Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Past 9:00PM and Griffin Rock's chief officer Charlie Burns is at peace of mind knowing that his youngest, Cody, is fast asleep in his room. If Cody had known that his family—including the bots—were all going to gather down in the bunker to essentially just hang out, he'd be raring to join. Now, in any other circumstance he would let him, it would be harmless; but he's a responsible father, and if Cody had known about their plan he would have to bar him from joining in. The simple reason being—the involvement of liquor.

Blades and Dani had been the ones to approach him with their fun little idea. They had cornered him in the afternoon when he had just come from a patrol with Chase. Blades had apparently recently found the stash of high-grade energon (Cybertronian alcohol) he took aboard with him on their space ship. "At first I thought I had lost it, or, or just had completely imagined bringing it with me in the first place. But actually, I think I just misplaced it! Hah! It was hiding inside the Sigma's internals for some inexplicable reason. Silly me then, heh."

The two of them had already told the others of their plan tonight; yes, it had to be tonight, because tonight was a rare alignment of their schedules where everyone is supposed to be off duty, unless their town throws a curve ball and suddenly there's an emergency. It happens usually.

Well, the night has been good so far. But mind you, it is still just the beginning of their "happy hour". Bots and Burnses assemble round in the corner of the bunker. The couch that faced towards the television screen had been rotated around. A centrepiece furniture for the circle of seats they've built for convenience. Kade, Graham, Dani all were crammed on it, while their father sat on a random chair beside it. All the bots were too big to just grab just any furniture, they all just found whatever flat and elevated that could bear their weight and just repurposed that as their seats. That is to say: crates. Their drinks were placed on a coffee table, for the humans, and yet another crate for the bots' own.

The Cybertronian's high-grade energon piqued him with its neon colours shimmering through the glass. There were three bottles of various sizes. One stumpy one illuminated with a toxic green, another was a tall and skinny one that was a bright pink, the last one was blue much like the regular energon they consume. They all have unique labels in Cybertronian he isn't able to decipher. On the human side they have a beer, a bourbon, and some homegrown Griffin Rock apple cider. Charlie is quite familiar with his children's drinking habits, he knows that Kade is most like his mother. Bourbon was her go-to drink as well.

But Charlie doesn't indulge, he never had a taste for it, and besides someone must be sober to respond to any emergencies. It seems that Boulder had the same idea, politely declining a glass of incandescent blue.

"No thanks," he tells Blades.

"Your loss."

Chase twirls around a glass of the same blue liquid in his hand, inspecting it thoroughly like some exotic curiosity. Heatwave had settled with his drink of pink, patiently cupping it in his lap. Blades poured himself the same beverage. So far the radioactive-like green liquor remains untouched.

"Are we actually gonna do something or are we just gonna chit-chat and get drunk?" Kade asks, pouring his bourbon in an iced glass.

"Well, the plan for tonight is we all gather round in a circle and we, Rescue Bots, tell you a story from our time on Cybertron."

"Blades," Heatwave interjects, "when did we agree to that? You never told me that's what we're doing."

The copter-bot nudged his leader with his elbow playfully. "Oh, shush, where's the harm in it? It'll be fun."

"I second that," chimes in Chase, "our mission is to learn about Earth and its cultures, but I do see the benefits of an equivocal exchange between humans and Cybertronians."

"Besides, don't our partners deserve to know Discharge, Minerva, Nightflight, and Heavywait?"

Charlie notices how Heatwave stiffened at the mention of those names. For all the time the bots have been in his family, there have only been hints and mentions of elements from their past. Boulder would recount an activity he and his friend Nightflight would do together, Chase would mention Cybertronian novels he'd read, Blades would point out a quirk shared by Dani and an old friend of his. But Heatwave has never said anything like the aforementioned remarks. Whenever the subject of their past were to be brought up he would always be quick to ask to move on or simply leave—physically leave—the conversation entirely. It's as if he would rather not remember at all. A mere acknowledgement will earn you a scoff.

He knows that Cybertron is dead. He knows that there is a war going on outside, and its shadow would always loom over the Rescue Bots in omnipresent danger. He knows that they've been asleep for thousands of years. And what once was 'just yesterday' happened over an unbelievably long stretch of time. He knows that knowing that would affect anyone, human or bot, tremendously.

To Heatwave the past seems to be a sensitive topic, the memories he holds onto of the life he knew must be painful to think about. He is guarded at any mention or remark, because he knows he must confront his own feelings about it.

Boulder carefully places a servo on Heatwave's shoulder. With a smile he says, "You can just let us do the talking."

The firetruck takes a sip, the first sip of alcohol of the night. Everyone is staring at him, expecting a rejection or reproach of some kind. Heatwave must be feeling inundated by his team. Charlie ponders intervening, but then Heatwave sighs. "Alright, what story do you have in mind, Blades?"

Blades's face immediately beams with enthusiasm, before quickly deflating into one that's unsure and thinking.

"And here I thought you actually did plan something properly for once."

"Well, okay, I thought I had one in mind but I'm having second thoughts. The one I had in mind was too boring and mundane in retrospect, look at all the wild scrap Griffin Rock has thrown at us? Hm? We need to live up to that. There needs to be a story that's thrilling, with twists and turns, and, most importantly, involves all of us."

"Don't you guys live like a million years? There's bound to be something," Dani says unhelpfully.

"But it doesn't mean we were together for all those years," Blades collects himself for the explanation. "See, Heatwave and I have known each other the longest. About a few hundred years before Boulder entered the Rescue Bots ranks, and a couple decades more before Chase joined us."

"We Rescue Bots have a dangerous job, we burn through team members often. I've known many bots but Blades is the only constant variable in my life."

"I'm gonna take that a compliment," he smirks. "Thank you, my dear friend Heatwave."

"Shut up."

Blades continues, ignoring Heatwave. "Anyway, all you have to know is our previous team consisted of Discharge, Minerva, Heavywait, Nightflight, and us four. Chase only joined us in the last fifty years together. That's a pretty good sprint to me, fifty years without one of us dead or transferred to another station." He chuckles facetiously.

