much.

Not only that, but Hot Rod was shouting advice as they ran.

"Keep running! Don't run in a straight line! Get near the big rocks!"

Thunk! Thunk!

As they ran, she heard it.

Saw glimpses of it.

A few more of those metal barbs that sparked and the reality of it made her spark stutter and her panic grew twice as much.

Someone was shooting at them.

Someone was really shooting at them. 

Why? Why them? Why now? Why—

Up ahead, a larger frame came from above. Landing on braced pedes and a gun in his servos. Scrap.  

She and Hot Rod skidded to a stop, Hot Rod stumbling to one knee- unfortunately there wasn't anywhere to hide. "That's enough running brats." The mech gruffed in an annoyed, rough voice. Faceplate hidden behind a facemask and visor. His frame was dark, dark blue with darker browns and greens.

"Skippa, remember what I said." Hot Rod said quietly and Skippa looked at him with fear. "Run."

"Oi, what are y—" Hot Rod interrupted the mech, using a servo to shove Skippa to the side- enough to make her stumble slightly but not enough to keep her from running. "RUN SKIPPA!" RUN/FLEE/GET/HELP Hot Rod's Field screamed with him and Skippa had no choice but to listen. 

Skippa wanted to look back, wanted to stay with Hot Rod and Accel but—

"Oh no you don't-"

"RUN AND DON'T LOOK BACK!"

Skippa's chest hurt as she kept running and running and running- all the while she screamed into her comms, making it a public broadcast.

.: ANYONE! ANYONE PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP! SOMEONE HELP US! HELP RODDY! ACCEL! HELP! HELP! :.

Somehow, by the grace of Primus or pure dumb luck some would say later, she ended up at Bustler's scrapyard. 

The workers were quick to hear her broadcasted pleas for help.

Bustler was there in an instant and Skippa heaved, cried, sobbed and pleaded.

Everything was a blur for her from the moment she ran away from Hot Rod. All she remembers are snippets of someone getting her to sit down somewhere, of Bustler running off, of Tripper appearing, barking orders and running off like Bustler, of Doc Fortify coming at some point.

Whatever he was saying to her was fuzzy, she couldn't understand him as he treated her hand and the small scratches she got along her pedes from running. She felt faint. Tired.

But she couldn't rest, not until Accel and Hot Rod were back safe and sound.

Because they had to, right?

Tripper and Bustler would save them.

Things would be okay.

She would have her batchmates again, by her side.

Sound started to slowly come back to her just as Bustler came back with- "ACCEL!" Skippa stumbled away from Fortify, ignoring the doctor's fuzzy words, the fiber blanket (when did that get on her?) slipped off as she desperately tried to get to her batchmate.

Accel was here.

Accel was safe.

He didn't look good, but Doc Fortify was here to help. Why was there another hole on his chassis?

No, didn't matter.

Accel was here.

But where was Hot Rod?

"Where's Roddy?" She asks, her throat hurts, her helm hurts, her frame hurts but she can't rest. Not until she saw Hot Rod. She looked around for her. "Where's Roddy? He's- is he with Tripper? He's okay right? He got all scratched up somehow, I think he almost crashed or something, where is he?" 

Bustler and Fortify look at her.

She doesn't like the looks on their faceplates.

Skippa ignores the tension, because- because it's wrong. It's wrong. Hot Rod was safe, her batchmate was safe. Right? She tries to ask again, "Where's Roddy? You… You saved him too, right? He's- he's just with Tripper. He's safe, he's back." 

"Skippa…"

Skippa ignores Bustler, looking around once more. "Roddy! Roddy- c'mon, you- you need to be looked at by Doc Fort with Accel! Hot Rod! Roddy!" Her voice wavers, her tone, more and more desperate. She shrugs off Bustler's servos- Accel was going with the Doc, so that's good. Hot Rod needed to go too. He needed to get those scratches looked at. 

Skippa perked as she saw Tripper, "Tripper! You- you have Roddy, right? He's… where's…" In Tripper's servos is a familiar gun. "... Roddy…?" 

The same gun that the mech shooting at her and her batchmates had.

It was busted, broken in half. Somewhat melted, somehow.

Tripper had that gun in his hold.

But no Hot Rod in sight.

<: [PRIVATE COMM-LINK] : SPRATT * SKUNGE : NYON * TARN [CONNECTING…] :>

<: Spra— :>

He interrupted with a snarl, .: You will be paying me extra for this contract, Skunge. :. He bit back a pained groan, looking over his current injuries. Cracked chassis, bent and burnt arm, busted facemask and visor, scratched optic, scorch marks . He was slowly but steadily losing energon from torn lines and cracked plating. Flying his ship with one arm is not ideal, he can't fix this entirely on his own. He's going to have to make a stop somewhere at a clinic that won't ask questions…

<: Excuse me? :>

Spratt ignored the tone of warning as he hissed in pain, he sets coordinates to the nearest clinic he can think of. .: I've got the brat, but not without consequence. I've lost my sniper stun gun and I'm injured, I'll be expecting compensation for the loss of the gun. :. 

<: What the frag? What happened? Did the the adults— :>

.: Wasn't them, it was the kid. :. He gritted out.

Mere kliks ago…

It was supposed to be easy, the outlier ability the mechling had was useful, annoying but easily dealt with by simply keeping his distance. So when he finds his target isolating himself with two other younglings just cycles after his transformation cycle, showing off his new alt, he decides that now was the perfect time to kidnap the outlier and fulfill his contract.

Observing his movement while showing off, Spratt set up at a juncture high up enough that the youngling's outlier ability wouldn't be able to scent him, waiting a bit more before he took his shot.

When the mechling dodged the first barb, that certainly surprised the mercenary. Either his sense of smell was that good or maybe he just had good instincts and certainly good reflexes. Could've been either or both, either way, the mechling wasn't stupid and immediately tried to hide behind the closest boulder.

Cursing, Spratt got up and adjusted his position. He took another shot but the mechling dodged again and scrambled to protect himself behind the same boulder but away from his sight. Again.

If it weren't so annoying, Spratt would be impressed. 

Unfortunately, Spratt had been expecting an easy grab and bag so he didn't bring with him a large amount of knock-out shock barbs. Just a servo-full that he couldn't exactly afford to waste, not just that but he couldn't afford to waste this opportunity either. 

If he failed here, it'd be so much more annoying to try again later, the nosy and protective bots of the Narrows would be involved and he might lose his contract. 

He just needed to be patient, get the timing right…

So of course when the other two younglings came, he kind of forgot them to be honest but he saw an opportunity- he knew the mechling, Hot Rod, cared for his fellow batchmates. He took his chance, he shot one of them so he could lure the kid out.

It wasn't anything personal, and it wasn't like the youngling would die to a shock-barb. 

Spratt was a professional, sure he was going to kidnap a youngling outlier because of a contract but he wasn't going to outright kill one that wasn't the target. 

Unfortunately, Hot Rod was one fast little fragger.

He knew that, he spent a deca-cycle watching the mechling deliver bots at impressive speeds and time. And with a speedframe alt mode, he thought he'd be ready though. He'd made sure his sniper rifle was fully kitted out to at least match the speed of the mechling. 

The problem was that Hot Rod was faster than he realized.

However Hot Rod's sentimentality and care over his batchmates meant he wouldn't leave them behind, so that still worked to his advantage. What didn't was both Hot Rod's annoyingly impressive intuition in dodging the barbs, and his limited ammo.

