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An automobile had no place among jets.
Yet, against all convention, Knockout had been invited by a wingleader to spend an afternoon with his trine.
Nearly a lunar cycle ago, Knockout had complimented Starscream’s finish at a social event over a glass of high-grade energon. The Seeker had given him a once over, and for a moment, Knockout had been struck by the sudden fear that he had approached a successful victim of the Senate's classification doctrine.
Then, the disdain on Starscream’s face dissolved into a knowing smirk. He leaned against a poseur table and said, “You’re not too bad yourself. Where do you go for maintenance?”
Knockout proudly declared that he had achieved all this shine by himself—he didn’t trust the mechanics not to scratch his paint—and only got professional work done once every stellar cycle or so to reach the places he couldn’t.
Starscream was luckier—Starscream had wingmates to assist in his polishing. Knockout could only hope that one day, someone would stick by his side long enough to earn the honour of a buffer in their servos.
For the rest of the evening, the conversation shifted between general discussions of the latest trends and their strong personal opinions. Starscream had been so impressed that he deigned to offer Knockout his frequency number and promised to stay in contact. When he finally took his leave, it was only because someone had insistently called him away.
A million hangouts later, Starscream brought Knockout into the habsuite he shared with the other members of his trine.
Seated on the carpeted floor in the middle of the common area, Knockout analysed the cards that he had been dealt. To his left and right, Thundercracker and Skywarp did the same.
Starscream had declined the offer to join their circle for a game of Cyber-poker. Instead, he sprawled on a beanbag in a corner by the trine’s poor excuse for a pet. The malfunctioning scrap that Starscream created for a science project currently lay in a twitching heap, sparks shooting from its exposed cabling while he scoured the datanet for parts.
“Stop cheating,” Thundercracker said without looking up from his cards.
“I’m not,” Knockout lied. It wasn’t helping anyway. Forlornly, he eyed the pile of chips at Skywarp’s pedes.
Thundercracker lifted his gaze to meet Knockout’s defiant one with an unnervingly patient smile. “You’re counting the cards. I can see it in your optics.”
Knockout shut down the program tabulating every card that had been played so far and glared at him. Not for the first time, he wondered precisely how welcomed he was by his company.
“I’m hungry,” Skywarp announced and threw down his cards, disregarding Thundercracker’s chastising click of his glossa. “Pizza, anyone?”
“First good idea you’ve had in cycles,” Starscream said and asked for a super large energon wheel.
Knockout zoned out as Thundercracker quietly gathered Skywarp’s cards and placed them back on the deck at the centre of their circle neatly.
Skywarp reached across the floor for a stray datapad and asked, “Extra viscous?”
“Extra viscous,” Starscream confirmed with a sharp grin.
Skywarp sighed as he switched on the datapad and launched a program. “You sure you’ll still be able to take off with all the weight you’re putting on?”
“Shut up!”
A piece of scrap metal flew from Starscream’s servo and collided with the back of Skywarp’s helm as he cackled. Wincing from the sound of abused metal, Knockout hissed and rubbed the back of his own helm empathetically.
“TC?”
“Whatever you’re getting.”
Knockout flipped through the remaining cards in the deck while he waited for Skywarp to get to him. His frown deepened with each wrong guess he made. Was he doing something wrong?
“Knockout?”
“A Praxian Pizza, please.”
“With or without impurities?” Skywarp asked with an apprehensive look over the edge of his datapad. His digit hovered over the option on the menu.
“With.”
Starscream made a gagging noise while Skywarp sighed again. “I’m friends with a bunch of freaks,” he muttered.
“Hey, be polite.” Thundercracker shoved the back of Skywarp’s helm as he stood and made his way to the kitchen.
The Seeker in question rolled his optics and mouthed a Vosian slur at Starscream who doubled over in stifled laughter.
“I saw that!”
Knockout shook his helm in amusement as the two dissolved into fits of giggles.
