Chapter Text
The following is little to say of our planet's past. Many quotations relay the anecdote of the Golden Age of Cybertron. As this is a treacherous time in our history, its name is considered irony of the highest degree. It was more gilded than golden, filled with immense agony and suffering. The greatest antagonization of this era was that of Functionalism. This belief caused more suffering than can be imagined. While this writing tries to simplify the Golden Age as much as possible, this is by no means the most accurate or fitting representation of this trifling time.
Functionalism was the belief that everybot, based on their physique and mental fortitude, had an ideal job. This can be seen with—
"UUUUUUAAAAAAAggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Hotshot sighed with frustration, banging his helm against the wall. "This is soooooo boring."
"Really? You think?" Whirl glared daggers down at Hotshot from her place on the stacked tires.
"Yeah, I think," Hotshot shot back, annoyance sharp in his voice. "Why are we even learning this scrap? It's literally common knowledge!"
"Hotshot!" Whirl’s indignant cry echoed through the room. Cursing was not something she wanted to get in trouble for, especially not now.
"Primus! Can we not just study?" Medix shook his head with extreme frustration. "It's our last test of the year! I swear..." He was seriously considering leaving to study on his own if they were interrupted again.
"Shall I start from the top... again?" Wedge glared in Hotshot's direction to emphasize his irritation.
Hotshot rolled his eyes in response.
"Yes!" all of the bots except Hotshot exclaimed. Hotshot merely shrugged in silence.
"Alright. And no more interruptions, Hotshot." Wedge cleared his vocal processor. "The following is little to say of our planet's past. Many quotations relay the anecdote of the Golden Age of Cybertron..."
-‐---‐-----
"YES! 100%!" Whirl spun on the tip of her ped, a joyous whir humming through her gears.
Medix nodded to himself a few feet away. It was the expectation for him, after all. A perfect score was non-negotiable—a direct representation of his work ethic. Fortunately, this test had been the easiest of the entire year.
Hoist shrugged, silently sighing as he looked at his datapad. 87%. Not bad, but not great. It was a little disappointing, but at least his overall grade remained a 90%. Anything lower and he would have felt like a reject, which never did any favors for his confidence. Whirl, however, would always see him as a good guy, whether he was an F or an A student.
Hotshot and Wedge stood furthest down the hall. Wedge patted a dejected Hotshot on the shoulder. As predicted, the speedster's grade was less than satisfactory. A high C—barely passing, but passing nonetheless.
Wedge himself had scored a 95%, though he was still muttering under his breath about a question regarding Alpha Trion's life purpose. He was convinced the test was flawed; after all, all of the multiple-choice answers were technically partially right.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. The bots immediately recognized the steady, heavy tread of Professor Heatwave. As he rounded the corner, a rare smile broke across his faceplate.
“Good job, everyone! Everyone passed, and the final grades have been calculated," Heatwave announced. "The last few days you all have here at the academy will be free days.”
Hotshot and Wedge looked at each other, instantly communicating a dozen mischievous ideas through subtle shifts in their optics.
“With a few rules, of course,” Heatwave added sternly.
Hotshot's shoulders slumped. Wedge choked back a laugh. They were only playing, of course—neither of them actually planned on causing real trouble. Not on purpose, anyway. Not really.
But Heatwave knew them too well to trust that. Looking directly at Hotshot, the professor stated, “If you have to ask if it's destructive or not, it's probably against those rules.”
Hotshot rolled his eyes. “I know that!”
Heatwave shook his helm, silently hoping Whirl and Medix would keep the peace. “Alright. Unless there's anything any of you need, I will be in my office.”
As Heatwave retreated down the corridor, hoping his junior cadets would behave themselves for once, the bots exchanged glances.
“How about we watch something on the viewscreen...?” Hoist suggested, his tone laced with skepticism. He had no idea what Wedge and Hotshot were plotting, but he wanted to shut it down fast.
“Oooooooo! Good idea, Hoist!” Whirl said, static zapping excitedly in her voice.
“Great! Last one there is a stale energon cube!” Wedge yelled. He instantly transformed, tires screeching as he revved down the hall at top speed.
“Oh, no you don't!” Hotshot called out. He shifted into his jet mode, nearly searing Medix's faceplate with his afterburners as he blasted down the corridor right behind Wedge.
Whirl shrugged and started walking, Hoist keeping pace beside her. Medix groaned in annoyance and trailed about twenty feet behind them.
When Medix finally reached the door of their shared common room, he stopped and sighed. He was entirely unimpressed.
Wedge and Hotshot were already locked in a silent, deadpan struggle. Hotshot was slumped casually in a beanbag, pretending to look completely relaxed, but his fingers were wrapped in a iron grip around one end of the remote. Wedge stood over him, his faceplate completely blank, his extended arm stretched down to grip the exact opposite end of the controller. Neither was moving. Neither was letting go.
"Welp," Hotshot said, his voice breezy despite the white-knuckle grip he had on the plastic casing. "You guys wanna watch Velocipastor 2?"
Wedge didn't break eye contact, his servo twitching as he tried to subtly pry the remote upward. "They made a second one?!"
Whirl practically bounced into the room, ecstatic. She loved subpar cinema, firmly claiming the first movie was so bad it was good. No one else agreed, given the original's fractured plotline and terrible graphics.
"Yeah, no." Wedge gave a sudden, sharp yank, utilizing his extension arms to lift both the remote and Hotshot's arm a few inches into the air.
Hotshot didn't budge, instantly anchoring his weight and pulling the remote back down with a quiet grunt.
"Come on, it's a classic."
"Maybe we can pick something that won't get us all detention during our last week of the term," Wedge shot back, his gears whirring as he applied a fraction more leverage. The plastic frame of the remote groaned under the pressure.
"How about The Pit?" Medix suggested with rare enthusiasm, ignoring the slow-motion wrestling match happening on the floor. He genuinely appreciated the gritty realism of the medical docuseries.
"Ewwww, we are not watching anything educational," Hotshot complained. He suddenly slacked his grip for a split second, hoping to trip Wedge's balance, but Wedge anticipated it, locking his joints instantly. They were right back to a dead stalemate.
"What about Resident Alien?" Hoist asked, raising his voice slightly to cut through the bickering as he sat down. He was thoroughly tired of the petty fighting.
The magic words.
Wedge and Hotshot froze. Slowly, Hotshot loosened his fingers. Wedge retracted his arm, pulling the remote back to his chassis with a victorious, albeit subtle, nod. "Now someone is speaking my frequency," he muttered, quickly navigating the interface to select the show.
Hotshot leaned back into the beanbag, folding his arms behind his head. He actually liked Resident Alien too, though his pride would never allow him to admit that his frantic grabbing had been a fool's errand.
As the afternoon progressed, the cadets piled into the lounge to binge-watch their favorite series. Eventually, curiosity got the better of them, and Hotshot managed to put on the infamous sequel they had avoided.
When the credits finally rolled on Velocipastor 2, the room was dead silent.
Hotshot leaned back, crossing his arms over his chassis. "Okay, look. The explosion effects were still garbage, but you can't deny the cinematography improved."
Wedge didn't say a word; he just balled up a piece of scrap paper and threw it directly at Hotshot's faceplate.