Enough had been enough.

He transformed into his alt- a copter, and dropped down in front of the kids when he only had around two shots left in his gun. "That's enough running brats." He'd said, planning to shoot both and take Hot Rod in the aftermath. Maybe deal with the femmeling because she saw him- nothing bad, just minor amnestics. Expensive slag, but worth it.

Of course, like everything else that happened in the past fragging joor, it didn't go according to plan.

When the femmeling went to run, he aimed at her, intending to shoot—

Only for Hot Rod to suddenly just appear in front of him. Without the third youngling weighing him down and a fragging sharpened metal pole in his servos, used like a sword. With a swear, Spratt flung himself back, dodging the attempted swing from that pole but still ended up almost dropping his rifle because both it and his digits got scratched by the rough edge of it.

What the scrap?

Spratt barely had time to think more on it as the pole-sword lashed out once more, a near-feral look overtaking the mechling's glowing green optics and his EM Field radiated with protective fury and righteous anger. Steam coming out of his vents and intake, it was strangely intimidating. Spratt gritted his denta and kept dodging, disbelieving the fact he was the one having to dodge from a mechling of all things.

For Primus' sake, this mechling was barely a thousand megacycles old!  

With that in mind, Spratt was done dodging- he'd gotten the rhythm of the mechling's strangely fluid attacks. Strangely fluid, but ultimately unpolished, imperfect- the average bot would probably be in trouble but him?

Spratt dodged another swing and immediately jammed the barrel of his rifle against the youngling's faceplate hard, energon splitting out of his nasal bridge and split intake. It didn't knock the kid out though, just made him stumble back, slightly disoriented but still determined and glaring. 

Spratt glared right back, some of his plating bristling- bristling, like this fragging kid was a threat to him. 

He WAS a threat.

Hiissssss

More steam exhaled out of the mechling's back vents and intake, the steam turning into darker smog. 

What the actual frag.

Just what was the mechling doing? Why was he steaming like that?

No time, move.  

Spratt aimed his rifle, snarling at the little slagger who snarled back. EM Fields flaring at each othe—

Somehow, the fragger dodged the short-ranged shot, about to attack when a staticky cry sounded in the air. They both froze, looking back to see- frag. Right. The other mechling that Spratt had already shot, the barb had hit him again, electrocuting the kid a second time.

Slag.

"ACCEL!" The mechling screeched, Field flaring in distress, before Spratt could even think of using that distraction to his advantage—

R a g e

Fire.

Pain.

Spratt found himself venting heavily, pain littering the left side of his frame, his arm bent unnaturally and burnt . His facemask and visor busted, scorch marks across his cracked chassis, half of his vision glitched as one of his optics had been fragging scratched and his sniper rifle was now on the ground, cut in half and melting slightly . His right servo was sparking, the barb ammo he had used on reflex as now lodged in the monstrous brat's helm. 

It was only thanks to his high pain tolerance and dampeners that kept him upright, compared to the now knocked out little monster.

.: Had to leave behind my gun just to carry the little scrapfragger to my ship. :. Spratt grunted, doing basic first aid- something to keep him together before they arrived at the clinic. .: Like I said, you're paying me extra for this Skunge. This isn't a normal outlier, he lit himself on fragging fire. :. 

<: … :> 

The silence he got from the call made him sneer, but he let it happen as he adjusted his dampeners and looked over to said abnormal outlier mechling. Outliers were supposed to only have one ability to their names, there hadn't been a case where an outlier turned out to have two abilities at the same time. 

<: Send over the footage of what happened and I'll up your pay. :> 

Despite his initial frustration, he could appreciate Skunge being professional like this- it was why he did regular work for the mech. He grunted, compiling what he could to send over to Skunge, gave him a list of his injuries at the same time.

<: … Well scrap. No wonder you're pissed, this is an unexpected development. Did the youngling show no signs of his secondary ability at all when you were gathering info? :>

.: None. Not from when I was observing him anyway, I kept clear of the scrapyard he's staying at but I think I would've noticed him bursting into fragging flames. No one even said anything about it, no rumors, nothing. :. Spratt replied dryly, securing a temporary patch over his leaking injuries. .: Fragging- I'm going to have to make a pit stop in a clinic. Get my arm functioning again at the very least. :. 

<: Alright, get the outlier checked out as well. Need him in functioning order. Visibly damaged goods don't really sell well, not to the ones who are interested in him. At the very least, get that barb out of his helm and seal the hole. Got an inhibitor with you? :> 

.: Slapped it on him as soon as I was on the ship. :. He glanced over to the non-descript metal band around the small wrist of his target. .: He should be in stasis for a while thanks to the barb, but I'm not taking any chances with that thing. :.

<: Good… While this is an unexpected development, I can't deny the outlier's value has upped itself quite a bit. He'll make a good bodyguard and bolthound. Any idea who trained the kid? :>

.: Frag if I know, someone at the scrapyard maybe. :. Should've known the brat would've been taught self defense… who the pits taught swordsmechship to a youngling as self-defense though? 

<: Which clinic are you going to? :> 

.: Word's out there's a clinic in Dead End that doesn't ask questions, it's pretty new but it's close enough that I can make the trip there but far enough from the Narrows in case they're trying to track the brat somehow. :.

And after that, he can get rid of the brat by giving him to Skunge to sell to whoever wants him. He'd rather not deal with the little slagger ever again.

"I know you." Hot Rod says quietly to the thin man sitting on the floor- no, on the… futon? Hot Rod was sitting on his knees right by him.

Red optics- no, eyes, eye, the other is pale and unseeing - look at him with a smile on his organic face. "You do." The man replies fondly, reaching over to pat Hot Rod's helm. For a moment, Hot Rod feels like- like there's something soft attached to his helm. It's not the organic servo, the hand, it's… it's something else. Like the fuzz the man has, red, just like his eyes.

Burgundy, that's the shade of red of the fuzz. Darker than the red of Hot Rod's plating. 

"I've been dreaming of you, I have… memories. They're not mine, they can't be, but I see them all the time." He admits to the man who shifts from his place at the futon to face him properly. 

The man lifts his good hand from his helm and sets it back on his lap with his other hand, curiously, the other hand is withered and much older than the rest of his body. "I know, and I'm sorry about that. I'm not too sure why it's happening, or what's even going on. I've… been causing you some problems haven't I?"

Hot Rod shrugged, looking down to fiddle with his digits. "Maybe? Not really? I don't know." 

The man hummed, sad, nostalgic, but understanding. The uneasy numbness squirms in his tanks, and he shifts with it, looking back to the man. Familiar, yet not. "What happened to you?" He'd meant to ask who he was, but he sees that arm again, and his pale eye. And he was so thin. He doesn't think organics are supposed to be this thin and sickly looking.

"Something that I hope doesn't happen to you, Hot Rod." The man replies softly, "You have questions, but you already have the answers. You just can't remember them yet." 

Frustration bubbled as he frowned, "Why can't I remember now? You've been haunting my processor for- for orns! My whole life! I want- I want answers. Who are you, who am I? What- just what!" He exclaimed helplessly, anxiously grabbing his thighs, picking at his plating.

His hand gently grabbed one of his servos, "It's frustrating, I know and I'm sorry." The man murmured quietly, "But you'll understand one day. For now…" The man leans forward, and Hot Rod looks past him, towards the open door of the room they were in.

There's a mech there, standing from afar on the grassy grounds outside, underneath the trees. 

Watching him.