With Thundercracker and Starscream secluding themselves to the kitchen table to pour over the schematics of their robotic creature together, and Skywarp insistent on being the lazy scrap that he was, Knockout was the only one left to answer the door when the doorbell rang.
Expecting a delivery drone, Knockout keyed in the access code without bothering to school his expression into something more approachable. The door slid open and he found himself coming face to chassis with a blue bot that was very much as sentient as he was.
Knockout’s gaze swung upwards in surprise.
Kind, yellow optics and a shy smile greeted him. In sturdy servos, the delivery bot held four boxes of pizza, completely unbothered by the weight equivalent of at least four-and-a-half energon cubes. He lifted them cheerfully.
“Your pizza’s here! Shall I bring it in for you?”
Quickly rebooting himself, Knockout stepped aside with an exaggerated sway of his hips.
“Wonderful. If you could be so kind as to set it on the table…”
Obligingly, the delivery bot did as asked. Knockout grabbed the opportunity to inspect his frame. Tall, broad with heavy duty armour, and in possession of a friendly disposition, Knockout quite liked the first impression of him.
He bit the bottom of his lips as the bot set the boxes down on a space Thundercracker had frantically cleared. Starscream eyed the entire exchange with suspicion, but Knockout was too busy admiring the set of a certain bot’s hips to notice.
“Thank you,” Knockout purred and leaned against the doorway as the bot passed him on the way out. The bot nodded in acknowledgement with a tight-lipped smile.
Knockout reached out and brushed a servo along his arm, stopping him. The bot stared at the point of contact with wide optics.
“Say, what’s your name again?” Knockout asked.
“Breakdown,” the bot stuttered.
“Breakdown,” Knockout repeated with a note of wonder. “Strong name for a strong bot.”
Breakdown visibly gulped. Knockout cocked his helm with a coy smile.
“So, Breakdown, what do you think about sharing your frequency?” he asked, holding out a datapad.
With shaky servos, Breakdown took the datapad and wrote down a series of numbers, valiantly attempting to focus on the screen before him. But as he returned the datapad, the way his optics helplessly darted to Knockout’s digit tapping against the red shine of his thigh did not go unnoticed.
“Thank you, handsome.”
Self-satisfaction seared Knockout when the plating on the bot’s face flushed an even deeper shade.
“I’ll be sure to leave a large tip!” he added with a wink.
Then, he shut the door with a whoosh, turned to face the three staring Seekers and their slack jaws, and collapsed against the door.
“So bad,” he said. “That was so bad.”
Starscream’s laugh was a sharp sound.
“You’re practically drooling!” he said.
“It usually goes much smoother than that, I promise,” Knockout insisted as he pushed off the door.
Thundercracker’s scepticism couldn’t be more clearly written on his face. “I’m sure it does,” he said.
“But he did get the frequency,” Skywarp piped up.
Knockout eyed the scrawled numbers on the datapad in his servo. Breakdown's handwriting was humongous with thick, round strokes though they were so wobbly that Knockout worried he wouldn’t be able to tell a ‘6’ from an ‘8’.
“You aren’t going to call him now, are you?” Starscream slid from his chair at the table to the beanbag like molten metal. He lay with his helm hanging over the side and peered at Knockout upside down.
Knockout shrugged. “I was thinking about it.”
“He’s still on duty.”
“And,” Skywarp whispered with a nod, “it’ll come off a bit desperate.”
“Don’t listen to them. Do what you want,” Thundercracker advised, rolling his optics.
“Hey,” Starscream flipped onto his cockpit, “I’ll have you remember that I’m the one in a relationship here, and you’re not.”
Knockout gasped, scandalised, and moved to claim a spot on a cushion before another Seeker could snatch the space up with his cumbersome wings.
Thundercracker slammed down the drink he had been nursing and held onto the edge of the table for support.