"Question," Graham this time.

"Yes?"

"I've been wondering, what are all of your ages? I know Cybertronians don't age the same way as humans, but I've always wondered who's the oldest or youngest."

"Oh," he pointed to the right of Heatwave, "Boulder's the oldest. Aren't ya, bud?"

"Yeah, he's right," Boulder acquiesces. "I was forged during The Age of Wrath."

"The Age of Wrath?"

"There are five distinct periods in Cybertronian history: The Age of Evolution, The Age of Origins, The Age of Wrath, The Golden Age, and The Age of Rust. I was forged during The Age of Wrath, when Cybertron was ruled by the Quintessons."

"Heatwave and I were forged during the Golden Age while Chase was forged during The Age of Rust," Blades adds.

"So that means, Boulder's the oldest, followed by you and Heatwave, then Chase at the youngest," Graham concludes.

Boulder nods. "Indeed. Though age isn't as paramount in Cybertronian society than it is in human society, my theory is because of the lack of defined life stages. When a Cybertronian emerges from a hotspot they are already a fully fledged adult, we don't develop or grow like organics do."

"No wonder why you're so fascinated by life on Earth."

The sound of liquid and ice sloshing around interrupts their exposition. Kade yawns, "Will there be a quiz next period, Teach'? I thought we were here to listen to some high-octane story?" He brings his glass up to his lip and tilts it over.

Blades looks to his teammates lost. He frowns. "Sorry, guys, my processor's still buffering."

Kade takes another sip.

"You better find one quick before Kade passes out," teases Dani.

"Hey! I won't, I'm a very responsible drinker who knows his limits," he says as he takes yet another languid sip.

"Heatwave's the most responsible drinker I know, actually," Blades remarks with sarcasm, earning him a glare from the aforementioned bot.

"Oh," Chase speaks up, "I have one. Do you three recall the night when we found that trespasser in the basement?"

"Yes, but we can't use that story. Too short, too little drama or suspense, no twists in the narratives. Plus, lots of loose and open ends. We never found out how he got in or what happened to him after. It's just not compelling."

"I know one," everyone turns their head towards the deep and coarse voice of Heatwave's. He takes a gulp of his high-grade before saying, "I remember it clearly, and it happened not long before we boarded Sigma-17. We called it 'The Incident with the Turbofox and Scraplets'."

Blades's face beams with excitement yet again, even more this time with the added satisfaction of recognition. "Oh yeah! That one! Oh, ho ho, we need to tell it, definitely. It's perfect!"

"Uh, turbofox and scraplets?" Kade scratches the back of his head.

"Cybertronian wildlife," Boulder explains once more, "turbofoxes are not dissimilar to Earth foxes, just bigger and more flit. That's where the 'turbo' prefix of their name comes from, their great speed on four legs. They zip past you faster than a two-wheeler and with twice the manoeuvrability. And scraplets: they are dangerous pests with an appetite for metal, especially living metal. An annoyance at the least, straight up deadly at worst. Trust me, you do not want to find yourself in a swarm of scraplets."

"They're tiny, but absolutely terrifying!" Blades sank into himself. "I saw them eat a whole bot once."

"Are we gonna start or are we just gonna continue to prattle?" Kade complained.

"Right. Um, Boulder, take it away!"

"Why am I starting?"

"You're the one who found the turbofox in the first place, so why not start with the mystery? It'll hook the listeners."

"Oh, alright," Boulder cleared his throat. "Eventide; everyone was out clubbing, while Nightflight and I stayed behind at the station…"

The world was blessedly silent. Flicking through the interior CCTV brought about nothing but images of furniture and still air, only sometimes Boulder could spot the aftermath, the traces of a person. Who knocked over the chair in the recreation room? Which one of his teammates forgot to clean after themselves and spilt energon on the floor? He would've analysed the pixels for an eternity more if he didn't hear the promising footsteps of his friend's return.

"Y'know, you could've gone with them. Surveillance isn't very taxing," he told the bot behind him.

Nightflight huffed. "Nah, not particularly extroverted. And besides, I rather like spending my night with you and you only."

"So," interrupts Dani, tapping against her glass, "what's this Nightflight character like?"

Boulder's face lit up with a warm and wistful smile, he looked as if he was about to answer. But then Heatwave did it for him.

"One of those artistic types. Spends a third his free-time attending anti-functionist meetings, and the other two-thirds indulging and writing fine literature. Of course Boulder and him became best friends."

"Yeah, a real match made in heaven," Blades snickers, finally taking a draught out of his glass.

"Excuse them, Dani," Boulder's fake grin betrays his annoyance, "I won't deny what they said is true but maybe as his best friend I should be the one to talk about Nightflight. Other than Heatwave I was closest to Nightflight. When I joined the Rescue Bots I wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms, for a long time I just clung to Heatwave's side. I mean they didn't hate me, most of them didn't but I- I wasn't included, I was still some outsider. My friendship built with Nightflight is important to me, because he was the first one I made when I joined. He has always been kind to me, we had like-minded interests, plus he was an amazing model for my paintings. We used to write together, well, not together, he would write and we would bounce ideas off of each other. Yes, he wrote novels, fiction mainly."

"And he would also hand me over the text to edit," Chase reminisces, still twirling his glass in his servo, now smiling fondly. "But you do know, back then, I did want to stay behind at the station and watch the monitors and answer if any calls came through."

"I insisted, Chase," counters Boulder.

Heatwave puts a hand on the police-bot's shoulder. "You needed a break at some point, workaholic. All that paperwork, surveillance, answering calls you do all the time is not good for you."

"Besides, it wasn't like I'd be allowed into the establishment you all always go to. Wasn't allowed last time, wouldn't be allowed that time. Not as long as my card still labelled me as a Dispensable."

"Dispensable?" pipes Graham.