Watching them both.

Familiar someho—

"You need to wake up, Hot Rod."

Ratchet should've known opening a clinic (technically it was a drop-in center but a clinic was a clinic) in Dead End would end up being trouble, it wasn't the most legal thing he's doing but damn his soft-spark and Orion's persuasiveness. 

Being Chief Medical Officer just hadn't been fulfilling enough, hadn't it? 

Helping the Empties though, trying to get them back on the road of life instead of seeing them scattered and high on circuit boosters- that… that felt good.

Unfortunately since his clinic wasn't legal and his rules for it were; ask no questions, heal all bots who come in, it was only a matter of time before he started treating more than just Empties off the street.

He began treating mercenaries as well, and usually he had no problems with them, they were injured and he was a doctor. So long as they made him no trouble, that was it. End of story.

But this…

The youngling's optics flickered online, voice weak and staticky. His EM Field groggy, hesitant yet so potent for a youngling his age. " ...Anata wa dare desu ka? [Who are you?] "

This, he couldn't ignore whatsoever.

Chapter Text

Ratchet's cycle at his private (illegal) clinic had started well enough.

Treat his remaining patients, try to convince them to get off the streets and more importantly; off of circuit boosters and other misappropriately used recreational drugs and accept new patients that came or were dragged there. Mostly dragged at this point, but patients were patients.

Payment didn't really matter, he didn't ask for it, accepted some payments, rejected others- he wasn't here for the money. He was here to help the poor sparks of Dead End, try and uplift some down on their luck bot and make a difference in the places that needed them.

Ratchet was glad for his position and skills, being Chief Medical Officer was indeed a great honor but Primus, he felt like he was making more of a difference in a dingy little clinic at the slums of Rodion than his illustrious position. 

Orion was a slaghead for suggesting it, but Ratchet didn't regret taking it into spark and making it reality. 

Of course it wasn't perfect, the longer he keeps it up, the more patients and some of those patients aren't exactly bots down on their luck or too poor for proper treatment but hardened mechs and femmes who do have jobs. Jobs that Ratchet does not approve of, but does not say anything about.

Because a patient was a patient, and he was a doctor.

Orion might disapprove of those patients, he's getting worried over Ratchet's safety in Dead End even though he suggested the clinic in the first place- but to be fair to his friend, Orion probably thought he'd set up a clinic in a safer area and would exclusively be treating only Empties.

Either way, he's getting more of those unsavory patients as time goes by, and he deals with them easily enough. Don't ask about their job, accept their payment (a surprising amount of mercenaries were generous enough to actually pay instead of threatening him to treat them for free) and send them on their way afterwards.

He's patched enough of them to recognize them after some observations now, a big mech with an air of intimidation surrounding him, coming in injured? Mercenary, maybe a bounty hunter, scorch marks all over the plating, second-degree burns accompanying them, bent arm with torn cabling, cracked chassis, scratched optic, broken mask and visor mods—

His spark stops at the small limp frame underneath the mech's good arm. "Primus! Set him on this berth, you sit down immediately afterwards in the next one." He barked, the mech doesn't seem pleased but follows orders immediately.

The limp frame that the mech had been holding had been a youngling, one that didn't belong in Dead End. No, even with the scratched frame (plate abrasions, paint scrapes and bruised cablings) Ratchet could tell that this youngling was far too healthy to be part of the Dead End whatsoever. 

"More concerned about the kid, Doc?" The mech muttered a bit snidely and he glared at him.

Carefully cradling the mechling's head, "He has a hole in his helm, deep enough to possibly puncture important circuitry and energon lines. You're a big mech, you're still able to stand, wait your turn." Ratchet snapped, his personal scanner shifting so he could assess the wound. He hears the mech growl but does nothing else.

The energon was coagulating, which was both good and bad. He'd need to disinfect the wound, but whatever had embedded within the helm had thankfully not been that deep. Not deep enough to reach the important circuity or worse; the brain module and processors. 

The mechling… had an unusually thick helm, especially at the frontal part underneath his chevron. 

Still, the side of his helm was less thick… And there were signs of- 

Electrical damage?

Ratchet kept his expression neutral and Field tightly wound against his frame, barely letting it peak above his plating but his tanks are roiling with dread and low simmering anger. "Mechling's lucky, he has a thick helm, whatever pierced his cranium didn't do it deep enough to directly reach anything important." What was more worrying was the electrical damage he was seeing, but he'd need a deeper scan to see what internal systems were fried.

And he couldn't do that with a suspicious mech around.

"Lucky him." The mech replied in a gruffly, but he was unable to hide the irritated tone in his voice. "Guess it's my turn?" 

Ratchet isn't liking the scenario that's been given to him. An unconscious, scratched up and injured mechling. An even more injured mech who was obviously a mercenary or something along the lines as such, who didn't seem very concerned about the youngling.

Ratchet had been willing to ignore certain bots he had treated in the past, and at this point he liked to think he had a good judge of character of the patients that came to him, so this… 

This mech, this youngling…

He couldn't ignore this.

"Sure." 

He doesn't know what gave him away, he'd been careful with his expression and field, or maybe he'd been too careful? Because suddenly the mech is lunging at him and Ratchet snarls back with a protective rage that startles even him.

In any other situation, Ratchet knows he's outmatched.

He's not much of a fighter, he's a fragging doctor. A medic. 

However, he has a protective friend who's an enforcer who has taught him things. Especially for his own self defense.

And his opponent is heavily injured.

And he's a fragging medic who knows where all the weak points are to a common bot.

The mech goes down with a solid punch to his cracked chassis and stays down when Ratchet shifts out a syringe filled with heavy anesthetic and doses the damn bot just to be sure he'll stay down. 

Of course, Ratchet isn't unscathed himself, a few scrapes, the damned bot landed a solid hit on his faceplate, there'll be a bruise forming around his optic area which was glitching slightly from the hit. 

All in all, he's damn lucky it ended the way it did. Whoever fragged up the bot had truly given him a boon this cycle. There was still a slim chance that this was a huge misunderstanding however he would take it, he'll apologize if he has to but he needs to know what happened to either of them.

Which means waiting for the mechling to wake up.

He'll call Orion in the meanwhile, just in case.

Hot Rod's frame ached as his optics flickered to life, processor and helm feeling even worse as his vision slowly showed him an unfamiliar ceiling and an unfamiliar faceplate. He would panic if he weren't aching so much, not to mention there is a scent of kindness and concern coming to his olfactory, the source was nearby- the faceplate. 

Red helm, black chevron, blue optics. 

He doesn't know who he is, his glossa feels numb as he tries to ask- "...Who are you? [Anata wa dare desu ka?]"

They're both dumbfounded by the words that come out of his intake, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Wasn't that that strange language he sometimes slipped into when he was super angry? "What the- Why am I talking in Japanese? [Nani ga- Naze watashi wa Nihongo de hanashite iru no?]"  

Wait, Japanese?

Was that what the language was?

Pain lanced through his helm and he groaned, pressing his servos against his forehelm, digits trying to ease the pain he felt. "Ngh… ah!" Bigger servos covered his, distantly he heard someone speaking.

It was the stranger, who smelled kind and concerned and like Doctor Fortify. He smelled like him in the way of sterile cleanliness and medicine, a doctor? "Easy there kid, you just woke up. Your helm got pierced by something that electrocuted you." The doctor soothed. In Neocybex, his processor noted faintly underneath the pain. "It must have fried some of your helm's circuitry, possibly reaching the part of your brain module that handles languages… Not any language I can recognize though…" He muttered, providing a comforting pressure against Hot Rod's aching helm.