“You did not,” he said. “Did you get back with him again? What happened to ‘I deserve better’? I did not listen to you run your vocaliser hoarse for three cycles just for you to do that again! How many times, Starscream, how many times?”
Starscream feigned a look of ignorance. “He’s hot,” he said.
With a snort, Skywarp drew their attention to a picture of a giant grey bot on his datapad.
“This guy?” he said.
Although the bot was fitted with a respectable battle frame, he had the most boring paint job Knockout had ever seen in his entire life. His optics were unevenly dimmed as he chugged back a cube of glowing energon. Around him, flashy bots hollered and cheered him on, their frames equally drenched in high-grade and possibly even transmission fluid.
On Starscream’s behalf, Knockout grimaced, wondering what could possibly draw a radiant Seeker such as him to a grunt such as that.
Starscream made a grab for the datapad but fell short by half his wingspan as Skywarp drew back, laughing.
“Why did you have to choose that picture of him? He looks better in real life, trust me!” Starscream screeched.
Knockout found it even harder to believe his claim when Skywarp, dodging swipes and boisterous protests, zoomed into the distorted face.
Starscream grew increasingly apoplectic with his shrieks. As his volume doubled, so did the strength of Skywarp’s wheezing.
Knockout inspected the image, trying to recognise the blur. In the pixelated background, he could almost make out a purple insignia that had been appearing more and more frequently recently.
“Is he the leader of that movement going around? The anti-functionist one?” he asked.
“Yes! Precisely. See? He’s capable too!”
“We all know you’re not in it for the leadership points,” Thundercracker said.
“Mm, he is very well-modded.” Starscream paused in his screeching as a dreamy look overcame him. He rubbed his digits together, as if feeling the shanix between them. “He also has a very nice spi–”
Knockout interrupted to ask the more important question, “Are you part of the movement?”
It could explain Starscream’s willingness to associate with a wheel-bound vehicle despite the Senate’s efforts to impose class divisions.
“No,” Starscream said and snatched the datapad back, the spell broken, “why would I be? But aren’t there more pressing matters to attend to?”
Starscream interlaced his digits and rested his chin on his servos. With the biggest slag-eating grin on his face, he asked Knockout, “So, what’s the plan for your beau?”
“I’ll call him when he’s off-duty, I suppose.”
Starscream made a face, one that Knockout agreed with. Even to his own audials, that sounded like the most pathetic, half-baked plan of courtship that his processor had ever conjured.
But it was not as if Knockout could simply send a bouquet of crystal roses to a pizzeria and address it to one of their employees. That would be weird.
“And when would that be?” Thundercracker followed up.
He had Knockout there.
“Good point, I’ll ask next cycle. We’ll order pizza again?”
“We?”
“Yeah, my district might get a different delivery bot.”
Thundercracker sighed but nodded and didn’t say anything else. It occurred to Knockout that he had just re-invited himself to spend time with bots who may not even enjoy his company.
Regardless, Starscream and Skywarp seemed amiable enough to the idea, both wearing twin expressions of agreement.
Skywarp flopped onto the floor next to Knockout’s pedes, grabbed the controller and started flipping through channels on their holoscreen. He clicked so fast that chyrons blurred before their optics.
Relaxing slightly, Knockout leaned back only to jolt back upright.
“You guys should consider getting a couch,” he said.
“Waste of money,” all three of them replied in unison.
Exactly one deca-cycle later, Knockout ordered one super large energon wheel (extra viscous), one Praxian pizza (with impurities) and two partially combusted energon wheels. Then, he waited.
Thundercracker and Knockout were the only ones in the habsuite. They sat on opposite ends of the common area with Knockout anxiously splitting his attention between his datapad and the door while Thundercracker calmly analysed the broken parts of Starscream’s half-complete cybercat imitation. Its true owner had dragged Skywarp to go shopping.
Knockout believed himself in for an absurdly awkward afternoon. Part of him bemoaned the refusal of their offer to join them, but there were sacrifices he had to make for the pursuit of Breakdown, sacrifices like the drainage on his bank account and sanity.