The response from Boulder was a long, drawn out sigh and a shake of his head. "Cybertronians are divided by caste, at least before the war we were. When we emerge we are examined by a guild master, they'll take a glance at our frame type and assign us a career path or a simple job. Your caste and profession are technically separate but certain types of jobs are fully dominated by a single caste. If you are a construction worker then you are born into the Dispensable caste. A rung above Disposables: the slave caste."

"That's terrible."

A pause to ponder the information was given.

"I could lament about the injustices of the world all I want, but I prefer not to. And I don't think you all would want to hear it either. So let's continue, shall we?"

"Aw, how sweet and considerate of you, my friend." Boulder turned himself round and faced Nightflight.

An aerial jet frame type. Head to torso to thigh were coloured with a midnight blue, with the white paint of his limbs standing a complete stark contrast to it. Speckles of black and blue plating jutted out from the blinding refraction of his arms and legs, sort of harmonising his form. There was no competition of attention when his faceplate was a deep tangerine orange, with two slits of glowing yellow optics. There was a warm look on his face as he approached him. His silhouette was further accentuated with the stiff pair of wings on his back, pointing down to Primus's core itself.

"Wonder what they're all doing in there? Getting hammered? dancing till their axles wore out?"

Then he spotted it. The instrument he's so (un)inconspicuously holding in his right servo.

"Is that a guitar? Didn't know you played."

"Ah, this?" he held up the mentioned object. "Can't. But I'm learning. I found a tutor, haven't had a lesson but soon I will. I've booked them for one tomorrow. Right now I've just gone off of random tutorials. I've learnt to play a chord or two." He shrugged and gave a modest smile.

"Oh, really? Show me then."

Boulder drew out the second spare chair, from under, for Nightflight. The aerial Rescue Bot took a seat and manoeuvred his instrument into its correct playing position. He slid his digits up the neck of the guitar, gliding along the strings all the way up to the third or second fret. They were amateurishly guided and pressed into place before Nightflight finally played the chord. The strum produced a discorded sound that made Nightflight cringe.

"God, this isn't tuned," he gave Boulder an embarrassed grin before awkwardly propping the guitar against the desk. "Told you I was new. I don't even know how to tune it properly."

"It's alright," Boulder comforted, "you can't expect a bot to become a Lobbing champion first round, then you can't expect a bot to be a professional guitarist in the first play. But I wonder, what made you want to learn guitar in the first place?"

"Oh," Nightflight fidgeted with his digits to stave off any emerging shyness, "y'know the poems I write? It's just in my head I always imagined them as songs. I barely know music theory, but as I re-read them over and over again my mind I can't help but compose melodies out of them."

"Can you sing too?"

Nightflight got flustered. "Eh ha, I never did so in front of anyone."

"Would you be opposed?"

"No, I just need to build up the confidence to do it with an audience. Besides, I don't think I'm all that great of a singer."

"What about just an audience of one? Would you be comfortable showing me your hidden talent, dear Nightflight?" Boulder suggested with an albeit playful tone.

"Okay," his friend took to his suggestion rather quickly despite his apparent diffidence (even in front of Boulder) this evening, "I'll, um, try to."

Nightflight did his little preparation ritual: adjusting himself in his seat, coughing to clear his throat, taking deliberate in-vents. All to delay the inevitable further, Boulder surmised. A few seconds had passed and he was still trying to shake off his nerves. Boulder opened his mouth to say something along the lines of 'You don't have to if you're uncomfortable'. Well, he was going to but ceased everything when Nightflight's optics suddenly widened.

"There's something in the hallway!"

He leaned forward and pointed at the monitor over Boulder's shoulder. Boulder swivelled around and with squinted optics he scrutinised the screen. His friend was right, there was something dragging itself across the camera feed. So Boulder shuffled himself and his chair closer to the far-right corner of the desk. Using the cursor he zoomed in on it. With a clearer more magnified image he could make out an animal of some sort, a turbofox he realised as he recognised its many metal prongs jutting out to form a mane and its long ears. It was leaking a trail of energon as it limped through the hallway. Stumbling about and tripping over itself. He felt sorry for the creature.

One thing's for sure—it needs their help!

So Boulder and Nightflight tiptoed carefully down the hallway following the trail of energon left behind by the animal. The element of surprise was key, and they had to be quiet to remain undetected. Those ears longer than its entire head weren't just for show. They had devised a plan of capture, of course; Boulder tucked the net closer to his chest when they made it to the door-less frame of the rec room, there were sounds of movement inside. Peering past the corner Boulder saw the turbofox lapping at the spilt energon he noticed when he monitored the camera.

"I'll stay here, you go inside and chase it back through the entrance of the rec room," he whispered to Nightflight.

It was a simple plan, you don't have to be a genius to come up with it. The only stat it tested was his reaction speed. Can't be too slow or fast or they'll have to clean blood splatter in not just the hallway.

Nightflight did as directed, he walked into the rec room and made his presence known to the animal.

"Hey," he tried speaking to it to calm it, but when it noticed him approaching it perked up in alarm, its spiky metal puffed out with the natural instinct to make itself look bigger and more intimidating. Didn't work on bots.

Boulder watched how it darted at, what seemed to be, light speed as his friend took one more step closer.

"Hey!" Nightflight blurted out in irritation this time.

The jet attempted to match the turbofox's pace but it only further confirmed his prowess was in the air and not on land. Compared to it, Nightflight was clumsy. The turbofox gracefully dodged his grabs, it ducked, it bounced off walls and furniture, it made a mess. And as Nightflight chased it through the legs of a table he was knocking over chairs and lamps, leaving a path of carnage in their wake. He couldn't blame his friend for his destructive determinism. No doubt, he was also fuelled with vengeful energy for that turbofox daring to make him give chase.

Boulder found the antics amusing, despite knowing that it'll be a pain to clean up after.

It intrigued him how the turbofox seemed smart enough to know what was waiting for it outside the rec room. For It avoided the entrance like the rust plague. Inside was still utter chaos, so protracted that Boulder reconsidered his position. Perhaps he should go in and help Nightflight? The thought was short-lived however, as the turbofox finally came hurling through the doorway. He hadn't the time to think, upon reflex he cast out the net and there we go! The little speed demon has been safely captured.