The doctor was gentle, careful, very much like Doctor Fortify. Hot Rod sighed in relief and the doctor noticed, adjusting his hold so their optics could meet. "Can you understand me kid? Just nod a little bit if you do." 

He nodded with a slight wince and the doctor smiled reassuringly, "That's good. You can understand me… but I can't exactly understand you. It's better than the worst outcome, but it certainly dampens some of my plans in finding out what happened to you and the mech that brought you here." 

The mech that brought him here? 

Hot Rod's optics flickered before he remembered— "I remember! No, I need- I need to head back! Accel, Skippa, they must be so worried! [Omoidasu! Iie, watash - watashi wa modosanakereba naranai! Akuseru, Sukippā, karera wa totemo shinpai shiteru ni chigai nai!]" His field must be flaring because the doctor flinched away, looking bewildered and very concerned as Hot Rod frantically looked around despite the ache in his processor.

He couldn't recognize where he was, and- hold on.

That mech! The one who attacked him and his batchmates! He was on the other berth!

He stumbled off the berth despite the doctor's protests, righteous anger with flecks of fear flaring in his spark, in his very field. "YOU! You tried to attack me and my siblings! How dare you! How dare— [ANATA! Anata wa watashi to watashi no kyoudai ni kougeki shiyou to shita! Nani o suru no! Nani o su—]" He tried to move closer, fists clenched, he didn't have his poorly made pole-sword but that was fine! He'll use his helm if he has to!

Only for the doctor to step in front of him, "Woah there! Easy mechling, it's fine! It's okay, the mech's down!" He exclaimed, EM Field reaching out to soothe Hot Rod's own. Steadying Hot Rod's stumbling attempts to walk forward and holding him back. "He can't hurt you, he can't do anything. He's in a medical stasis, he can't move." 

Hot Rod takes in a deep vent, a deep breath. Trying to calm down his turbulent emotions, reign in his Field and cool off the heat he could feel from his chassis. He's grabbing on to the arm that's keeping him stable, looking over the mech that had shot his batchmates.

The anger flares again but the doctor's EM Field was still trying to help calm him down. "Easy… You okay, kid?" Hot Rod sniffled, giving the mech one last glare before nodding. "Alright. Originally I was going to ask you what happened, but seeing as I can't understand you right now- hm, can you switch to Neocybex?" 

Hot Rod's expression scrunched, "I'm... trying to. My helm hurts but... I can't. I don't know why. [Watashi wa... shiyou to shiteimasu. Bōshi ga itai desu ga... dekimasen. Naze ka wakarimasen.]" He sighed, shaking his helm lightly. 

"Thought so, considering you can understand me then the damage isn't too severe. I'm hoping your nanites can self-heal the damage after a good defrag and recharge, but I'll give you something that'll help boost the nanites. We need to be able to understand you to figure out what happened." Blue optics glanced between him and the mech on the berth, "From how you reacted when you saw him, you're not with this bot willingly are you?"

Hot Rod frantically shook his helm, wincing at the rapid movement but he had to get his point across. 

The doctor's faceplate softened from its stern but open look, placing a servo on Hot Rod's helm. "Don't worry kid, I called a friend of mine. He's an enforcer, he'll be able to help. He'll lock that bot up and help you get home." Hot Rod nodded before freezing.

Wait, where even was he? 

The doctor had stepped away, saying he had to comm someone- Hot Rod immediately tried to do the same only to flinch as his commlink spat static into his helm, panic immediately set in. He couldn't comm home, he couldn't comm his batchmates or Tripper or anyone else from the Narrows. 

Where was he?

In a panic-fueled impulsive decision, he ran out of the room, out of the clinic he was in. Spark pulse loud in his helm, he didn't hear the confused and panicked shout of the doctor as he threw himself outside only to recoil at the overpowering stench of decay, rot, rust and misery that assaulted his olfactory sensors. 

Where was he?!

Despite the stench being nearly overwhelming, Hot Rod ran for it. Trying his best to find something familiar, something he could recognize in the unknown streets he found himself in. He would've changed into his alt mode, but the streets were too narrow, and were littered with junk and garbage and were those bodies?? Primus.  

Hot Rod kept running.

The scent of rotten energon mixed with Primus knows what else, it was all over the place. It churned Hot Rod's tanks, making him gag and just fueling his panic as he looked around frantically—

He trips over something, crashing to the ground with a hard thud. He made a pained groan, grimacing as he got to his servos and pedes, looking back to see what he tripped on. Or rather, who he tripped on. Who?

There was a mech who had fallen to his side, black white and yellow paint that was flaky and patchy. Hot Rod scrambled to his knees, "I'm sorry! I didn't see where I was going, are you okay?! [Gomen nasai! Doko ni ikutte ita ka miemasen deshita, anata wa daijoubu desu ka?!]" The mech murmured something inaudible, Hot Rod winced getting closer, servo hesitantly reaching out to the mech's shoulder. "Hello? Are you okay sir? [Konnichiwa? Anata wa daijoubu desu ka, shan?]" 

Now that he was closer, he realized the mech's paint wasn't just flaky and patchy. His entire frame seemed- rough and dented. Scratches and dents littered the poor mech's deteriorated frame, energon and other liquids staining his plating, Hot Rod wasn't sure if the rust was from around them or from the mech in front of him.

And his scent was…

Miserable. 

There were small wafts of happiness but they smelled wrong. Artificial in a way? It was dimming though, and the misery was growing along with pain. 

The mech's unseeing yellow optics focused for a moment, flickering at the sight of him looming over. "'S a mechli?" He murmured, semi-coherent before he groaned, energon drooling out of his intake. His optics grew unfocused once more. "Y'don'... belo…re…" His voice grew fainter and Hot Rod couldn't help but flare his EM Field, trying to soothe the pain he could feel and smell from the poor bot. 

Hot Rod didn't know where he was, he didn't know if his batchmates were okay or how to get home. (He hoped they were okay, Primus, please let them be okay.)

But someone needed his help right now.

<: Found him yet? :>

.: Not yet. :. 

<: Dammit! I should've known he would've ended up panicking! He seemed to be taking things too well. I should've locked the door. :> 

He sighed at his friend's lamenting, .: Calm yourself Ratchet, you didn't know. We'll find him. I'm a bit more concerned about the mech we left behind, we left him alone in there. :.

<: I locked the door and made sure he was strapped to the berth, not only that, but I dosed him with another anesthetic. That damned bot will be fine Orion, worry more about the youngling! :> Ratchet barked through their comm as Orion Pax scouted the streets of Dead End, looking for a youngling with a scratched but bright red and yellow frame. 

It is a slow cycle, not many bots outside as a result, and those that were, were avoiding his presence. 

Looking around the rust-ridden and garbage-plenty streets, pangs of pity and sadness welled up in his spark at the sight of everything. Every time he came here, it seemed to get worse and worse somehow. A stark difference to the cleanliness in the upper areas of Rodion. Dead End was the dark stain they tried to hide and didn't bother trying to fix, not since the lower hotspots of it were extinguished. 

What was the point of keeping things clean and safe if no new life would ever grace the streets of Dead End? It was a place only for Empties, low-life scum who had no purpose or value in their lives… or so Orion has heard, repeatedly. 

