Chapter Text
March, 2008
Hot Rod lay in his habsuite, staring at the ceiling, limbs sprawled on his berth.
His mind reminded him of the datapads scattered all over his office that he really needed to check and approve. But he just had no energy to do it.
His thoughts then shifted to everything that was happening around him, what he needed to do tomorrow, and who he had to talk to in the morning. He didn’t want to face Optimus Prime, and neither did he want Optimus to look at him. It’s been months since he returned to his place as leader of the Autobots, but the whole situation was still too painful for Hot Rod to bear, and he was terrified. His thoughts drifted further… further back to when he himself was Prime.
When the Matrix chose him to become Prime, his life was ruined. And after the whole mess that was a huge failed attempt at leading, Optimus Prime returned. He thought everything would go back to normal, that he could spend time properly with Daniel again. That he could go fishing and racing. But it was the opposite. His life got worse. Nothing seemed the same, all the things he considered fun felt meaningless. He still really liked and wanted to do them, but there was a voice nagging in the back of his processor constantly yelling at him. ‘This is a waste of time. You need to be more productive. You need to be better. This isn’t befitting of a solider.’ It was infuriating. The more he felt this way, the less productive he got. A never ending cycle of feeling worse and worse every day.
He put on a brave and cheerful face as best as he could, but he could always feel his mask slipping by the end of each day. He knew the others were starting to see something wrong with him. The restless nights he spent staring up at the ceiling, tossing and turning to no end. Memories of his time as Prime kept replaying in his head, and each time he thought about the situations more, he kept trying to fix them. ‘I should have done this instead. I should have done that better. How was I such an idiot. Optimus Prime would be disappointed in me if he was there.’ Every memory felt like the knife already engraved in his spark was being shoved in deeper and deeper.
That incident where he lost the Matrix, he still felt so much pain at the memory as if it was still an ongoing problem. The sad and downright disappointed looks of everyone around him when he announced he wanted to quit. The pressure too harsh, he couldn’t take it anymore. The sensei that had given him advice, didn’t really help. He played it off as an insight that should help him, but it was more an excuse for him to allow himself to throw the pain away temporarily. And focus on helping his friends from, yet again, another problem that was caused by him. When they had fought to get it back, the pressure never disappeared. It had carved itself into a little comfortable corner in Hot Rod’s processor so the pain and guilt never went away. That day Optimus came back… the few hours just before the hate plague brought itself to the world, he was almost at a complete breaking point. Staring up at the memorial statue of Optimus Prime.
“Why do I keep seeing you in my dreams? Are you telling me I’m not the leader you were?”
The statue stared up into the sky with blank optics, as if nothing was wrong. Rodimus Prime sighed.
“I already know that Optimus. I always have.”
Rodimus’ stare bore into the statue’s optics. Optics of a mech that would never see light again. All because of him.
Then Ultra Magnus and young lady called for him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Telling him news that Optimus’ body was on earth. It made him numb.
Ultra Magnus was right. Rodimus’ decision to come barging in with an assault was hasty. And Rodimus knew it too. But the pain was too unbearable, all logic thrown out of his already beaten processor. He was tired, he just wanted Optimus to rest. So Rodimus could spend his life trying to make up for his death. He knew it wasn’t enough, he knew it was never going to be enough. But he had to try, just enough. Just enough for the war to be over. Just enough so that when everything he had to do was done, he could disappear forever.
The hate plague was one of the –if not the most—horrible experience of Rodimus’ life (besides that moment when the Matrix chose him… and a few more other instances). He hated every moment of it. He was so close, so very close to being done. He wanted it over. He wanted to be gone. But the only thing that kept him going was the responsibility of saving the people that Optimus Prime had spent so long protecting. It was the least he could do. It was all that he could do. Running around with Optimus’ corpse on his back, it felt like a nightmare.
How did this happen. How. Why. Why. Why why did I let this happen why why how could I have done this why—
HOW COULD I HAVE KILLED HIM?
“THERE YOU ARE YOU PUNY WIMP!” Ultra Magnus charged at him, infected with the hate plague.
Rodimus ran. Everyone was infected. Everyone was gone. The only hope he had was the bot laying on the medical berth before him. A mech who had died long ago. He looked down at him, his face so peaceful almost as if he was just asleep. He didn’t want to do it. All he felt was pain. But this was his only hope.
He ordered Sky Lynx to capture a Quintesson.
His pain grew tenfold. Kill a mech then, bring him back. What a hero you are, Rodimus. It wouldn’t stop.