He watched it struggle in the trap as Nightflight dragged himself and his feet up behind him.

Nightflight huffed, "That bugger gave me hell."

"Oh, I could tell," he replied with mirth.

With courtesy expected for a sapient bot, Boulder got on one knee and held all his attention to the entangled creature. As it struggled, more of its blood stained the chains of the net blue. It was growling and snarling and thrashing, it must've been so terrified and confused. Boulder kept the ends of the net clutched tight in his fists to prevent any escape. As much as it was in distress, letting it loose round the station will only aggravate its injuries further.

"Oh, you poor mite," Boulder said to the animal sympathetically.

As he reached out to hold it in his arms for ease of transport, there was suddenly the familiar sound of metal plates moving and shifting and grinding and reshaping. And the once firm grip he held on the net was suddenly released. Boulder stood back with his friend Nightflight, in as much disbelief as he was. The turbofox was no more, it had transformed like all Primus given life did. The particular thing was that it wasn't some animal at all. It—rather 'he'—was a Cybertronian with full consciousness. Those sharp reds that pierced through the holes of the net and straight through his own optics marked him as such.

His mouth was also tugged perpetually downwards in an unpleasant grimace, also tugged were a peculiar set of facial markings similar to the ones seen on the great Alpha Trion. Currently, he was on his posterior and still in the net, just not struggling anymore. But he was looking at them, expecting them to do something about his predicament.

"You mean you guys can turn into things other than vehicles?" Kade interrupts, seemingly perplexed.

"Yes, some of us do have more unique alt modes," Boulder explains in the briefest way possible.

Blades guffaws out of nowhere. "Being robots in disguise would've been so much more easier if we could've become the Earth animals. Like actually become the animals, I don't mean like animals wrapped in metal. I want fur and those glossy organic eyes. I wanna be a bear! They're so big and cuddly but also scary, to creatures it eats… I might be a bit drunk already."

"Well, we better move on, I'm sure the audience are just dying to hear what's happening with group B."

"Right!" Subsequently, there was a drawn out pause. Blades blinks absently as everyone stares at him, not realising they were all looking to him to continue the story. It takes a few seconds before he becomes able to read the room. "Oh, you're asking me to continue?" He swaps glances at his fellow bots before fully getting the message. "Right, um, the club!

"Boy, what a great club it was. The music was booming, the lights were always flashing, it had an animated dance floor that lit up with every step. The bar (the best bar) served the finest of visco! It had a myriad of options of sweet and fruity drinks as well as more hardcore drinks like Nightmare Fuel. This is Nightmare Fuel," he points to the neon glowing green bottle. "Obviously you're humans and can't drink it, but I wouldn't dare either!" He laughs boisterously. No one joins him.

"Anyway," Blades continued after finishing his little laughing session, "all six of us branched off in duos. I was with Heatwave at the bar, Discharge and Minerva were settled down somewhere, Chase and Heavywait were… I dunno where."

"We were loitering near the exit because, like me, Heavywait wasn't comfortable on the dance floor," provides Chase.

"Huh, I see. We should probably also introduce you all to them, too."

"That would be neat," says Graham.

A grin cuts through Blade's face. "So, Discharge. She was our big, strong, burly leader. A real hunk of a bot-! Ow!"

"You call that introducing the leader of our team?" Interrupts Heatwave, elbowing his friend's side and shooting him a disapproving look.

"Uh-"

"Let me," and there was no protest. "I wasn't always the leader of this team. Discharge was. She hailed from Tarn, and was stationed at Kaon up until she got gravely injured. She's a specially trained firefighter like I am. And I was told she was extinguishing a factory fire when she got trapped inside and the whole building collapsed on her. It was a miracle she survived, eighty-percent of her Sparked metal had melted straight off. So they rebuilt her. Now some higher-up must've been a mad scientist because they built her alright, built her up again with an experimental heat-proof armour. Discharge told me, herself, that she could withstand the temperature of molten magma, that she could walk right through the substance like a dip in the pool!

"Later she transferred to our station in Iacon. And after our previous leader died she took over. And she was fantastic. With her stature, who wouldn't obey her every command? Besides being powerful, she was smart and calculating. Her strength combined with her wits are what made her so great and revered by others in our profession."

Charlie Burns couldn't help but notice the awe in Heatwave's tone. It is clear that this Discharge character is well admired by him. She seems to be his inspiration.

Blades inserts himself. "Yeah, she's great and all, and all buddy-buddy with us all but she was quite private. She only ever hung out with Minerva and sometimes I would hear these ghastly sounds from her room at night, like she's possessed. She definitely was hiding something. Maybe that's why her biceps were so big, it's full of secrets. Ha!" Blades laughs again, in solitary, at his own joke. Taking a gulp of his drink as well. "Speaking of Minerva, out of everyone, besides Discharge, I knew her best. I wasn't best friends with her, like Boulder and Nightflight was, by any means but we were kind of partners. We were paramedics, er, but she obviously was the one with the proper medical experience. She was the EMT and I was her ride, literally."

"So what's that supposed to mean?" Kade smirks.

"Blades had wheels back on Cybertron, two wheels. He used to transform into a motorcycle large enough to be ridden by other bots. That's why he said 'literally'. It's not what you're thinking, Kade."

"Thank you, Dani!" Blades praises his human partner. "Minerva had worked in medical wards before being thrown into the Rescue Bots. She had a degree, a doctor, she's a miracle worker! But she was always so quiet, not shy, just detached. As I said, we were partners but we weren't close. She hung out with Discharge exponentially more. I think she knows Discharge's secret," he adds at the end. "Oh, um, you should tell 'em about Heavywait, Boulder. Since you two are both engineers."

"Ah, sure. If Minerva was Blades's partner then Heavywait was mine. She was also a bit aloof, but I would say that, yeah, we were friends. She had this tenacity that was apparent in her projects. Yes, she was a structural engineer but she loved making wacky inventions. I'd describe her like Doc Greene but with a quarter of the zaniness. She took up most of the space in the workshop, making these huge messes that I had to wrangle her to clean. Science and inventing were her passion, but she would often rant to me how full her schedule was to ever solely focus on one or the other. Her… indolence did play a part of her grievances if I am to be honest." He chuckles.