The ring of the doorbell activated his emergency protocols and his servo found itself replaced by a buzzsaw. Leaping to his pedes, he put it away and hurried to unlock the door. Twice, he keyed in the access code wrongly before it slid aside.
“Hello,” the voice came from above Knockout’s helm but he was staring at an awfully not-blue chassis. “Your pizza.”
The stranger held out four boxes of pizza, expecting Knockout, the small bot that he was, to take them.
But he had maintained all the variables, Knockout thought, dumbfounded. He should have gotten Breakdown. Who was this imposter that took his place?
Dazed, Knockout held up his servos, neglecting to consider his own capability as his processor ran through possible sources of error. The boxes dropped into his arms and he stumbled under their weight.
In an instant, Thundercracker was by his side, taking half the load from him. Knockout’s processor barely registered the help.
“Was there a change in the roster?” Thundercracker asked the stranger. “Usually, we have the same guy delivering our pizza. Did something happen to him?”
The inquiry and the lie was so natural that Knockout snapped back from the spiral of his thoughts, impressed. Suddenly, he was a lot more grateful to have Thundercracker here instead of Skywarp or Starscream.
“I ‘unno, think he’s sick or something. Pro’ly won’t be seeing him around for a bit.”
The energon in Knockout’s fuel lines chilled.
Thundercracker expressed his thanks then shut the door in the stranger’s face. Instead of sarcastically asking what they were going to do with all the pizza like Knockout had expected, he set them down on the dining table and turned to Knockout, concern in his optics.
“Do you want to call him? If he isn’t at work, then he’s definitely off-duty,” he said, voice soothingly even.
“After not calling for an entire cycle?”
“You didn’t ghost him on purpose. Don’t overthink it—that’s what got you into this mess in the first place. Just check in on him, see how he’s doing, and you might earn his forgiveness. If he’s even displeased at all.”
“Yeah,” Knockout nodded. “Yeah, okay, sounds like a good idea.”
Thundercracker gathered his things and left for his room, giving Knockout the privacy he needed as he dialled in Breakdown’s frequency.
“Hello?”
Knockout sighed in relief. Breakdown didn’t sound too bad despite his sickness. Half of Knockout had also worried that Breakdown had given him a fake number, but the voice was definitely that of the delivery bot from a deca-cycle ago. Knockout would know; he hadn’t stopped replaying their brief interaction on his HUD every night since.
“Hey,” Knockout replied, falling back to his familiar flirty, how-you-doin’ voice. “It’s Knockout. My friends and I ordered pizza a deca-cycle ago and you gave me your frequency.”
A burst of laughter crackler directly into Knockout’s processor. Its echo in the suddenly empty chamber of his processor was the nicest sound he had ever heard.
“Of course, I remember, how could I forget? So, uh, was the pizza good?”
Gone was the self-conscious bot that had stood at their threshold. Knockout smiled.
“Yeah,” he said even though he could hardly recall what it tasted like. He reached to open one of the boxes that had just arrived. “Yeah, it was so good we ordered again today. Why didn’t you show up? I was looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Why didn’t you call earlier? I was looking forward to hearing from you.”
Knockout stiffened, but Breakdown’s words lacked the bitter bite he had expected. Before he could properly formulate a reply, however, Breakdown continued, his tone dipping, “What took you so long? Nervous?”
A thrill of electricity surged down Knockout’s spinal strut and his optics widened in surprise. An inexorable grin forced its way onto his face. He ran his digits along his lower lip, thinking of how to play this game Breakdown was initiating.
But, at the back of his processor, he knew what Breakdown was doing. He had done the very same thing many times before at countless social events, turning the question back on the asker to get out of answering them.
“So, when can I see you again? Your colleague said you were sick. You know, I’m something of a doctor myself,” Knockout said, examining the tips of his digits. He refused to be diverted by such a simple tactic, as much as he wanted to.