Ultra Magnus had crept behind him, and attacked. Rodimus ran again. All he wanted to do was run. It pained him, Ultra Magnus yelling at him. Is the plague making him hate me, or just exaggerating how he already feels about me? He didn’t want to continue that thought.
“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME RODIMUS!” Ultra Magnus yelled.
It made him almost break down at the anger in his voice. All he could do was silently pray as he ran. Pray that Sky Lynx found a Quintesson. Pray that the Matrix maybe give him light now. Pray that everything will be fine. Pray that--
He was cornered. And everything went blank.
“Rodimus, innocent lives are at stake!” Optimus’ voice echoed in the darkness.
“NO ONE IS INNOCENT!”
He awoke startled by his own voice. It rang in his head as he glanced around a med bay, having seemingly cured from the plague. The words echoing in his processor were the only thing he remembered from being infected. Later, the news reached to him that Optimus Prime was back. He wanted to be relieved, but all he felt was shame. No one is innocent. It echoed again. Hah, yeah. Certainly not Rodimus… oh. It was Hot Rod now. Permanently.
(Episode “Return of Optimus Prime, part 2. - 15 minutes 9 seconds, quote “No one is innocent” -Rodimus Prime)
During the first few weeks of Optimus Prime’s return, everything started shaping back to how it was before. The Decepticon forces were falling back more and more under Optimus’ command. An alliance was established. The Decepticons were not exactly completely at peace with the Autobots, but they coexisted in a sort of strange way. Optimus had done this so quickly compared to Rodimus, it astonished him. Optimus really is a great leader, and a true bearer of the Matrix. Hot Rod was happy to see Optimus thriving and alive again. He was happy the war was nearing its full end. He was happy things could go back to normal. He was happy.
Primus.
He really wished he was.
The clock next to him rang. He looked at it. “5:30 AM”
He’d gotten very short-lived moments of recharge, but he’d spent almost the entire 5 hours of laying in berth staring into nothingness. As he got up from his berth, still letting his thoughts wander further, he thought about all the work he procrastinated doing. He dreaded them. It was a strange sensation. It wasn’t like datapads had teeth, but he feared them nonetheless. He thought about all the things he needed to do. All the meals he’d missed –and will continue to miss-- because he didn’t think they deserved wasting energon on a walking failure like him. All time he wasted and is still wasting. All the things he messed up… All the relationships he had formed, and failed. He wanted to fix them so badly. He’d been neglecting hanging out with Daniel. He just couldn’t stop himself from dissociating when he tried to play with him. He couldn’t focus on shooting targets with Arcee and Blurr. He couldn’t have a simple conversation with Springer. He couldn’t even listen to Kup stories, which really didn’t need him to say anything anyway. He was so out of it. He couldn’t be present, no matter how hard he tried. His thoughts always went back to his failure. To his guilt. To his pain. To Optimus…
To Ultra Magnus.
Ultra Magnus who was there through it all, at the brunt of Rodimus’ incompetence as a Prime. Ultra Magnus who was there to protect him. Ultra Magnus who was there to guide him as best as he could. Ultra Magnus who was there when it got so rough he didn’t think he was able to go on. Ultra Magnus who found him when he wanted to offline himself, wandering in the darkness of the energon coated rocks outside the base. It pained him every time Ultra Magnus cheered him on, when he put blind faith into him. Believing everything he did to be the right thing, because he trusted him. Because he was a Prime. Hot Rod couldn’t bear to look into his optics the way he used to. Before he became a Prime. Before the war had gotten out of hand. Before millions had died.
Before… everything.
He walked out of his room to the shared wash racks across the hall from all the other habsuites. He washed his face, and rested his arms on the sink, staring into the mirror. His reflection was all that was there, but somehow he felt complete disgust at the bot standing in front of him.
“Primus, I’m not sure I understand this role I’ve been given.” He whispered quietly to himself, optic ridges furrowing. He really didn’t. He often wondered why he hadn’t just died during the plague. He walked out of the wash racks still feeling tired as ever.
He was bordering on dozing off on his desk when a tap on his shoulder startled him. Ultra Magnus was looking down at him from next to his desk.
“You seem awfully tired. Did you not sleep well?” he asked a bit concerned, though his tone was his usual office-voice.
“I slept fine. Thanks.” Hot Rod tried to rub out the exhaustion from his optics, but all he seemed to have done was make his vision blurry at the force of his fingers. “You don’t have to worry, I still function just fine.”