Heatwave lets out a big yawn and stretches his joints. "There, that's the introductions. Let's start."

"Okay, um-" says Blades.

"On second thought, I'm taking over..."

He should've taken a seat when he had the chance, 'cus currently all the bar's stools were occupied by the party-goers of this establishment, including Blades and the two copters adjacent to him keenly listening to his rambles. Heatwave was hovering around him, not giving any interest in his friend's gossiping. Instead he let his optics wander round the place, hoping to spot someone else familiar. The place was packed, especially the dance floor. Light sources were concentrated and multi-coloured, the paint of the bots thronged to it were difficult to tell.

"Wanna head out and cut the floor?" said a gaily high voice behind him.

"Heck yes!" replied Blades, enthusiastically giddy as ever.

Heatwave stepped aside when the two bots leapt out of their seats and, hands locked together, skipped towards the dance floor like long-time mates. Blades barely glanced his way when he left, and now Heatwave was alone. Well, at least there was now someplace for him to sit down. He felt the other coptor-bot's eyes on him as he took the place of the near identical bot that once sat next to her.

"You and your friends are Rescue Bots, ey?"

Heatwave did a double take when the other bot spoke to him. "Yeah, we are."

The stranger's irises slid sharply to the right as she called out for a service. "Bartender! Pour some visco for this fire-bot, won't yer? Put it on my bill."

Almost immediately there was squared glass in his hand, brimmed with a chilled sparkling liquid.

"For your services, mate," she winked as she took a swig out of her own glass.

"Thanks," he said slowly. Gingerly, he took a sip.

"With all the terrorist attacks happening, you deserve it."

Heatwave paused. He noticed a symbol on her left breastplate, the same one Minerva wears, indicative of a trained medical graduate. "And you're a doctor."

"A flying doctor," she unabbreviated. "My sister and I are flying doctors. Yes, we've also been seeing a lot of action due to the bombings unfortunately. I think I recognise you from the last one where my sis and I airlifted a few civilians to hospital. Six lasers?"

That was months ago. Through the heat of the flames, the cries of the dying and injured, the rubble and steel beams jutting from the ground twisted and wrung; he couldn't recall ever seeing a bot similar to this black and blue copter he was conversing with.

"Sorry, I don't recognise you."

"Hah, I do. I remember seeing you in the aftermath, after the flames had been put out, coordinating with some investigators. My sis and I were soaring above the scene, maybe you should've looked up. The name's Moonheart, by the way."

"Heatwave," he said back tersely.

Moonheart sipped. "Do you reckon there'll be another attack?"

"I can't say for certain." His responses were half-heartened. He came here to lose his mind in the noise and booze, not discuss politics. Unfortunately, he couldn't muster up the will to simply make up a fake excuse and just walk away, leaving the conversation to its blessed abrupt end.

"Although it's been months, the protests haven't ceased, the violence hasn't stopped either. Injured Decepticons, and people injured by Decepticons show up to the ER often. I treated a few bots myself bleeding out on the street after a gnarly fight. Not to mention the property damage caused by them to the poor shops lining the streets. Must be hell for the engineers on your team," she took another sip. "Megatron denies his involvement in the extremist behaviour of his followers, well, I call scrap on that. It's conspiracy but he is, most definitely, the mastermind behind everything. But he is smart to know how to cover his tracks, his henchmen does the dirty work of his sickly creative plans. That Iaconian that hovers around him is also highly suspect, as well, don't ya think?"

"Do you talk to every stranger you meet over a drink like this?" He grimaced, miffed and attention thinning.

Moonheart just grinned. "Sorry, I must be drunk, ha! Lunaclub always says that a few shots uncharacteristically turn me into a chatter box with no off switch. But anyway, even though all these window breaking, bloody fights, bombings terrify everyone I can't help but sympathise with their plight. Megatron is a master orator, I cried when I heard his story of suffering. He used to be a miner, only ever glimpsed at the sun once before being sent down below for the rest of eternity. I admire him, how he carved himself out from the depths and became the most powerful gladiator! He realised that only with that notoriety would people truly listen to what he had to say about our society.

"Why are we still using the outdated caste/classifying system used under Quintesson rule? Hm? I see him, I see his ways. Doesn't mean I, uh, fully agree with it of course. I'm not a Decepticon, heh. But I agree that the system would only topple, bend over, through the use of violence and force! It was how we defeated the Quintessons, right? Overthrow our rulers! War! But, uh, not that I would want that. No, I'm pretty content with my life and-"

Then on, he refused to pay any attention to what the copter-bot yapped about. Let her mouth go on and on until its hinges wear down from excessive use. Heatwave just consumed more of his drink and busied his mind with thoughts he'd keep to himself, unlike somebody else. Right now, Megatron was fresh on his mind. That scored face of his flashed before his eyes, and his eyebrows knotted in instinct.

Gladiatorial battles were a guilty pleasure of his. It's a blood sport where mechs kill each other for entertainment (well, not all the time but the mere inclusion of it is barbaric). He'd scold himself, why did he have to find such a violent sport so piquant? Whatever went wrong with loving a simple game of Lobbing? And why did he grow so infatuated with this Megatron character to begin with? A solar cycle ago he would've been Megatron's staunch defender but now, after all the Decepticons have done, all that loss of life—all that destruction—he can't defend anyone who would associate with that group. The Decepticons are terrorists, he had concluded the day he had to deal with their first attack.

And Moonheart's passionate sympathies toward them uneased him.

To distract himself further, Heatwave gazed into the glass in his servo. Already almost-empty from consumption, he brought it up to take one last sip but then he spotted something. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinised the thinned pool of visco. There was a tiny metal prong sticking out. He reached in with his broad fingers to remove the obtrusion. Pinching it between his fingertips and lifting it up revealed its true form in all its nasty glory. Heatwave cringed when he realised what he was holding up was a dead scraplet, and he had been drinking from the very same container it made its coffin in!