“Ohhh, I don’t know, it could be a while.”
Knockout paused, glancing up.
“Why is that? Is it bad?”
It certainly didn’t sound very bad. What kind of ailment would confine such a massive bot to their habsuite for an extended period of time? Certainly not the kind that simply affected his internal programming. Had Breakdown gotten himself injured somehow?
“I don’t want to risk passing it to you or anything, so maybe I’ll let you know when I’m feeling better and we can go out to get some energon together or something. If you’re interested, of course.”
Knockout’s optics narrowed at the blatant facade. He was a medic, for goodness’ sake, and this bot was far clearly too honest to outsmart him.
“Hmm, that sounds lovely,” Knockout said, forcing levity back into his voice. He reminded himself of how adorably considerate this bot was, deception aside, and changed the topic, asking Breakdown what he thought about the new cybercat cafe opening up in this district.
Breakdown became a lot more conversational after that and Knockout allowed himself to relax somewhat, enjoying it though the lingering feeling of something being off never left him.
The call ended with a click from Knockout’s end when the door to the habsuite opened and Starscream and Skywarp fell over each other trying to show him their finds. Outside, night had fallen.
“Two shanix, for a tub this huge?” Knockout exclaimed as Starscream took out his new polish.
“You can have that. I don’t use that brand,” Starscream said and tossed it to him.
“Primus, is that pizza?” Skywarp said, stumbling to the table. “Thank goodness, I’m starving. You have no idea how much energy it takes to keep up with Starscream. I don’t know how he does it in heels.”
Sometime in the middle of their unboxing, Thundercracker had emerged from his room. He leaned close to Knockout’s helm, startling him, and asked, “How come I didn’t hear you squealing and laughing?”
Knockout shied away from Thundercracker’s penetrating gaze, considering how much to tell these Seekers. His suspicions were only founded on his feelings and instinctive knowledge as a medic and a socialite, not actual evidence.
Breakdown wasn’t creeping around him on purpose though, that much was certain. Otherwise, he would not have seemed so reluctant to hang up, nor would he have promised to call the very next solar cycle.
Perhaps there were some things going on that could not be said on an open frequency, but if he could demand an explanation in person… Knockout, having spent far too much time with Starscream, was now hell-bent on finding out what was happening with Breakdown.
He turned to Starscream and asked, “How good are you at stalking?”
Starscream, whose servos had been rapidly unpacking his goodies, stilled. He smirked at Knockout, a mischievous glint in his glowing red optics.
“You’ve come to the right place,” Skywarp said in an overloud, conspiratorial whisper. “He gifted his boyfriend a perfectly sized codpiece on their second date. Measurements were taken with one picture and an empty cube of energon.”
The diabolical look on Starscream’s face evaporated, replaced by the horror of betrayal.
“Shut up!”
The slice of pizza that hit the side of Skywarp’s helm slid down to the floor with a thwack as he burst into hysterical laughter. Thundercracker started scolding them about the messes they always made and how he had to clean up after them each time.
Knockout cast his optics skyward, begging Primus for strength. How was he to get anything done with these three around?
Standing outside of the pizzeria, four bots tilted their helms back to stare at the flickering sign in mystified awe.
‘Chemical Breakdowns Only,’ it read. Below the neon pink words lay a lopsided subtitle, ‘Ain’t no time for emotional breakdowns with good fuel in your tanks’.
“How much did you say the pizza cost again?” Skywarp asked.
“Twelve shanix for Starscream’s super large energon wheel,” Knockout said. “I remember. I paid for it.”
And it looked like that money had been put to good use.
The two-story pizzeria towered between squat shops in the middle of a run-down street. Retrorats scurried about, scavenging for discarded fuel from trash cans that guarded the entrances to other stores.
However, they steered clear of Chemical Breakdowns Only, driven away by the ethereal glow of light flowing from within the pizzeria or the complete lack of scraps on the pathway before it.