“Hmm.” Ultra Magnus mused. “You’ve been more tired recently. Is everything all right? You know you can talk to any of us.” he shuffled over to Hot Rods side to take a closer look, his large optics scrutinizing him.
“I am, really!” Hot Rod backed up and forced out a chuckle that he hoped sounded casual enough. ‘Primus, just go do some Ultra Magnus-y things already! Leave me be! Please…’ Hot Rod internally yelled. “You’re starting to sound like Arcee! Yikes, we don’t need two nit-picky big sisters on this team!” he laughed as he placed his hands on his desk nervously.
That answer seemed to satisfy him. Or at least, that’s what Hot Rod liked to think.
“Hmf, well if you say so.” he shuffled back to the side of the desk, his huge optics still staring into him. “Also, Id like to remind you that you still have not submitted the reports I asked for last week.”
Hot Rod cringed. Right. He really needed to do those before anyone really throws a fit at him for not doing work. And by ‘anyone’, that meant ‘Ultra Magnus’. “You got it, big man.” He did a clumsy mock salute and chuckled.
Ultra Magnus nodded at him “I would really appreciate if you could do it before the next round of reports should come by. If you didn’t procrastinate, you’d be a lot freer right now” he gave Hot Rod a small –but cheeky-- side smile.
Hot Rod sputtered, “I- I swear I’m not procrastinating!! I- I just work slow…” he looked to the side embarrassed. And shameful. But the latter didn’t show on his face.
Ultra Magnus smiled fully this time. “It’s fine, I know reports were never your thing. I won’t push you, but it would still help us out a lot.” He nodded his head again and left Hot Rod’s office, the door closing softly behind him.
Hot Rod look at the closed door with mixed feelings. He cared about Ultra Magnus, and he cared deeply about his opinion. More than he’d like to admit. He picked up a datapad on the corner of his desk and swiped it on. The moment his optics landed on the front page, his mind drifted yet again.
February, 1988
Back then, no one would have guessed they made a good pair. Not even themselves.
Hot Rod and Ultra Magnus didn’t seem like they would ever get along. Hot Rod was a loud and eccentric soldier, who bent the rules for his convenience, and in his words, “for the better”. While Ultra Magnus was a calm and quiet enforcer, who was very eager to keep things calm, and quiet. Or at least as quiet as he could make it. During the early stages of war, they had been nothing but colleagues, though as it went further on, Hot Rod had a tendency to drag other bots into his shenanigans by accident. And Ultra Magnus happen to be one of the unfortunate poor souls who was caught into his messes upsettingly frequently. Either having to save his aft, or punish him.
Ultra Magnus wasn’t one to care too much about the businesses of other bots, but when it involved him too much, he couldn’t help but wished Hot Rod would cease his carelessness. Disobeying direct orders, skipping roll calls, skipping reports and check ups. Hot Rod was an excellent soldier, everyone agreed. And he did his job even better under chaotic situations that even Ultra Magnus had trouble keeping contained. He thrived on every spontaneous act he made, every split-second decision, reflex, and gut instinct. Ultra Magnus admired that about him. His excellent work on the field was the only reason Ultra Magnus had still allowed him the position he bore as a soldier. It really got on his nerves when Hot Rod disobeyed his, or any of his superior’s orders. But he had done it for the sake of saving lives. So that made it respectable, and even admirable, although irritating for him. Hot Rod had been in the center of saving multiple lives, and he did it with –a grim and tired, but still,-- a smile after every mission. Earning the thanks of many innocent people.
However, breaking orders for the sake of saving lives was different than breaking them for the “fun of it”.
Ultra Magnus tapped his finger rhythmically on the surface of his desk, his other hand holding a datapad that looked to small for him. Hit abnormally large and squarish optics boring into the bot directly seated before him.
“Hot Rod, I reckon you already know why I have called you in here.” Said Ultra Magnus, sternly.
Hot Rod sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.” He said as he shuffled in his seat, resting his arms on the backrest as the remaining of his body slouched forward.
Ultra Magnus’ frown deepened. “This is more examples of the behaviours that I wish you did not display so enthusiastically, Hot Rod.” He laced his fingers together, and rested his hands on the desk. “You are an excellent soldier, no doubt in that. But I wished you would follow orders more thoroughly. You often put yourself, and sometimes your teammates, in harms way just to save others. How can you save someone if you yourself are dead?” he looked down at the datapad in his hand. It was filled with notes of all his crew members. Hot Rod’s name had a special place on it decorated with red bold text that internally screamed “troublemaker”, angry scribbles of notes on the side of it, and an unwavering personal grudge. “I also wish you’d show more respect to those around you. Especially your superiors.”