Only, there was a youngling here in Dead End now. Supposedly kidnapped from somewhere else, that was Ratchet's main theory. Orion would agree, but they would need more proof on it, which meant finding the youngling and hopefully get the full story of what happened.

After the mechling's language programs were repaired, apparently he was speaking a language that Ratchet had no idea of. 

Orion paused as he felt a wave of concern/soothing/calm/panic/help/you'llbeokay — an EM Field? Strong one, wide-range considering he couldn't see the bot the Field belonged to. Most bots couldn't exactly flare their Fields very far from their frame.

Was it the-

He answers his own question before he could finish asking it, turning the corner to see a smaller frame with scratched up red and yellow plating, attempting to carry a bot twice his size and struggling. Orion's optics widened as he registered the sight, the fact the youngling could carry the mech on his back at all was impressive enough, and his EM Field.

Green optics widened as they caught sight of him, initially wary before he took a loud sniff of air? The youngling lets out a sigh of relief before calling out, "Ei! Onegaishimasu, kare o tasukete! Watashi wa kare ni nani ga okashii ka wakaranai kedo, kare wa tasuke ga hitsuyou da! [Hey! Please, help him! I don't know what's wrong with him but he needs help!]"

That… Orion didn't recognize the language either, it didn't sound cybertronian in origin at all. Still, the tone of voice, regardless of language, was unmistakable. The youngling was asking for help, and it was clear who he was asking it for. 

"Alright. Come here, I'll carry him, we'll go back to Ratchet." He said, reaching for the Empty on the mechling's back. "Ratchet is the doctor you woke up to, he asked me to find you after you ran off." Orion added when he saw the confused look on the youngling's faceplate. 

Comprehension came to the youngling as Orion lifted the poor spark into his arms, careful not to jostle the bot too much as guilt now flickered in the young mech's Field. "Aa, souda, isha... Sōgai shite nomu no wa gomen, boku wa- kowakatta. Doko ni iru ka wakaranakatta... Uchi ni kaeritai. [Oh, right, the doctor... I'm sorry for running off, I was- scared. I didn't know where I was... I want to go home.]" The mechling admitted, or seemed to. Orion couldn't exactly tell, but he suspected what he was saying because of the guilt.

"It's alright. Let's get you both back to the clinic, shall we? Ratchet needs to look at this poor mech, and you too. I have several questions I want to ask you, and as intriguing as the language you're speaking is- I'd like to understand the answers you'll tell me." The enforcer told him, starting a brisk walk back towards Ratchet's clinic.

The youngling nodded, optics downcast for a moment before worriedly looking at the bot in his arms. "Wakarimashita. Ratchetto ga kare o tasukete kureru to ii ne, kare wa itsumo hidoi ni okusorete iru. Koko ni iru subete no hitobito wa sou da, kibou ya shiawase wa amari nai. Tada kusai mono ya taorete iru mono, watashi no kaminari ga sore de itaku natte kite iru. [Okay. I hope Ratchet can help him, he smells miserable. Everyone here does, there's not much hope or happiness around. Just rot and decay and other stuff that smells bad, my helm is starting to hurt from it all.]"  

Orion thinks the mechling said Ratchet's name, he was very curious over the language but now was not the time. He and the mechling, whose designation he really needed to learn, quickly ran through the streets. Well, Orion jogged while the younger mech ran- he was surprised he could keep up despite being so small. Not to mention he kept up his bright and comforting EM Field throughout the journey. 

He commed Ratchet on the way, the doctor had thankfully returned to the clinic and was now waiting there for them.

"There you are!" Ratchet exclaimed at the entryway of his clinic, his optics glancing between Orion, the frame in his servos and the youngling by his side. "Inside, now." He ordered briskly, leading them to his surgery room.

"Place him on this berth, I'll need to deal with him first and quick." Ratchet instructed Orion before turning towards the youngling, "And you- don't go running off like that okay? It's not safe out there for a youngling like you." 

Helm bowed, the youngling muttered out, "Gomen. [Sorry.]" Which Orion can only assume was an apology. 

"I'll check you after I help this poor mech." Ratchet said but gave Orion a look.

Orion nodded back, understanding and agreeing to the silent request. "Come now, let's let Ratchet do his work. Don't worry, he's a very good doctor. Some say he's been blessed by Adaptus himself." He told the youngling a bit playfully, if only to hear Ratchet scoff.

"Blessed my a- no. I worked hard for these skills! My servos may be dextrous but it takes more than just that to be a doctor! Now go on! Shoo! Let me work!" 

Orion laughed, ushering the youngling out of the room. "I'm sorry young one, I realize I haven't introduced myself to you. My name is Orion Pax, it's a pleasure to meet you." He offered him his servo.

The mechling perked, taking his servo and smiling widely, Field now flaring with happiness and slight embarrassment. What a strong field for someone so young. "Ah! Sō datta, anata ni mo watashi no shimei o hanashite inakatta! Watashi wa Hōtto Roddo! Hajimemashite, Orion Pax. [Ah! Right, I haven't told either of you my designation either! I'm Hot Rod! Nice to meet you, Orion Pax.]"

Orion tilted his helm and the youngling blushed before patting his scratched chassis, "Ah- Hōtto Roddo! Hōtto Roddo… " 

" H-Hōtto Roddo? " Orion repeated what he now thinks is the youngling's designation, his accent is terrible compared to the mechling. Just what was this language? He has to use his glossa and vocalizer differently to pronounce and match the language's tone and inflection. 

The mechling's faceplate twisted and Orion felt a little embarrassed and worried, thinking he pronounced it wrong. " Hōtto… Hōt-to… " His optics brightened as he glared with determination, pressing a servo against his helm. " Hōt- H-H-Hoot Rod. Hot. Rod." Neocybex?

"Your designation, it's Hot Rod?" The smile he gets is near blinding paired with the mech- with Hot Rod's flaring EM Field. He's very sure Ratchet could feel it in the surgery room. "Ratchet did say your nanites would self-heal the damage lingering… Can you speak in complete Neocybex again?"

Hot Rod's faceplate scrunched once more, "Sukoshi zutsu omoidashite iru to omou, watashi no kabuto wa mada itai kedo, kaette kite iru? Neocybex de kanzen ni kotaeru tame ni hontō ni shūchū suru hitsuyō ga aru kamo. [It's slowly coming back to me I think, my helm still hurts but it's coming back? I might need to really focus to answer in Neocybex completely.]" He paused before trying again. "Sl… Slow…ly? T-T… Toraiingu… T-r-yi-ng…" 

Orion held his servo up, "It's okay. We can take this slowly until Ratchet is done with his surgery."

Relieved, Hot Rod nodded and Orion led him to a more comfortable area of the clinic. 

The enforcer would ensure this young bright spark would return home.

"... How're they?" 

The look he gets from Tripper is enough to make Bustler bite down on his cygar with anxious concern. "Scrap."

Tripper was practically chewing on his, spitting out pieces of metal and venting out thick black globs of smoke. "Scrap 's right. Kids're traumatized t'the pits 'n back." He growled, servo pressing harshly against his faceplate. "Stuck on each'thers hip, those two. Won't leave each other alone, no matter wha'... They keep askin' me… when ah'm gonna get Hot Rod back." 

Bustler's spark pulsed and he reached over to grab Tripper's shoulder, squeezing firmly. "We'll get him back. Somehow. Or, maybe little mechlin'll come back on his own somehow." He tries to joke, he probably shouldn't, but he tries anyway. "Hot Rod gave whoever tried to snatch'im a run for his shanix." 