Tinted windows forbade passersby from violating the privacy of the pizzeria’s guests, though no one seemed to be dining in at the moment. Not a sound could be heard, save for the rustles of a rodent rummaging for food.
Knockout was almost too intimidated to approach the establishment.
“Starscream, are you certain this is the right place?” Thundercracker asked.
“For the last time, yes. You can look it up on the datanet.”
“And you’re certain that Breakdown will be in there?”
Starscream glanced at him sidelong, obviously irritated. He strode forward first, braving the unknown. The automatic doors slid open for him, ringing a pleasant bell as the rest followed.
No one stood behind the counter, but that was the least of Knockout’s concerns. He looked around in amazement, feeling as if he had just stepped into a high-end restaurant rather than some random pizzeria.
Though small, it was more cosy than cramped. Dim, yellow lighting basked the window-side seats in a warm glow. Patrons could look out into the street, although Knockout questioned what there was to look at.
Small potted crystal plants adorned the centre of each table as well as hung from the ceiling throughout the store. Tendrils bearing leaves and flowers framed the glass display featuring energon treats as well as hugged the railings that led up to the second floor.
“I didn’t know they sold crystalised energon,” Skywarp said, leaning to inspect the glass display. Sensing his proximity, it began to rotate slowly, showing off its colourful contents like dancers at a ball.
Knockout wondered how high the budget was for such a place.
“Because we only order in,” Thundercracker replied.
“But they don’t show it on their menu either.”
“Because it’s not for delivery. They’d melt before they even arrive, stupid,” Starscream said.
Behind the counter was a corridor that led to what Knockout suspected were the kitchens and storage rooms. A shuffling came from it.
“Welcome to Chemical Breakdowns Only.” The captivating voice preceded the appearance of a familiar grey bot in an apron. “Apologies for the delay, what can I–”
“Megatron???” Starscream exploded.
Skywarp released a slow whistle. With a shake of his helm, Thundercracker muttered, “I’m going to wait outside,” and walked back out the door.
“The boyfriend,” Skywarp warned Knockout before he, too, scampered out after his wingmate.
And Knockout had to admit, Starscream was right—the boyfriend did look better than he did in the picture. Built with a frame made to withstand heavy blows and noble features that reminded Knockout of Senators, he finally understood why Starscream couldn’t keep himself away. Scratched paint could not dampen the regal air with which Megatron carried himself.
Those scratches were also starting to look a lot like the claw marks of a Seeker. Megatron wore them proudly, like trophies won in courtship rather than battle, though he had a fair share of the latter as well.
“What are you doing here?” Megatron and Starscream asked at the same time.
“You didn’t tell me you work here,” Starscream accused as he tried to push himself around the counter. Despite being the larger bot, Megatron stepped back, as if cornered.
“Starscream, please,” he said as he opened the swinging doors, “let’s head to the back and we can discuss this in a civilised manner.”
Underneath Starscream’s screeching and Megatron’s desperate attempts at ushering him to a less conspicuous place, a smaller voice almost went unheard.
“Knockout?” Breakdown called. Megatron stepped aside, offering him an apologetic glance as he dragged Starscream past him. Bewildered, Breakdown looked to Knockout for an explanation with one large optic.
“What happened to you?” Knockout asked, taking in the shattered glass that used to be Breakdown’s other optic. Only stellar cycles of professional training kept him from flinching away at the disturbing sight. One could only imagine the pain that came with the administration of such a blow.
The medic that tended to Breakdown had done a questionable job, to say the least. If it were up to Knockout, he would have removed the entire glass segment, then weld a patch over the wound to protect it from further injury while a replacement was ordered.
But that wasn’t the only thing that needed to be fixed.
A cast immobilised Breakdown’s arm. Knockout frowned at the metal that was supposed to be Breakdown’s forearm, but it had been crumpled beyond recognition. It should have been replaced.