Hot Rod scoffed. “What? I do show respect! Who says I didn’t?” He frowned, optic ridges furrowed. “And what do you even mean by that? Saving lives is what we do! Its why I’m a soldier. I know I’ve been enlisted here and all, but this isnt like, an ‘academy’ I chose to join on a whim. Its war, and this is a real military base. I’m here to serve, help and protect those who can’t protect themselves. Not learn how to use silver spoons the ‘right way’.” He crossed his arms an sat up a little straighter in his seat.
“I understand that, but its still important to follow protocol and rules. If everyone did the same thing you did, we would not be functioning as a proper team.”
“Well, no one else is doing what I’m doing. So I’d say it’s going pretty well.” Hot Rod shrugged.
Ultra Magnus sighed heavily, knowing nothing would enter Hot Rod’s thick processor. Having had this conversation for multiple earth years gave him less and less enthusiasm to confront Hot Rod for his behavioural issues. But Ultra Magnus couldn’t place why Hot Rod was so insistent on ignoring protocol. Surely following the rules was easier? Everything having been decided, ready, and laid out for you to follow.
“Hot Rod, this is your last warning.” He slammed his hands on the desk. He was tired of this. “I will be removing you from this post if you don’t keep up with the rest. I will have you scrubbing the city floors with a dentae-brush if I have to. Remember, just because you are a good soldier on the field doesn’t mean you are allowed to slack on everything else. Saving lives is important, but following rules is too. For the love of Primus just do as I say, would you?” he said, knowing the punishment was clearly exaggerated. It was an empty threat.
“Remove me...?” Hot Rod’s expression slightly irritated. “You really think that’s a good idea? I’m a good soldier, everyone knows that.” He rolled his optics. The action made Ultra Magnus’ plating crawl in annoyance. “Hey, I know I’m not the brains in this whole operation, but even I know that’s not really a strategically advantageous thing to do. Especially when getting troops these days are getting harder and harder.” Hot Rod huffed, almost like a laugh.
Ultra Magnus frowned. Well, he guessed it was both a blessing and a curse Hot Rod was smarter than he anticipated. He sighed again, “Listen, I want this crew to work properly. Maybe I can’t force that into you, well fine. But know this. All I want more than anything, is for after all of this, at the end of the day, you have to make sure you are not the reason our missions fail.”
His hands had moved loosely to his sides, as Hot Rod finally decided to sit straight in his chair properly. “Seriously? Have I ever even made us fail once?” he asked. His face seemed to show the usual easy-going –and annoyed-- attitude of Hot Rod. But his body language and stiffening of his spoiler made Ultra Magnus rethink what he was going to say.
Ultra Magnus stared at him for a moment. Then, “Would you like me to give you a whole cabinet’s worth of datapads regarding reports and complains about you?” he lied easily, this time hitting a nerve. Truth was, while Hot Rod did fail to follow protocol here and there, barely did he actually make deadly mistakes. It was just Ultra Magnus’ personal grudge with bots who didn’t abide the rulebook work for word. Maybe he was being petty, but if it meant order, then he would take it.
The words made Hot Rod bristle. “Oh.” He said lamely.
Ultra Magnus knew at this point he was really being completely petty. “If there are any more mistakes on your end, I am afraid I will have to go on with your punishment.”
Hot Rod shuffled in his chair uncomfortably. “You- you really would just throw me away that easily?” his voice wavered ever so slightly.
“I am your commander, and if the others among my field approve of my methods to keep order in this facilty, then yes. I would do that. Know your place, Hot Rod.” Ultra Magnus said, his voice and posture unbearably stern. A few kliks of long of silence made Ultra Magnus feel a bit uneasy, so he quickly hid it. “You are dismissed. I will see you at roll call tomorrow morning.”
At that, Ultra Magnus subspaced the datapad, and pulled out a stack of reports from the drawer in his desk, his optics flickering over each one as he started to work on them.
Hot Rod was still processing the information, and looked as though he was gawking at Ultra Magnus. He seemed to wake up after too long of a moment, and slowly nodded at him as he got up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, sir.” Said Hot Rod quietly. He pushed the chair back to the desk, and left the office without another word or glance at him.
As the door closed behind Hot Rod, Ultra Magnus looked up from his reports. He seemed pleased. ‘Finally, that got him to change.’ he thought. He knew it was a bit harsh, and outright lying to his face, but it was for the better of the entire team.