Scorch marks on the ground, a pole that was haphazardly sharpened into a sword that was covered in energon and finally that broken rifle they managed to get. One frag of a surprise to see all that, however Hot Rod's kidnapping had dampened more than a few things.

The Narrows seemed colder without the bitlet, mechs and femmes were horrified to find out that their bright youngling had been kidnapped with two more injured. The Youth Center was now under even more protective guard, while Tripper, Bustler and a few others were running themselves ragged trying to track the mech who took their youngling, who hurt their younglings.

Tripper was even willing to contact a few old 'friends' of his, he was still waiting for a reply though.

The weapon used was a standard long-ranged rifle used for plenty different ammunition, one of which was an electro-barb that was capable of temporarily knocking out machines and most Cybertronians. The serial manufacturing number was unfortunately filed off, so no leads there just yet.

"Hot Rod's a strong mechlin', Tripper." Bustler told the silent old mech who did nothing else but grind his denta against his ruined cygar, "We'll find him. And bring him home." 

They held out hope that Hot Rod would be okay.

They had to.

Chapter Text

Prowl appreciated rules, appreciated discipline and structure. It gave him a line to follow during his first mega-cycles online in Petrex, a boundary not to cross lest he ends up shunned or worse; thrown into jail for a simple jab against one's alt mode. He learned to fall in line, to not bring attention to himself and bear with the prejudice he got for being cold-constructed the way he was.

But now he was no longer in Petrex, having spent more vorns outside of the town he'd been constructed in, in a place with a more lenient system- something that had somewhat grated him at first but now he could admit that he could move and vent easier than he did in Petrex despite missing the rigid structure.

It is different, but not exactly a bad difference.

He liked working as a mechaforensic enforcer, he liked solving cases, liked taking apart the mystery of what killed the victim in question or what happened that led to the crime. He was not unaware of his reputation, of the fact he liked calling for autopsies for practically every case that he could- they might think it weird but to Prowl, it was a selfish, indulgent thing that he somehow couldn't believe he could get away with.

Petrex would have never let him call for an autopsy, he'd been a simple officer (a cold-constructed one at that) that had no say in that. 

But now he could simply insist for one and see the pieces for himself.

Perhaps it was that and being outside of Petrex for so long that has… loosened his views about the rules and discipline that he'd once upheld to a higher degree than normal. That and the sheer illogical and confusing decisions his so-called superiors insisted from time to time.

Especially from his current interesting series of cases; one that spanned to even before his construction. Or so he theorized, old files were hard to access without permission or knowledge of where they were organized. He and his current work partner, Tumbler, were now off the latest case within that series.

His superiors had caught wind of Prowl's interest, and were now shutting it down. Labelling the murdered femme as a victim to the wrong murderer, who had no connection to the femme and had a different killing signature than the one used on the femme.

Had Prowl been fresh off of Petrex, perhaps he would have starved his curiosity and interest, stopped as ordered.

But after being in the Iacon Mechaforensic Division for so long, of being able to move in a more lax way and having freer constraints and having a partner who was interested in the subject as well? 

Prowl debated for a moment.

It was a long moment, but still…

"I can't believe you're doing this." 

Oh yes.

Prowl's derma was tempted to twitch upwards at the mutter Tumbler made as Prowl sifted through the data efficiently, "Let me remind you that you are doing this with me, we are doing this." Together. It's a novel thing, Tumbler, while he could be late to things in the point-percentage, was an adequate work partner and dare he say it- friend.  

"Oh no, I know I'm onboard, but out of all the mechs that I know- you are the last one I would've thought to disobey orders from our superiors." Tumbler pointed out to him, watching Prowl arrange the data into something more cohesive. 

Prowl said nothing to that, because that was the truth. He was disobeying the orders, he was looking more into the cases that they'd ordered not to be continued or were incorrectly assigned to the wrong culprit. It didn't make sense, and with each mishap, each order, Prowl's appreciation for the system in place weakened. 

He isn't jaded, not yet. He still had much faith in the system at servo, but he cannot tolerate the current mishandling when it was so clear that these cases were connected and that the killer was still out there- he already suspects corruption in play, but if he can prove and catch the killer…

"Why are you so interested in this anyway, Prowl?" 

The question makes him tilt his helm, staying quiet for a moment before taking a step back from the screen, overlooking the arranged data before finally answering. "It was the very first case I worked on as a mechaforensic enforcer. After graduating from Iacon and being assigned here and Rodion… My first case was of a mech whose energon was drained, his spark chamber torn open and brain module crushed." He didn't have to turn to see Tumbler wince.

It had been gruesome.

Prowl had known that going into mechaforensic he would be subjected to disturbing scenes unlike he'd ever experienced, he'd learned about it, seen pictures and even watched a few holovids as per his education.

Yet his first case had still thrown him off. Even more so when his old partner, a senior mech designation; Outlid, declared the culprit incorrectly by order of their superiors. He'd been so confused, but Outlid had told him, to his faceplate, it was better this way.

That trying to find the culprit of this particular case was impossible, and to leave it alone.

And Prowl had tried.

But it had been his first case, something he had wanted to solve the moment he had been assigned in Rodion. It was his job now, yet he couldn't even solve his first case? It had privately grinded his gears for vorns, especially when he saw the case again in another victim - energon drained, spark chamber torn open, brain module crushed- and again -spark chamber torn open, energon drained, brain module crushed- and again. Always, those cases were shut down or the culprit was declared even though they weren't actually the culprit. 

Prowl couldn't take it anymore, even though time had passed, his first case had been something he'd been unable to forget. It fueled his curiosity and determination, and the cases like it fed into it. He looked into the cases in his free time, went through old files and he would find the culprit once and for all.

"Alright." Prowl said, crossing his arms, satisfied with the data laid before him. He clicked on a private recorder, "This is the start of an unofficial investigation between suspected connected serial killings that have spanned for vorns. Investigated by Mechaforensic enforcers Prowl of Petrex and Tumbler of Iacon. The signature style of death to the victims are as follows; energon drained, spark chamber torn open and brain module smashed. Note that the energon and spark methods can be interchanged in order however the brain module is always destroyed post-mortem."

"Whoever did these definitely didn't even want any cerebrosurgeon to be able to see what happened after death." Tumbler, being interested in mnemonology, commented, looking at the pictures of countless smashed brain modules. 

Prowl hummed, "Cerebrosurgeons are capable of sifting through modules post-death?" He asked, both genuinely curious and wanting information for their investigation. 

"Only the really skilled ones, mnemosurgeons to be more specific." Tumbler replied, tapping a digit against the chin of his mask. "There's not a lot of study about post-death mnemosurgery, pulling live data from dead bodies is only a recent study after all, a couple of vorns old, and it's not exactly seen as a 'good' or 'moral' thing to the public with its connotation and connections to 'shadowplay'. Still, it's pretty fascinating." 

"Hm…" Prowl suddenly stepped towards the screen again, rearranging the data. "When did the study start?"

Tumbler rattled off the date and Prowl searched for the nearest death to it. He was disappointed when the nearest date to it was still vorns away from it. "Don't get too disappointed Prowl, I think you're onto something." Tumbler suddenly said, helm tilted. "The date I gave you was the date the Senate gave to the public, it's entirely possible the start of the study started way earlier."