"Ew, I'm guessing that's the same as finding a cockroach in your cocktail," Dani comments vicariously.

"Uh, yeah."

Heatwave just stared at the cadaver, with its jaw hung open displaying thousands of tiny serrated teeth to the world and its dead, dimmed out optics. He contemplated severely on what he should do with it, before being taken out of his thoughts when he noticed a familiar form taking a seat next to him. Finally, there was a reason to tune back in to the world around him.

"Somebody looks ill at ease," remarked Heatwave.

"Is that your teammate?" He continued to ignore her.

Chase had an uncharacteristic slouch in his sitting posture, usually he'd always be poised and upright. A proper bot, well-mannered, mild tempered, with balanced energy. Now he looked drained out of all life, sluggish, slouched and holding his head in his hands as if it's going to fall over if he doesn't. He didn't even turn to answer to Heatwave, only doing the barest minimum of shifting his eyes to the side as acknowledgement.

"What's wrong, all partied out?" he asked, his tone more fitted to a teasing than solicitous.

"No," Chase replied, deadpanned, "I have been loitering beside the exit with Heavywait the entire time, observing the people, making sure nobody causes mischief. And if someone were to trip or fall I'd be first on scene."

"Chase, my friend," he placed a servo on his shoulder, "you're not the security employed here, you're not on duty. You're just a regular civilian tonight, and you're here to enjoy yourself as such. Go back to the days of your young mentee self, partying with your mates in the academy."

Chase frowned. "I never partied."

"Maybe you should grab yourself a drink."

The Rescue Bot's frown just deepened. "I never drink, I didn't drink back then either. I don't drink."

"And he still doesn't to this day," Heatwave lets out a wheezy chuckle.

"Untrue."

"Since when?"

"Since now," Chase drums his digits against the glass in his servos. The clinking alerting everyone to its existence. Still full of that bright blue liquid, Chase held it so still in his grasp the line of drink remained even. "Back on Cybertron many complained about my personality, that I'm too strict and rigid, a narc, have interests so esoteric it bored them into recharge. But now, you say that Griffin Rock had loosened me up. You said that to me, Heatwave. So in this new pursuit I want to try something daring. I want to have a taste of high-grade."

Charlie, the ever observant, notices how sharply the corners of Blades's mouth went up. And there is this look on his face that he has seen many times before in his children in a wide breadth of ages. From kindergarteners, to teens, to adults. Blades's smirk spelt mischievous and conniving.

"Chase, my pal, you do know that you have the weakest blend of high-grade? Ninety-five percent of it is just your average, run-of-the-mill, mid-grade energon. Probably not even filtered to its purest form!" Without asking, Blades snatches the glass from his hands. "What you need to truly be daring is a shot of Nightmare Fuel."

He pops open the stumpy bottle of green liquid and pours it into a shot glass, he passes it to Chase. He looks at the glass with hesitance.

Immediately, Charlie realises that this could quickly become a highly uncomfortable situation for his partner. Right now was best as any moment to chime in, "Chase, you don't have to take it if you're not comfortable. Only you know your limits."

"Thank you for your wise words, Chief, but I have already made my decision."

In a blink of an eye, Chase throws the shot down his intake (as Blades gasps sharply), swallowing it immediately—visibly—with sheer force. His face has scrunched up in displeasure, only relaxing when he puffs out the aftertaste audibly. He does not seem to have enjoyed Nightmare Fuel one bit. They all watch with pity as the Rescue Bot then retches, crouching over and holding his stomach while his other hand grasped the edge of the crate tightly.

"You okay there?" asks Boulder with concern, raring to get out of his seat to assist his teammate.

"No," he puts up a hand in Boulder's direction, insisting he stays put. "I'm fine. I just… need a moment-"

Then it's like Chase's system just crashed, like an electronic kill switch had been activated, like every light in him had been switched off. Everyone flinches in alarm as Chase just falls limp and rolls over the crate and onto the cold concrete floor as nobody sat to his left side to catch him.

"Oh shit," he hears his eldest son curse under his breath.

"Chase!" as fast as his legs could, Charlie runs over to the collapsed Rescue Bot.

Blades joins him, kneeling over and checking on his passed out friend. "Scrap," he mutters in whisper before increasing in volume to his regular speaking voice, "don't worry, he's not dead, Chief, just knocked out cold, heh. Nightmare Fuel is known to knock out bots in large doses but it's not as lethal like your human alcohol. Since Chase had never drank high-grade before, especially one this potent, his, uh, system had to reset itself to process it, even when he only had that one shot. Luckily."

"And whose good idea was it to give him it?"

Blades faces his leader and yells defensively, "Hey! I didn't think he would actually drink it! You know how Chase is, even on Earth. Goody-two-shoes, obedient, little Chase. How was I supposed to know he wasn't gonna cower and back down?"

"Enough," Charlie quiets the bots, they behave so much like his children. "I'm glad he'll be okay but we can't leave him faced down on the floor like this."

"I second that," inserts Boulder as he hovers over them. "Blades, help me flip him over."

Without much protest, except a stuck-on frown, Blades helps Boulder with rolling Chase over onto his back. They adjust his position to one more sensible, arms laid straight down his sides like he was laid upon a hospital bed. Charlie wonders how long Chase would be knocked out, he could be out until morning for all he knows.

The three of them return back to their seats to resume the rest of the story by Blades's persistence.

"With Chase out now is as good as any time to continue with Boulder's side of the story," prompts Blades.

"Alright then…"

This wasn't a turn he ever expected, and it made the day even more strange than it already is. A turbofox running through the station was eventful enough, but when said feral turbofox really turned out to be a Cybertronian—a person—the day had just become absurd.

With those thoughts aside, Boulder rushed to get the net he had cast off the bot. "Sorry about this, had I just known you were a bot I wouldn't have netted you," he was apologetic.

