Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"He'll make nice work for scraps!"

The last words B had heard, at least, he thought they might've been. He might've heard them in a dream about what happened? He could barely think between the sounds of junk falling from the chute behind him onto the conveyor belt, of which he slammed his helm into when tossed into the room, and the ringing in his audials. He onlined his optics slowly, a deep grimace plastered onto his face before the reality of it all struck him.

B reached his hand out to the door, voice crackling as he shouted "WAIT!" before realizing it's far too late. The door is already shut, and his processor is hit with a splitting migraine.

After those years of working, how did he end up down here? Vision blurry and head reeling, sprawled on the floor in a dazed state. He began to think. Everything was fuzzy; a scratched out portion of his life, like a berth with only one leg to it. All he knows is it was important. He was someone, and that someone was important. The way he couldn't tell exactly how he was was driving him mental. The other legs to his mental berth are scattered around, just no screws or bolts to nail them back in. All he knew is he was someone important.

He was someone.

Though, apparently nobody around was exactly ecstatic about that.

Demoted, he couldn't figure out why. From.. wherever high position, down again, and again, till here. All the way down to here, wherever here was. He wished he even had a guess to what he did wrong, what he was even doing entirely? All he knew is that he was demoted again and again, but he had once had a good job at some point. One he enjoyed. One better than.. wherever he is now. Blurs of long decorated halls, padwork and never ending calls, letters and different addresses, caves and jackhammers, boxes moving train to train. He's been everywhere. He didn't even know why he was ever even demoted.. safety concerns? Wrongly organized files? Boxes crashing and spilling? None of these things show in his mind.

This time, he thought the superiors would be taking him to clean the streets perhaps? Maybe put him onto waste management? Just a few levels down at the most, like he so heard they did to demoted bots, like they had been doing with him. But, no. He could've never expected this.

Sub level 50. Who knew it was even a thing! He only knew the name because he heard it in whispers among the high staff, somewhere. Blurry helms of gold talking beside him in hushed tones, walls of matching shades of expensive, rare metals, covered in statues and cybertronian glyphs. Whispers quickly shushing as Sentinel Prime passed by, following behind other important frames his memory folder couldn't find the faces of. All returned back to formation. All except his processor.

Why B-127 was there, he couldn't say. Why he couldn't remember much of before being thrown down here, he couldn't say. Why he already had a slight fear he couldn't brush off for the prime he couldn't say. He didn't have anything to say, largely due to the gap of memory. But partly because he can feel his mandible clench.

B could feel his servos twitch and his venting pause. Each time he tried to think too hard about back then, his chassis grew tight and the faces of those he knew got slightly blurrier in his memory. He decided to avoid the growing knot in his tank by taking a moment to look around. He'll live in the present.

It's not like the present is all that grand either, arguably harder to think about. He hums in a mix of curiosity and disappointment as he looks around.

The present in question, is all around pretty dark. The room glows a deep red behind him, just enough to see.. barely. B turns around to look at his new surroundings. Though, he winces and returns back to his position laying on the floor, his back strut craned uncomfortably against the back of the conveyor belt. Something in his chassis feels like its poking at him, stabbing and just sharp enough to hurt if he bends at the wrong angle.

After a deep invent, he turns slower, pain now just an unpleasant, pulsing ache in his chassis. His current environment was a very dark room, only lit by the aforementioned red light, which he discovers is a furnace. Leading into the furnace is a long conveyor belt, with a basket and chute sort of structure at the other end.

Various heaps of scraps falls out of the chute, following the conveyor belt into the furnace, the crackling of the fire eating its share shadowed by the clattering of more scraps falling. There's a door to the left, a large, sliding door. B gingerly stands to his pedes, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in one of his pedes from being thrown down to the sub level, as well as when somebot picked him up to properly throw him into the dark room, before shutting the door. Locking it. With no other way out, unless he could fly. He could've sworn he could fly.. Probably just processor damage after falling. Thinking about it, a lot more hurt than just the pulsing aches in his chassis, pedes, and helm.

B's vocalizer crackled as he intook, ending up in a fit of sneezing and coughing his vents out. Must be cause the room he's currently in is full of smoke rising to the ceiling. Right, smoke not great for the vents. Fire in an enclosed space too long is bad, right? Find better air, that is his goal now.