"You're right… Theoretically, if the culprit only started smashing brain modules shortly after finding out that a study of post-death menosurgery could retrieve data long after the victim died." Prowl frowned as he glanced between the case information laid out on the screen, "That would mean the culprit would have connections to the Senate to be able to find that out."

"Or be part of the Senate itself." Tumbler offered grimly. 

Prowl had suspected as much, considering the amount of times cases had been pulled back from, prematurely closed or even assigned to the wrong culprit… He shook his helm, he could worry about the Senate's corruption later. They still needed to figure out the culprit. Or culprits. 

"We need more victims." Prowl concluded, ignoring the look his yellow-visored partner shot him. "I need to look more into past victims that fit the deaths, this time without the brain module being destroyed. Not only that, you were right in saying that there could be more victims and that we just aren't finding them. I had thought the culprit's window of crimes were getting shorter, merely killing within a set amount of time but they could still be killing regardless." 

"Well, considering that we're only called for high-profile victims, I'd say their window of time is getting shorter- for these types of victims at least." Tumbler mumbled, looking over the victims of each case, the latest being a femme from high-society, Polysh of Iacon. "According to all these reports, their energon was drained via a bite mark somewhere along their energon lines, could be a vamparc." 

Prowl rolled his optics at the jested suggestion, " Please . They're just a sadistic, psychopathic murderer. Next you're going to suggest they're a spark eater from the way they tear open the spark chamber." 

"Could be." Tumbler retorted with clear amusement, though he hummed soon afterwards, dropping the amusement for something more serious and thoughtful. "It's a valid thought however- they could think themselves as a monster, they're clearly making a theme with how they're killing these poor bots. Energon drain as a vamparc, spark chamber tearing as a spark-eater- not only destroying the brain module would help cover their tracks, I think there's a few myths of module consumers from Mortilus myths and folklore."

Pausing, Prowl considered his words before nodding in agreement. He hadn't thought of it that way… Sometimes being partnered with someone else wasn't that bad, especially when they gave rare insights like these. Plus, Tumbler wasn't that bad of a mech to be partnered with. 

"I see. I will have to look into that as well then."

Prowl's optics cycled in surprise when Tumbler nudged his arm, " We will have to look into it."

His surprise turned into gratitude and he nodded, "Yes. We. We will look into it."

Darkness.

That was familiar, very familiar in fact.

He wonders faintly where he's ended up this time, he thinks he collapsed somewhere on the streets. Not the best place to crash out but, he'd been desperate. Again. Wanting just a bit more of that feeling, of that fleeting happiness that Psyk would give him.

Forget the world, feel the pleasure in his circuits and float in bliss.

Just… drift.

Hah.

That was funny.

Because his designation was Drift.

Not really a good one, but it was his.

Drift…

He thinks he woke up at some point, he does that sometimes. Something… woke him up briefly- probably a bot stumbling over his frame. Happened before. Usually he ended up waking up in pain from that, and insults. Standard slag.

This time though, the circuit boosters must still be in effect because he thinks he saw a mechling when he woke up briefly. Too small to be a grown bot, but too big to be a minibot, and their Field had felt young but warm…

Younglings had no place here in Dead End.

Not anymore.

They didn't belong here with the wrecks and empties.

They didn't belong here with him.

He doesn't remember going back into the darkness, what he does remember is… a constant warmth covering him. Soothing him. Wrapped around his tired, broken frame.

Concern. Calm. Soothing. You will be okay. 

It was… so nice and warm. Warmer than even the warmest nights out in the streets. And soothing, when… when was the last time he'd felt like this? Without the circuit boosters? Without Psyk?

Pit, this felt so much better than the boosters. 

It felt real.  

Drift would smile if he could. 

For the first time in a long time… 

Drift felt at peace and comfortable.

The surgery went well, the poor spark's frame had taken many beatings but thankfully cybertronians were naturally hardy. The circuit booster addiction wasn't something he was unfamiliar with, he hoped that when the mech got out of stasis, Ratchet would be able to convince him to a better path. 

He knew just the mech to help.

Gasket wouldn't mind too much if he sent the bot his way…

Anyway, that would be for later. He had a youngling to look over now.

He found Orion and the youngling in another room of his clinic, the youngling was gesticulating with his servos with Orion patiently listening in. "—oot? Shoot! Accel! Bang!" He exclaimed, obviously upset as he mimed the action. "Kare wa watashi no shimai o ni-kai mo utatta! Watashi wa Accel ga daijoubu de arimasu you ni, kare wa ima watashi no soba ni inai kara, sabotte shimaimashita to omou… [He shot my sibling, TWICE! I hope Accel's okay, he's not here with me so I think he got left behind…]" The red and yellow mechling slumped over the table he and Orion sat at.

"I see… That's several charges against youngling endangerment and assault then." Orion murmured with a pensive and hard tone before noticing Ratchet's approach. "Ah, Ratchet. Finished the surgery I see, that was quick." 

"Say nothing about my hands Orion, I'll thump your helm if you do." Ratchet grumbled, but glanced between him and the mechling. "Questioning the mechling already?" 

"He's slowly remembering Neocybex, it has been rough but I'm getting the gist of what happened." Orion said before motioning to the smaller frame across him. "This is Hot Rod, he and his friends were assaulted and he was kidnapped from his home." 

The mechling- Hot Rod, nodded frantically. Green optics flaring briefly before he bowed his helm at Ratchet, "Aete ureshii desu, mata nige te shima tte gomen nasai. [It's nice to meet you, sorry again for running off.]"  

Not really understanding Hot Rod, Ratchet nodded back, "Nice to meet you kid. So I guess that means the mech I've got strapped in one of my rooms is the kidnapper?" Both Orion and Hot Rod nodded, with the young mech scowling fiercely. "Had a bad feeling about the mech when he first came in… Got worse when I saw signs of electrical damage on Hot Rod… Speaking of that, it's time to finally get your helm properly checked out kid."

He gestured for the mechling to come follow him, "While I wanted you to heal naturally through some recharge and a de-frag, but I have a feeling it would be better to try and fix this language mishap sooner rather than later." 

Hot Rod nodded, "Hai, onegaishimasu! Nihongo wa totemo omoshiroi desu ga, anata-tachi to jitsuzai de hanasu koto ga dekiru you ni, shiri tai tango o kurasuberi suru koto naku shiyo shiteru. [Yes, please! As much as Japanese is interesting, I'd like to be able to actually talk to you both without trying to scramble together words I should definitely know.]" He said in that alien language of his, he had to wonder if he downloaded a packet of it from somewhere. 

He doesn't know if Hot Rod knew how to compile a language packet yet, so he couldn't exactly ask for one at the moment. Nor did he know if it was one of those packet-locked languages that had to be learned manually instead of downloaded. 

"It would be in our best interest to be able to fully understand each other, yes." Orion agreed as Hot Rod climbed down from the seat he'd been on. 

"Oh! Watashi no commlink mo ugokanai! Anata wa sore o naosu beki desu! Minna ni watashi ga daijoubu da to tsutaetarun da, kare-ra wa ima totemo shinpai shiteru ni chigai nai. [Oh! My commlink isn't working either! You have to fix that! I need to tell everyone that I'm okay, they've gotta be so worried now.]" Hot Rod suddenly gasped, gesturing to his helm. Ratchet thinks he heard the word 'commlink' but accented strangely.

"Your… commlink?" He hazarded with a frown, when Hot Rod nodded, he was briefly puzzled. "What abou- oh. I see, your commlink must be down as well, if you were in an unfamiliar situation, no doubt you'd try to comm someone you knew." Hot Rod nodded again, more frantically, faceplate upset as he gestured to his helm again. 