Though he couldn't help but wonder why he kept his sapience a secret? Maybe there was a truth in his erratic behaviour as an animal, was he merely just scared? There are cruel people out in the world that treat bots with animal alt-modes as if they were the animals themselves.

"No, I should apologise for my troubles that I've caused." Finally he was freed from the net. "My name is Dominus Ambus, and I'm looking for my friend Heavywait."

Dominus Ambus tried to stand up, only to grunt in pain and clutch his left side. Blood was still trickling from the gash.

"You're still injured, let us help you," Boulder knelt down to Dominus's level.

"Ngh, this is why I was searching for her. I got into a fight with some thugs and got… wounded."

"And you weren't able to see a licensed doctor?" asked Nightflight carefully.

Dominus shook his head. "As a Beastformer I'm not comfortable around most doctors. I'm not a person in the eyes of the High Council, and there are people out there who look down on me as if I am my alt-mode. Again, I apologise for all the mess I made but Heavywait is someone I trust first and foremost. I did try to comm her at first but all I got was static on her end, no response at all even when I tried insistently. I went to her apartment prior to trying to find her here. I tried to use my stealth to avoid detection, but my injury hampered my abilities and well... I'm sure you two can extrapolate why I pretended to be a wild and scared animal at first." He sighed and slumped.

Yes, yes he could. Ever since he emerged from the hotspot, Boulder had learned to be wary of the authority figures in his life. The sting of being back handed by his supervisor prickled his cheek again, the pain spreading like fractures on glass. Even now, even as a Rescue Bot, he is still cautious around the police.

"I understand Dominus," he empathises. "I wasn't always a Rescue Bot."

He perked up at that.

"Let me carry you to the med-bay, we'll patch you up there."

It was promising to see Dominus not flinch when he reached to scoop him up in his arms. It seemed it would go smoothly now, that was until Dominus spoke up.

"But Heavywait, do you know where she is? I'm… I'm worried for her."

"There's nothing to worry about, Dominus, she's with the rest of the team at the club probably getting hammered and dancing her axles off," Boulder reassured with a smile.

"Still I need to see her even if I'm injured! It's urgent!" Dominus was starting to sound more panicked.

"Here," spoke up Nightflight to pacify the growingly frantic bot, "I'll comm her right now."

The jet pressed two digits against the side of his head, indicating to them he had began the process of calling. His confident smile faltered after a few seconds. Clearly he wasn't receiving anything on the other side of the line.

"Nothing," he concluded. "So maybe she had set her comm on silence, doesn't mean I can't ask someone else of her whereabouts." Nightflight pressed his fingers back in place. "Hello, Chase?.. Ah, just wondering if Heavywait is with you?.. I'm with a friend of hers and he couldn't contact her earlier, I'm thinking she probably just has her line on silence… Okay," the pause was longer than the others, Nightflight began tapping the ground impatient," … Ah, I see… Not at all! But wait, are you telling me you've just been standing in one spot for the past few hours? Chase, mate, c'mon, live it up! Go find Heatwave or Discharge, buy yourself a drink and enjoy yourself! You're in one of the best clubs in the area, don't waste the opportunity, y'hear? Anyway, gotta go, see you around." He hung up, removing his digits.

"So?" inquired Boulder.

"Chase told me that yes, Heavywait was with him but then she left an hour ago. To where, he doesn't know. He tried contacting her directly but had gotten the same static. Then he contacted Blades and Minerva and she's not with them either."

"I don't like this," said Dominus, tone wavering with worry. "Heavywait might be in danger!"

"Woah, woah, we don't know that. She could just be black out drunk."

Nightflight's words did nothing to calm Dominus, his plating bristled this time in frustration. "She could be black out drunk in a dark alleyway, susceptible to thieves and traffickers, we can't just leave her there! That's it, I'm finding her myself, right now. I don't care if I lose all my energon on the way there."

With indefatigable determinism, Dominus attempted to stand up on his own two legs. The limbs shook as he did, and the instability and pain made him grunt and keel over. Dominus would've toppled if it weren't for Boulder's quick reflex, catching him before he had the chance to do so.

"You're in no condition," he pointed out the obvious. "Please, let us bandage you up first. And after that we'll…" Boulder glanced at Nightflight pleadingly, "we'll help you look for your friend together."

Nightflight then practically bolted to Boulder, his face next to his, he whispered in secrecy, "Boulder, are you sure about this?"

"Yes, I am. We're Rescue Bots, we help those in need."

"It's not me or Dominus I'm worried about. Don't you remember what happened last time we were at that club?"

Yes, he does. Boulder gritted his teeth when he thought back to the moment—denied entry because of his Dispensable birthright.

"I do, but I don't care about that when someone needs our help." Dominus had now been pulled into Boulder's arms, he cradled him gently like he was some fragile thing. "Heavywait is important to Dominus. And of course, Heavywait is also my friend, and I care about her as well and so do you. I know it."

Nightflight sighed. "Well said. Do you have a plan at least?"

"Indeed I do, my friend."

"Sorry to interrupt but-"

Graham's sudden interjection was met with vehement protest by Kade.

"Can you ask questions after they finish the story?" he complains, completely overpowering Graham's voice.

"No, it's alright," comes Boulder to his partner's defence. "What is it you wanna ask, Graham?"

"I'm curious about the Decepticons and this Megatron Heatwave mentioned earlier. He's the reason why there's a war in the first place, right?"

Heatwave places his glass down after a gulp, it is empty now. "Summarised, yes. Megatron is the reason why there's a war waging in our backyard, and the reason why we're here on Earth and not on Cybertron. I used to be a huge fan of his when he was a gladiator, infatuated almost, that was until his Decepticons started conspiring and enacting terrorists attacks. Of course, we Rescue Bots were the ones to clean up after them. You can understand why I loathe him now."