With a grunt, followed by a crackle that vibrated in his vocalizer, B found his footing, painfully. Clutching his chassis gently, but he was up. There's a door to the right. Limping over to it, he sheepishly opens the door. There's a table of sorts. That's about it.

Well, slag. He'll have to get used to the smoke in his new position. It'll be fine. There's a face mask on the table, perfect! B-127 fits it onto his face plate, blinking a few times to get used to the even darker vision in the mask. It's almost harder to vent, but less smoke hopefully, since his vents are mostly on his helmet.

With a sub level nobody but the highest staff knew about, this must be an very important job! An important job for B.. was it 127? 126? Sixty-seven? 127 sounds about right, he'll stick with that when he talks to the other bots around!

Now that he thinks about it, he hasn't heard anyone down here yet, let alone seen anyone. It seems like there are only those two rooms. How odd. No berth means he'll probably be released to his own quarters soon. No other bots means no shared quarters! He must be doing something very important if nobody else is working with him. Yeah, that's it! It's weird without his coworkers here right now, usually having been surrounded by his golden subordinates.. along with other figures he worked with. Purples with a glowing yellow optic, blues and auto-tuned sound. Reds and blues with a sassy demeanor. He can't bring himself to remember any of these designations. He misses banter and laughs and engex with servos wrapped around shoulders, playful touches and laughs and jokes. Other bots voices.

He hasn't heard anything but clatters of metals and crackling fire and his own vents in.. however long he's been down here, half a joor? He invents, testing how bad the crackle and tingle in his vocalizer feels before speaking.

"Ba weep gr-ACKGH— CCGHRKGH-"

Would've been quiet if it wasn't for the coughing fit he fell into as he slumps over, servo covering one vent as he screws his optics shut. He's leaning over the table now, his vocalizer tingling and crackling in pain as he coughs. His words been practically silent in a room with other bots. Here, it echoes. It bounces off the metal walls straight to his audials. Where did he even learn these words? What was he trying to say again? It doesn't matter now, all he knows is he can barely speak for now. He lifts his mask, muffled, cracked coughs of static now echo even louder.

He vents heavily with a wheeze and crackle, chassis now hurting more than ever before. He's still leaning over the table. This is a really big inconvenience just for this important job. Remember why you're doing this, B, it's important! He feels lucky, but not. He wants to say mostly lucky, but it's quite the opposite. He keeps thinking of other bots. How long has he gone without someone else again? Recharge crosses his mind, but he crosses it out as he might not be off shift yet. Sentinel could be coming to deliver him to his quarters any minute now! Maybe with the others too.

He shouldn't already miss them, it's only been one shift, barely. Even if his optics are already drowsy from reasons besides smoke, and his vents already feel covered in soot and ash. He's only been here.. maximum a few joors. Maybe.

Ugh, B-127! Stop thinking about when your shift ends! They'll come and tell you! Silly B-127, worrying your helm off for nothing.

Yeah.. yeah! He'll see them again soon, it's no issue! He doesn't question any further for the moment, because he's heard that voice before.He bangs a light fist into his own helm as to berate himself, still venting like a madman.

He limps back to the conveyor belt room, condensation building in his vents from the heat. He sits and watches for a bit.

Various metal scraps fall down the chute.. oranges and bronzes and silvers blur together, few pieces mildly intriguing, but not warranting of a rescue from the flames. Logos of businesses barely visible flash away as they're engulfed by the fire. Most pieces are rusted and covered in debris or dust. Something shiny catches. Tiny light bulbs colored blue and yellow, just barely scratched. All in a neat row.

B-127 picks one bulb up, and the rest follow on a string. Fairy lights! Fun! The blue glow is very contrasting to the rest of the rooms lighting, casting an almost purple hue, mostly snuffed by the fire glow. He feels connected to the light. He'll grab them. Turning, B-127 strings the lights to the door frame leading into the break room. Festive! For what festival, he doesn't know… what time is it, anyhow? Not exactly a window out to see how long he's been here. It hasn't felt long, but too long. Too long without proper instruction on what to do.

As he thinks, a new kind of sound hits the conveyor, unlike metal. A soft thump against the clanks and crashes of the other scraps. He turns. Energon! Kind of dirty and chipped at the corners, a few bits just crumbs of bouncy pieces, equivalent texture to ripped rubber, but energon nonetheless. Three cubes, plus the bits and pieces. Thinking about it, B doesn't remember the last time he had fueled. He'll use one now as first meal of the cycle. These must've been his daily rations! Though, they could've at the least bagged them up.. protected them from the elements somehow. The smaller ones must be.. snacks of sorts? What luxury!