"My apologies Hot Rod, I can't believe I missed your commlink- I was too focused on the language-aspect of your helm's damage that I didn't scan any further. I will look into that as well. I'll get it fixed too." The beaming smile he got from the youngling softened and soothed the guilt in his spark, and he smiled back, reaching over to pat his helm. "Come… Orion?" 

Orion had stood up from the table as well, "Go ahead, I'm going to check on Hot Rod's kidnapper. If he's awake by now, I'll interrogate him, if not- I'll still be able to glean some information from him." 

"Alright, be careful Orion." 

Hot Rod hopped in place, "Hai! Ki o tsukete ne! [Yeah! Be careful!]" He shortly realized Orion wouldn't understand before just flaring out his field with clear concern, the control he had as a youngling was pretty impressive, though it was clear he had yet to master it. 

Orion chuckled, nodding to them both. "Do not worry, I'll be careful."

—ne step, two step, spin and pose!" A joyous voice exclaimed, a bright blue visor gleaming at the sideline as he somehow managed to keep on his pedes from the quick movement. "That's it! You did it!"

He chuckled bashfully, setting his arms down and smiling gratefully at the minibot. "Only with your help Tai—

—gate, it's fine! I'm fine." He reassured the angry minibot, though perhaps it was a bad idea to lie. He didn't feel fine, but he didn't wish to worry a friend. His processor was achi—

—re and more crystals. Something in his spark is off and his helm was beginning to ache so badly but this was for a noble cau—

—hite crystal shoved into his faceplate, "You. You created this?" His optics blinked incredulously. "Can you make more?" 

He tilted his helm, something old, aching and nostalgic bubbling beneath his spark—

—arion! Where are you?!" He shouted in panic, looking around in the smoldering darkness for the purple swordsme—

—nating how the processor works." He confessed, looking through the gathered datapads, "I believe psychology will be my new calling… I… wish to know… more about it. And myself." 

"Sounds good." Red optics glanced between him and the datapads before grunting, wings twitching behind him. "Just remember to be car—

—ey! You okay?" One black, clawed servo helped him up. The other offered the fallen white crystal to him, "Here, you dropped this… Huh, it's pretty. Feels weird too. What is it?" 

He patted himself down, "It's a crystal, a..." His faceplate scrunched as he tried his best to recall what it was exactly. " A... A photo—

—e found himself... somewhere? Where was he?

...

Who was he?—

—f we do this right, there'll be more like us?" ███████ asked as they stood within the chamber, the sight of the gigantic spheroid crystal filling him with pri—

—rst wave! Look at them all!" He exclaimed ecstatically, a smile beaming on his faceplate as he looked to the others to see similar looks of awe and happiness. "Come! Come! Let's greet them! Help them all!" Eagerly, he hopped down, laughing as he heard them scramble after him.

"███████ wai—

—an't do this! See reason ███████!" He pleaded the other to listen, "These █████ █████████ are leading you astray!" 

███████ scoffed, "Leading me astray? Can't you see? They were right! Cybertro—

—█████████ no!" He cried out, spark-broken and in tears as he joined ███████'s side. "Why!?"

"It is for the best—

—AN'T LEAVE ██████!" He hears ████████ scream, "███████! ███████! DON'T DO THIS! ███████ PLEASE! COME WITH US! ███████ LET GO!"

The incoming rings of light from the pulsing moon made him quiver, yet he stood his ground, a sad smile on his derma. Even though it wouldn't be heard, he opened his intake to whisper, "—

"Sorry Morty." 

"Who?" 

Blue optics blinked rapidly as he realized he'd been staring at the wall for far too long, "Excuse me?" 

An old, beloved friend sits beside him. "You were staring at the wall again, Rung, then you said the name 'Morty'." He explained slowly to him. 

Orange digits came up to rub at his optic lids, his helm aching as he tried to remember what he said. Alas, he couldn't. "Damned information creep, I just said it, didn't I? 'Morty' was it?"

"You did." His friend, Nightbeat, confirmed, "I'll be adding that to the list of mysterious designations whom we don't really know of." Rung smiled wanly at the joking tone Nightbeat used with him. "Strange designation though, 'Morty'. Sounds organic." 

"It does, doesn't it? I've met with countless of organic species before. Perhaps one of them was named as such." Rung hummed, the dull longing in his spark seemed to ache even more at the sound of the name. He can't really do anything about it though, annoyingly enough. 

"So your spacing out was a past-look into things?" 

Rung hummed, "Feels like it, I usually remember more often if it was a glimpse to the future… Information creep is less likely to happen with future glimpses, you know this." 

Nightbeat chuckled, "I do, but it's still likely. Always have to ask questions just to make sure… How are you feeling, Rung?" His amusement turns serious, a servo now pressing against Rung's back as the thin, orange bot sagged forward slightly. 

"Better. Surprisingly better, yet of course, I remember almost nothing from whatever I was seeing in the past. Just… severely incomplete pieces, more so than usual, and nothing exactly remaining beyond Nexus' era…" Rung's derma's quirked upwards into a smile, "Though, I did manage to remember a time where Tailgate was trying to teach me how to dance like he did."

Nightbeat perked, leaning in, obviously interested. "Oh?"

"Yes, I never got the hang of it. I'm not as elegant as he was. Nor can I maintain my balance at the very tip of my pedes." Nightbeat paused, trying to imagine Rung trying to do one of Tailgate's elegant performances before snorting. Rung chuckled with him, shaking his helm. "It was… a nicer time." He murmured somberly, glancing over to an old but beloved picture.

A minibot proudly presenting the Primal Vanguard sigil on his chest while waving at the camera, Rung was right beside him, clapping with a smile on his derma. His optics can't help but stray to another well-taken relic of his past; a thin green tinted sword with a dull crystal embedded in the base purple-painted handle.

Nightbeat's servo moved to his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Hey, we still don't know what happened to him. We'll find out somehow. Maybe you'll remember or see something that'll help. Unless we see his frame somewhere, or have absolute confirmation that he's gone- he could still be alive."

"I… would much like that, yes." Rung vented, finally placing his goggles over his optics instead of fiddling with them with one servo. He stood up and stretched lightly, "Anyway, let's move on to business shall we? What's on the agenda for this cycle?"

Nightbeat was silent for a moment before he spoke up, "Well, with the Matrix now revealed as fake to the Senate, there's movement from demons. More deaths are happening but they're mostly limited to the slums of half the cities on Cybertron."

Rung grimaced, "They're getting reckless… How's our supply of photonic crystals?" 

Nightbeat sent him a sharp look, "We're good."

"Nightbe-"

Nightbeat stood up, placing his servos firmly on the shorter bot's shoulders. " We're good on crystals, Rung. Don't worry about it. What you do need to worry about; is Red Alert and Anode."

Rung withheld another vent or even a groan, " Again? Alright, let me go see to them both…" Usually Lug could handle both her conjunx and Red Alert just fine, but if Nightbeat was pointing in their direction then she must be out on a mission. "How is Codex?"

"Annoyed that he forgot you again, swears to Primus he's going to steal a proper cerebroscientist or mnemosurgeon to ensure he won't forget again. He might actually do it one of these cycles." Nightbeat grinned at Rung's look of amused disapproval. "Anyway, Codex is out on a mission with Lug."

"Oh? Where to?"

"Messatine."