"It's a shame that this story had to take this turn," Boulder adds. "Megatron was an idol of inspiration to many bots like me. Even though he wasn't the first bot to dig themself out of the ground and gain fame and stability in the arena, he was the first to actively rebel and question those ranked above him in the social ladder. He dared to tell us not to bend to the upper-class's whims, pave our own path and help others downtrodden as they are our brethren. He spoke against the system, the system that sent many of us to our own deaths because we had no choice. Megatron told us, made us realise, we had that choice all along. We must band together as one and stick it up to the bot on top, because together we can do most anything—together we are strong. That is how we will defeat adversity."

"My, sounds like something a Decepticon would say," Blades jabs lightheartedly. But Charlie couldn't help but notice the slight passive-aggressive undertone of disproval.

A frown appears on Boulder's face, and it seems he has picked up on it as well.

"It's complicated. Megatron was a beacon of light for us, the low castes, but it doesn't mean I concur with his violent methods. Certainly not after the destruction of our home planet. I saw the same photos and film reels as you did, every begrimed image and gory scene, I know what the Decepticons are capable of. I know what he's capable of. He slaughtered many of our ranks because we dared to remain a neutral faction when extreme polarity arose. I would never feel safe in his presence," Boulder's voice rose slightly. Obviously, he felt offended. To release it all before he escalates further he sighs. "We met him once," he glances over at his leader, "didn't we, Heatwave? We stayed back after the battle and even after the arena was closed off to the public. We snuck inside to join a clandestine meeting with Megatron's groupie."

"Heavywait told me about it. She told me that there would be some secret meet-and-greet after the main event," he explains.

"Oh, I had no idea," Boulder expresses at the new piece of information. Then he turns to Graham, "See, that's why we're the last remaining Rescue Bots. We were hunted down essentially, those who weren't had to pick a side or risk death."

"And now Megatron's here. On Earth. And that's why we must lay low and hidden, otherwise he might-" Blades gasps for over-dramatic effect, "-kill us!"

The (if you could even call it that) joke was met with deafening silence. Not one human or bot finds his attempt at facetious humour laugh worthy, not even a chuckle was wrung out. Everyone in the room just gazes at him with mute distaste. If not plain disapproval, a few quirked eyebrows were upon him.

Blades shrinks at their reaction. "Sorry, must be the high-grade," he blames.

"I'm sorry, that is all just so- terrible!" cries Dani suddenly. "The more you guys talk about Cybertron and your lives there the more I just feel… aggrieved. It's just systemic suffering and tragedies of mass scale."

The rooms atmosphere fills with sudden, overwhelming dread. The tension so thick you could choke on it…

"Dani," coos back Blades, "I promise our lives on Cybertron weren't (to use the human word) shit. Sure there were injustices and suffering but it isn't as if your world is free from those problems either. Griffin Rock is a quaint and wonderful place but turn on the worldwide news channel and you'd be questioning your faith—Earth and Cybertron's the same. Blood and guts television is universal. That's what I've learnt.

"Look, we four resided in Iacon: a safe and livable city. Rich culture, rich religion, rich people. Home to the High Council, lots of places to dine and jive, beautiful botanical gardens. We were the wealthiest city, we were the capital of the entire planet! We were also Rescue Bots! We were highly revered and loved by the public, and why wouldn't they? We rush into danger for every Spark was worth it, no matter the origin; our philosophy. We had good pay, good energon, good workplace, good everything. Maybe that helps put things into perspective?"

"But what about your friends? It's not like… they're exactly here, are they?"

All the bots faces immediately fade a shade greyer. Optics downcast, lips twisting. Heatwave grimaces with might, his red eyes stare with, what could be easily read as, a murderous glint. Like someone had just crossed a line and he is considering putting them in place by forceful methods as punishment. Fists clenching at his sides, retaining his urge. But if you inspect closer, you can see the pain hidden in those very same eyes. Boulder looks saddened more than anything, he holds his right hand in his left palm, keeping it firmly in place in his lap, protecting it. He looks away, as if the sight before him is one unbearable. While Blades's jaw slung low and agape. Expression full of shock. He acts like the knowledge that his Cybertronian friends may no longer be alive presently is new to him, completely unknown prior to Dani bringing it up.

And her face blooms red, immediately regretting her words. "I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I crossed a boundary, I'm-"

She presses her lips shut, not having the chance to continue tripping over her speech when an unexpected groan catches the attention of everyone. Chase starts to stir. There is a rumble of an engine, a cranking of joints and pistons, and other mechanical sound bites of a recently restarted Cybertronian. Chase manages to prop his upper body up on his elbows, not quite straight and upright. The residual lethargy is still there from being knocked out.

A groan escapes his lips again and he blinks rapidly, his yellow eyes brightening with each shut and open. Slowly but surely his life force is returning.

"Ah, look who's back to the land of the living," teases Blades.

And just like that the grim conversation just prior was completely forgotton as everybody has their eyes and ears on Chase as he groggily awakes.

"Chase, you feeling alright?" Boulder, the heart of the team, asks with genuine concern.

With a low sigh, Chase manoeuvres himself into a more comfortable position. Legs criss-crossed but posture slumped, otherwise he would be sitting upright and casting his full devoted attention to the tale teller of the session like a well-behaved kindergartener.

"Terrible," is his response.

"Need any help standing up?"

"No thanks, Boulder, I fear I may topple over once again even with your assistance. I feel just right on the floor like this… ugh." Chase clearly is still in discomfort.

"Just take it easy, partner," Charlie advises with care.

"Now that that's out of the way, can you continue with the story, please?" Kade leans forward, eyes laser focused on Boulder. Only dropping his focus when he hears a snicker beside him.

Dani pokes fun, "And I thought you'd be in Chase's position by this point."

Graham, one of the more sensible of his children, couldn't spare a chuckle, joining in with his sister.

"Whatever, I'm invested," Kade doesn't care enough to take offence, oddly. His interest in this story seems too strong.

Charlie himself is also just as invested. The bots' life before Earth is a curiosity he wants to explore as well, not for any interstellar culture study purposes but, simply, as their friend. He wants to know them better, their past and present.

"Well, uh," Boulder begins again, rubbing the back of his neck, "Nightflight, Dominus, and I attempted going through the front entrance first…"