He'll pull up his mask and pop one in his intake, allowing the block to melt before taking it in with a gulp. He slides back a compartment on his arm. The hollowness feels off. He puts the other cubes inside. B-127 could've sworn there was something in that spot, when he was important at least. He remembered directing bits around, swinging his arm in directions. He remembers sparring with his bare servos. He doubts he can do that right now, in the condition he's in. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he really wasn't important.

…

Nonsense! Is he kidding himself? Of course he's important! He has a job so special it seems like nobody else is around to do it! He's the perfect mech for the job, how exciting is that? B-127's soft smile relaxes a bit as he brings himself back to his current position, the aftertaste of the energon… odd. Its fuel though, so he won't complain. Maybe it's a more fancy acquired taste. He's only getting the best quality here!

There is no way to tell the time, so he'll have to time everything through by hunger and energy, he supposed. More scraps of metal and glass and other materials falls from the chute. B digs through the pile, what else is he supposed to do? He finds a piece of metal with one edge sliced to a thin, sharp point. Supposedly the end of some sort of blade.. He will take it, his second ever keepsake item! He'll stand on the tips of his pedes, and make a sharp line along the wall beside him. Perfect! It feels like home already.

He knows this job will be different.

It'll be great.

He'll be important.

He's important.

It's not looking so great.

He's burnt through most all of the energon supplied to him yesterday. Was it yesterday? Time isn't very visible here, so he'll have to assume. He might've just burned through it all within a joor, maybe it's been a whole cycle. Maybe it's even been a stellar cycle. It's hard to think with fire constantly crackling in your audial. B-127 was left with the rubbery tidbits and a whole lot of scraps of gunk left lying around. Bee's tank grumbles. He intakes the three or four bits he's put on the table in the side room. He's still hungry. He still needs fuel.

Is he selfish for that? He already has this high up position that he's suspicious about, and now's he's complaining about needing more to fuel with? How ungrateful. Recharge pricks at his optics. Maybe it's time to power down, he hasn't done that since he was ranked here. B-127 tries to sit himself atop the table, but it creaks like it'll collapse under his weight.

That's the last thing his aching form needs, a fall and splinters of metal to clean up.Maybe laying off the energon would be good, since his weight alone almost broke the table. Isn't he supposed to be let out anyway? That could've just been his fuel break. Yeah, that's it. Three whole cubes of energon for one meal! Surely luxurious.

They'll let him out of here eventually. Take him to the private quarters he thought about.. maybe he'll have a roommate with another job. Maybe he'll see the red and blue one again, wings fluttering slightly as they see each other again at the end of their separate shifts, talking and gossiping about their workdays. Did he have wings? He can't recall. He misses other bots. B-127 will have to deal with it. It's barely been a cycle!

But how horribly he already misses other bots. What other bots does he know, besides the golden ones that stood alongside him in blurred, spotty memories? He knows Sentinel Prime, that's easy. Star.. something? Is that the right designation? Something-wave. Sound? Sounds right, their voice was strange. Soundwave it is. Another something-wave.. a lot of waves. He'll ask about that when he sees them again.

All those other bots were important as well! Just like him! He can envision standing by them, or in front of them, kneeling to the prime, among other figures.. the High Guard, protecting the Primes. Though, he can only envision one prime. That must be right, only one. Silly B-127! But he swears there was more than one. He can't bring himself to theorize any more, recharge tugs at him. Surely it'd be fine to take a little power-nap, right? It is his break after all.

As B-127 thinks, he finds himself slowly slumping to sit his helm among the basket piece where metals drop. It's comfy enough. Surely the dropper will stop eventually.

His optics offline slowly, slightly itchy with smoke surrounding him. He murmurs, rubbing a dirty servo over his optic, only to make the issue slightly worse. He just now is remembering the general discomfort he's in. His pedes are still killing him, his back strut feels like it's going to snap, and his chassis still stings and pokes when he bends the wrong way, which he happened to be in right now. He adjusts a bit, before offlining his optics once more and falling into recharge.

…

Clunk!

"SLAG!"