Knockout suspected that Breakdown had not paid a visit to a medic after all.
Breakdown approached the counter with a limp, the bolts on his pedes also having yet to be replaced.
“Some sickness, huh,” Knockout said. He regarded Breakdown, waiting for an explanation as he fought against every instinct ingrained into his programming to whip the wounded bot away to the nearest medbay and work on the injuries himself.
“Some job, huh,” Breakdown said, averting his optic.
He grabbed two plates and a few desserts from the counter and gestured to one of the tables. Hesitantly, Knockout took a seat and crossed his pedes. He didn’t touch the confectionery set down before him.
Breakdown slid into the chair opposite him. He gulped and clasped his servos on the table before withdrawing them again, hiding them.
Fascinating, how the easygoing bot over comms and the fumbling bot before him now were one and the same.
“How to put this?” Breakdown began.
“As straightforward as possible, if you please.”
“You’ve heard of the Decepticons?” Breakdown asked.
That was what Megatron’s followers called themselves. Like a magnet, the purple insignia, painted as a mural on one wall of the cafe, pulled Knockout’s optics to them. He nodded.
“Have you heard of the rumours about what we’re planning?”
Knockout hesitated with an apprehensive frown. He shook his helm.
“Revolution.”
The word echoed in the empty cafe, Megatron and Starscream having retreated to one of the rooms behind the counter. Knockout groaned quietly as sounds of interfacing floated out from the room of which the door had yet to be shut.
“Explain,” Knockout said, if only so Breakdown’s voice could smother the obscene noise which was only growing in volume.
Breakdown shook his helm. Regretfully, he said, “I cannot tell you much, except that it has a lot to do with the rising inability to lead a safe and secure life in these parts.” He perked up. Knockout uncrossed his pedes and sat a bit straighter as Breakdown leaned in. “However, if you want to join us, I’m sure Megatron will let you into the inner circle. We are in need of medics, evidently.”
Knockout grimaced at Breakdown’s flippant gesture at himself.
“And what is your role in all this? What kind of job has you delivering pizzas one moment and destroying your frame the next?”
Breakdown shrugged as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “Funds have to come from somewhere. I ran into some guards while attempting to break the team into a facility. Can’t tell you much more than that, sorry. But if you’re interested, I can put you in contact with our Communications Officer. He’s a bit intimidating, the quiet type, but he leaves you alone if you don’t give him any trouble. So, are you in?”
Knockout grabbed a crystal cube and crushed it between his dentae. He looked from Breakdown’s eager optic to the street outside.
Thundercracker flipped a coin as Skywarp watched with an anticipatory crouch. It landed on heads and Skywarp burst into the air with a cheer, thrusters powering his jump. None of that could be heard from within the pizzeria. Was this place soundproofed as well?
Thundercracker yanked Skywarp back down to the ground by the pedes and left him there as he made his way back towards the building.
The three Seekers belonged together, the dynamics of their trine established long before Knockout’s arrival. It wouldn’t be long before he was sidelined again. Best to find new companions before that happened.
Besides, a revolution could bring some much needed excitement into his life.
He turned back to the hopeful face waiting for his answer. Although his decision had been made, he said, “I’ll think about it.”
As Thundercracker barged in, demanding for Starscream, Knockout rose from his seat. The disappointment that darkened Breakdown’s face for a moment tugged at his spark, but Knockout stayed resolute. It paid to be prudent in making commitments.
As Knockout left, he picked up a small cube and pressed it against Breakdown’s mouth, startling the bot. Thermoregulatory fans kicked on at maximum power as Breakdown slowly opened his mouth, allowing the treat and the tip of Knockout’s digit to slip in.
Knockout smiled. He lifted his digit to his own mouth and licked the remains off them.
“See you around, Breakdown,” he promised and left to catch up with the utterly dishevelled Seeker and his friends.
He didn’t look to see Breakdown’s reaction. There would be plenty more opportunities to tease him again later.