B-127 jolts up, a searing pain in the back of his helmet as he realizes what happened. Face pressed into the conveyor, friction burn causing a small spark between the two surfaces, and pounds of metal on top of him. He's still so tired, he considers even trying to get up. He'll have to. This is his job now.

He attempted to lifted himself weakly, falling back onto the conveyor, wincing when his face plate fell back onto the grinding surface. Desperate now, he used his servos to throw scraps about. Anywhere not on top of him is fine. He could hear more junk hitting the walls of the chute above him, it sounded heavy.

Very heavy.

Scrambling now, he pushed the pile away, till there was finally enough space to just brush the rest off and lift himself up quickly. With a deep vent, he lifts his helm with a grunt. B-127 jumped back a bit when he saw the clear line of blue, glowing liquid smeared across the conveyor where his faceplate was slammed down. His lifts a servo to his face, and pulls back with a yelp as the touch causes a roaring pain.

The energon produces a blue glow from the convener. Bright, contrasting the red the rest of the room was covered in. He puts a shaky servo just above the smear, blue light outlining his digits. It's almost beautiful. It is beautiful. The blue glow feels familiar around his servo in a way. He wanted to pick it up and take it for himself, just feel the glow on him. He jumps again as more scraps fall from the chute, covering the light. The slight smile he had fades as the light does.

B-127 slumps to the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him and helm leaning on the side of the conveyor belt. One servo hovers above his helm as the other lay by him limp. He lifts one digit, looking at it, pretending there's still that calming, radiant glow behind it. He misses it already. He wants more of that similarity.

His face aches again as his expression changes, tugging at the wound. Optics widen in thought.

He has more of that similarity.

His servo lifts for an sharp scrap on the floor by him, discarded previously in his scuffle with the pile that had him buried.

…

No!

Primus, no! What are you thinking, B?!

He wouldn't do anything drastic! Not now, that's unnecessary! He puts his servo back onto the floor, don't be ridiculous,B-127! They'll come for him any minute now, and it's only been…

He has no clue.

He could've been awake for two cycles, or two joors. He could've recharged for 15 seconds, or 15 joors. He curls his stabilizing servos to his chassis as he thinks, arms wrapping himself in a hug.

He'll see them all again. He'll see the glow eventually, and the blue and red bot from his memories, greeting him with a smile as he drifts off again.

"Will I?"

Chapter Text

"Will I?"

Of course you'll do fine.

Metal wings flutter as back-strut's straighten. Newly shined red armor glimmers as yellow optics look around the golden room in absolute awe. He was the last of his trine to go be in this room, to go through this process. About time, the others would've said.

They knew the whole scientist-dream he had would go bust, and he'd have to join his other two trine-mates in their profession. All their frames were all forged with the idea in mind; the idea of combat. They were seekers, after all. It's a shame he couldn't drag his lab partner from the academy along with him for this. Though sturdy;, that mech could barely hurt a cyberfly.

That slagging mech and his.. everything. Starscream kind of misses him.

…

Forget him. That jet ruined his chance at even graduating the academy! What other option would Starscream have than to join the High Guard with the other two jet-build bots he knew so well? After that large shuttle he trusted like his two stabilizing servos went and made him look bad with his crash, he doubted any scientific fields would take him now. Thanks for that, fragger. It wasn't his fault the mech wanted to explore a planet light years away for a research project! Whatever, he's getting off topic. He shouldn't waste anymore time thinking of him. He has better stuff now.

He'll be fine here. The High Guard is always looking for more air support, or that's what his trine has told him over small visits. His trine is sure to vouch for him, anyway. He's smarter than them as well, you have to admit he's a valuable asset! How hard could this little interview be? he's great at small talk, and can very easily make himself look good with a few charming words and a smile.

Shiny, golden, untouched drones stand in neat rows leading down a long hallway. The drones make Starscream slightly self conscious despite his newly polished frame. The room was made of expensive metals, the walls covered in old cybertronian glyphs, an almost dead language he studied in the academy thankfully. That was one of the perks of being here after already being schooled; knowing the histories of everything around him without a blah-blah-blah to fill in space for what most didn't know specifics to. He did, unlike many he knew.

According to his unfortunately rusty memory on the topic, and the fact the glyphs were rather hard to read due to small font, they restated the story of Primus. All bots had known this since they were sparklings, of course, so there's not much to comment on in that aspect. It also seemed to tell the stories of the Primes, all 12. Starscreams heard this more than he could count, so he skims over that. One line catches his optic. The name Sentinel.

He's never heard of this mech, so they'll probably be of way less importance. Some sort of advisor or secretary, most likely.

Speaking of less important bots, the dozens of drones stamped their pedes, positioning themselves with impossibly straighter backstruts. Starscream jumped at the sudden commotion, of course, but straightened himself up as much as he could around the others. He wasn't very used to good posture, his previous career being hunching over samples and essays with his dear lab partner for nights that seemed to stretch for cycles, just to end up with a B+ in the two's most important assignment of the semester. Stupid, stupid, professor..

He focuses his attention back up to the end of the stairs.

With the opening of a rather grand, golden entry door, and a flick of a sparkly curtain, a mech Starscream has never seen before emerges.

A sturdy looking bot walks out from the extravagant entryway. Gold, like the rest of the hundred drones, but with a different helm shape that was decorated with lines. He had smaller wings, unlike the rest of the drones, and a brand new looking paint job of black stripes running across their whole frame. Small, oval antennae stuck out, twitching slightly. They carried a large staff of sorts, a glowing blue triangular point at the end.

The golden bot stamped his staff on the ground, the drones around the corridor responding with the stomp of a pede. Starscream exvented slightly. From up here, the mystery mech seems tall, intimidating even. Star finds himself straightening more, trying to stop the anxious twitch of his wings.

Golden mech throws the staff into the air, and it folds into only the upper point. He subspaces the rest of the staff into some sort of compartment on his servo, leaving just the blue, glowing peak sticking out. He makes his way down the stairs. Towards Starscream.

"We don't get accepted recruits much anymore, you know?"

His voice is a lot more casual Starscream imagined. As well as a lot shorter. He realizes this last part as the golden bot stands just a foot or so away from him, about shoulder height. "Your Trine, I believe it's called, told me a lot about you." The golden bot seemed to observe him closer from behind the battle mask, leaning in slightly. Starscream can feel condensation build on his helm as the bot continues.

"I don't take their word lightly. They're some of my best soldiers."

He takes a step closer, and Starscream stiffens his posture more, looking down at the mystery mech with an anxious brow.

"Usually we do these trainings with up to twenty mech. I had this reserved just for you, since you're so important. Live up to the expectation I've set for you."

He held the blue point up, up towards Starscream's chin. Starscream let out a small vent in response. Primus, let this be easy.

Almost like a switch flipped in the shorter mech's processor, his shoulders lowered, and he subspaced the weapon for his usual servo, black with slightly sharpened digits. His battle mask fell to reveal a surprisingly soft-featured face. Dimples on either cheek, wide light blue optics, and a cheeky grin delivered with perfect dentae. Oh, great.

The shorter bot let out a laugh, starting as almost a wheeze till it getting up to a genuine, hearty laugh. "Oh, you should've seen yourself! Oh, who am I kidding, I shouldn't mess with recruits like that. I'm B-127! You?" The mech laughed again. "Ah, I'm just kidding again. I already know! Starscream, right?"

The golden bot, now established as B-127, held out his servo. Starscream took it reluctantly with his own slightly larger, shaky servo. Only once he had recovered and processed the onslaught of questions and information, of course. "Yeah.. yeah, that's my designation."

"Great, great, great!" B-127 shook the seeker's servo rather wildly a few times before releasing. He backed up a bit before beginning to talk again.

"Skywarp and Thundercracker don't talk about you much at all, but they told Sentinel you were looking for a job and sent that application to me. Oh, those two are great! I can't imagine growing up with them. How were they as sparklings? Annoying?"

Starscream took a klik buffer the questions before answering simply. "It was fine."

B-127 clearly felt the stiffness of Starscream, and continued speaking with a slightly smaller grin. "They told me about the whole academy thing. Big shame about Sky, huh?"

Now this guy was really on Starscream's nerves. Nobody really called Skyfire that besides himself, so for this.. stranger, who he wasn't even sure of the importance of, to call him that was rather irritating. "Can we get on to the test?"

B-127 could tell by the bite in Starscream's voice that he was, in fact, already irritated. B-127 did have that sort of effect on bots. "Alright, alright," He straightened his own posture, and took his staff out of subspace with a flick of his wrist, the stick in the air for a moment before landing neatly in his servo. He turned on his heel and began to climb the stairs. "Come on then, Screamer."

Screamer???

Starscream processes this rather embarrassing name as he heads up the stairs behind the shorter bot. He passes the golden drones still lining the halls, and he gets the feeling of optics and judgment tingle along his backstrut despite their impossibly still frames.

This job will surely be just great. Definitely what he wanted to do with his life, not like being one of the only bots from a higher level of Vos to not go into tyranny or suppress anyone of a different social class was one of his main goals. Look at him now; about to work for the government.

A few more fancy corridors and more scrambled ancient glyphs he couldn't exactly read later, the two bots found themselves at some sort of large, outdoor space in the middle of the rather elaborate building. Still surrounded by golden walls, some sort of courtyard. The space opted for the lower half to be glass that slid to allow entry and exit, the upper half being that same gold that covered elsewhere. An atrium of sorts.

Drones passed the atrium without a glance, visible through the glass, but never turning helms to pay any attention back. Starscream flips his attention back toward B-127 as he clears his throat.

"I don't think I need a flight test, considering your trinemate's results, you should be fine," B-127 fluttered his small wings a tinge. "but I'm not the one to judge flight. Sentinel should do that, but he's.. busy. You do know who Sentinel is, right?"

Starscream, of course, shook his helm as a no. Never heard of this guy in his life, actually. Not till he read the walls earlier.

"Well, he's the advisor to the Primes, very important mech. I don't think you'll be speaking to him much unless you get to higher up position in the High Guard.. but who knows about that! I don't even know if you can shoot yet."

Starscream shuffled his pede, before coughing falsely into his fist. A way to say 'get on with it!' without disregarding all professional standards he had set for himself before stepping into the lobby of the pit-slagged building a few joors ago. B-127 seemed to get the hint.

"Alright then, let's get on with it, huh?"

Starscream landed on the metal ground with a clank, stumbling a bit before coming back to form sloppily. "Oh come on, I know you got it!" B-127 encouraged.

At the moment, the shorter mech was about near done testing Starscream to his wits end. The current task was to make it through five small hoops without smacking into the wall directly behind of the last hoop, instead going straight up and looping back around to the ground where the first hoop began.

Greenery around them had began to be practically scorched from Starscream's jets blasting on them over and over again, but that didn't matter to either of the mech right now. Just that he finally got this right.

This last test had taken him about a joor longer than the rest, which he picked up the others with ease after a couple or so tries, even slamming two of the aim and shooting based tests with ease on first try. Surprising for a scientist, but Starscream is not all too shocked at this, considering his trine used to tussle like that with their cannons. He still have a few scuff marks to tell the story.

Starscream huffed, firing up his jets again with a growl before zooming back up through the hoops. His speed was grand, yes, but he couldn't angle himself right the slip through the gap between the last hoop and the wall, and always ended up slamming into the golden wall. He repeated this failure again, slamming against the wall with a grunt, before flying back down slightly more disheveled than before.

"Why don't we take a little break, huh? I'm trusting you based on what the people you know said, y'know? You're reeeaaal lucky, I don't usually go all this easy on the new recruits."

While Starscream was in fact grateful for the gentler treatment and the break, he couldn't possibly image B-127 being all that strict nor feared, not while staring into the light blue optics of his rounded face, edged with the slightest bit of worry. Wait, when did he get so close?

B-127 lifted a servo. "You got a little.. uh."

Starscream wiped his own servo across his face, looking back at the glowing blue smear presented to him. Oh. Fun.

He grumbled as he tilted his helm up, now realizing the slight throb of a helmache building. Not like he was a stranger to them, being a victim of migraines and stress before, but not too often did Starscream get one from brute force, neither did he often get a enstril-bleed. "You'll walk it off, it's fiiine." B-127 insured, though his reassurance just produced a dentae clench and a slight hiss of pain from Starscream. Oh well.

B-127 put a digit to his helm, and whispered something Starscream couldn't really figure out. As he did this, he lead the taller mech to sit on the metal ground, specifically a ledge to a bushel of Cybertronian Nightshade. Starscream could recognize it easily, its glowing purple hue an undoubtedly beautiful giveaway to its identity.

He takes this moment to look around, observe all the plants around him. Weeping Ruby and Cybertronian Nightshade were the most common among the lot, a few thistles and insignificant bushes around as well. Nothing he could name off the top of his helm, only the flowers he could do that with.

"What's your favorite plant, Starscream?"

Starscream takes a klik to process the question. "Why?"

"I don't know, I'm curious and I know you have a sciencey-background, so I thought you'd know all the sciencey-bits of plants!" B-127 got a bit closer, and continued bombarding questions without waiting for an answer. "My favorite is Glowmoss. Do you know anything fun about that?"

Starscream was quick to snap back. Snap as much as he could while trying not to anger his superior, at least. It's hard to believe the mech beside him had an angry wire in his frame, though. He digresses. "I don't know too much about plants here." The answer responded to just enough without it being obvious he was avoiding the question, nor withholding information. Perfect.

"Well, do you at least have a favorite?" B-127 pressed.

Starscream took a vent, then answered flatly.

"Vos Creeper."

"OOOOOHHH!! That makes sense, you're kinda scary. I heard they glow pink in energon reserves, like, even in a dead body! Is that true? Oh, who am I kidding, you probably don't know. You're not planty-sciencey." B-127 continued. "What do you like about them? For Glowmoss, I like the color."

Starscream sat there with a steady bleeding enstril, staring at the bot infront of him with a blank face. He answered plainly. "I don't know, I was born in Vos. It's important to me."

B-127's optical ridges shifted upward. "Ohhhh, of course! You're a seeker! Your trine never talked about Vos much, how was it?"

Starscream snapped back, for real this time. "It was fine, B- Are you gonna do anything about this, or are you gonna small talk me through the rest of my test?" He pointed to his enstril, holding a servo over it. Yes, the energon had began to slow, but it still leaked.

B-127 dropped the smile a bit just as a drone entered the atrium. The drone held two energon cubes in servo, bending down to deliver both to B-127. "Right, right. Here." He offered one to Starscream.

Starscream took a slow, hesitant sip. The energon was fine. It wasn't what he expected from the customs of the building that housed the most powerful mech in all of Cybertron, but it was fine. Must be some sort of acquired taste. "Sorry about the taste," B-127 began. "I commed for it to be delivered to us when I wasn't sure you'd get the job so.. it's not the usual we give out.

It took Starscream a second to process this. Connect the dots. "Wait, so this means I.."

"You got the position!" B-127 hopped up from his seat, jumping slightly higher than Starscream had expected from a mech of his stature. The orangey glow of the sky above them cast rays on B-127, black stripes lightened by the rays cast onto him.

Looking at him from above was a very different view. He looked the same under the glow when he pulled Starscream up from his seat, and he was back to looking down upon the other mech. Yellow optics stared at light blue ones at almost optic level as Bumblebee took flight with his smaller wings. Their energon cubes were forgotten by now. B-127 managed to appear more excited than Starscream about the news.

B-127 held the seeker by his shoulders. "Well, after you pass this one little thing. If you don't, then well.. you don't. But otherwise, you pass with flying colors!" Starscream's smile dropped a bit at the news. Right. This one little obstacle. How hard can it be? He's already been chipping at it for two joors.

Wiping his enstril again, energon now dried into a lightly glowing, darker blue crust, Starscream stands again. B-127 stands watching from a few feet away. Powering his jets up again, Starscream takes flight. Zooming through the hoops like he has so many times before, till finally reaching the fifth hoop. He angles his helm to stare up, and..

…

His pedes swing too far in front of himself, what would've been a perfect attempt resulting in a shaky, wobbly flight upward.

…

He's still going upward!

With a blown out jet on one pede, he manages to round down to the other side, landing with a thunk in front of the ever cheery B-127.

"WOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

Ever the cheery, indeed. He's acting almost as if he's the one getting the job. Is he truly this valuable of an asset? He knew he'd be very useful, but to this level was rather unexpected. B-127 wraps a servo around Starscream's shoulder, staring up at him with that dimpled smile he's grown to tolerate.

"Well, we do have to work on your form later, but you got the job!"

Starscream practically jumped, before landing back onto the metal ground with a clunk, wincing from the pressure on his blasted out jet.

"Oh, ouch." B-127 exclaims as he gets a good grip on the exact injury sustained by the taller mech. "We got a great medic, y'know? Designation Knockout." B-127 helped Starscream up, wrapping a servo around his shoulder. The golden bot grinned. "You'll he a great addition, I'm sure of it."