Hot Rod gave a tired huff as he slowly turned to face the closed door behind him. He turned back around and started forward.
As he left the vicinity of Ultra Magnus’ office, he looked into the empty halls of the base. The lamps dim to help the optics see better, light bouncing off the pitch blackness from the windows. He slowly walked to his quarters, thinking how to fix the situation he messed up yet again. He really needed to fix his problem, but he didn’t even know where it originated from. All he knew was that when someone told him to do something, he could try his best to follow it, then up to certain point, it would fall onto his face and shatter to a million pieces where he couldn’t even tell what started and what ended. Hot Rod was terrible at following orders. It was his trademark, and it was what he preferred everyone to believe of him. It wasn’t that he wanted to do it on purpose (well, at first…), but he just knew there was something wrong in his processor. He would mess things up when it was pre-written for him. He was afraid or doing it wrong. So, he might as well do it his own way instead of messing up actually trying. Which he realized too late in his current situation that that idea was a huge mistake. He knew it was only a matter of time until someone threw him away again.
It wouldn’t have been the first time. Nor did he think would it be the last. But damn, did it still hurt.
‘I wonder who reported me… am I really that bad?’ he wondered.
He had reached his quarters and tiredly walked in. The first thing he did when he reached his berth was throw himself into it, and to put aside the issue for tomorrow. The plan was to get as much recharge as his body would allow him. Which, in his current state, Primus had blessed him with a surprisingly healthy amount of rest. He lay sprawled on his berth in a dreamless recharge.
When he woke up, the first thing he felt was a gnawing feeling in his gut. A feeling of, 'something is wrong, but I don’t know what', that he knew all too well from his childhood. He sighed and turned over hoping for more recharge. Until a ping in his internal chronometer jerked him fully awake. He was going to be late. He threw himself from the berth and scrambled to the door.
July, 1988
Ultra Magnus stood with his hands behind his back in the large hall.
Roll call was something Ultra Magnus always liked. Early in the morning, all soldiers in perfect lines. It made him smile at the orderliness of it all. He walked back and forth from the start of the line to the end, back as straight as a wooden board (or should it be metal board…?), hands behind his back. The other soldiers already standing in perfect order before him. He stomped his foot as he turned and straightened himself directly in the middle of all his soldiers. He heard the screech of tires as the bright red-magenta frame of Hot Rod hurriedly went in line in the far back. Hot Rod wasn’t exactly late, but Ultra Magnus always preferred his soldiers to arrives a little earlier. But already there was progress even after just one night. He was the last to arrive, yes, but he arrived much, much earlier than he usually would. He couldn’t help but internally smile.
Progress.
His mood lightened at that, and the rest of roll call went as smoothly as anyone could say, considering it was Ultra Magnus. He had noticeably picked on less bots about a straight posture and the distance of their legs in stance. Everyone agreed today might be a good day.
Months past, time flew by faster than expected. Hot Rod had improved significantly. He was almost completely listening to orders now! Thank Primus! The amount of joy Ultra Magnus had for this was surprising, even to himself.
He didn’t understand why he was always so nitpicky when it came to whatever Hot Rod did, he just was. When he did something wrong, he would easily voice it out. And when he did something right, it was easy to say “Well done.”. And the way Hot Rod’s spoiler would lift a little after every job he’d done right made him feel a little warm inside. It was an unfamiliar feeling Ultra Magnus had, but he didn’t wish to investigate it. It was unimportant compared to all the tasks at hand.
Hot Rod was relieved. Usually things went bad when he tried to follow what someone else told him to do. But for once in his life… listening to orders actually made things easy for him. He never in a million years (literally) would have thought it could go as smooth as this.
Things were finally looking up for him. He could leave his past behind. Leave the events in Nyon and Stanix behind. He could focus on nothing but the war at hand.
The day had been hectic due to the Decepticon attack in the town next to them. He’d been assigned to work with Kup again, and for an unexplained reason, he had been unbearably pissed. Kept yapping on about being in a similar situation a couple hundred thousand years ago, and how back then it was easier because of this thingy, and because of that thingy, and just because back then it was just better. According to Kup, at least. Hot Rod shook his head with a small grin as he bashed the head of a Decepticon, barely listening to what the old bot had to say.
Back in the hallways of the base, he headed to the fueling station from the wash racks. All the grit and crusted energon gone from his plating, leaving it nice and clean after a deep power wash. He picked a cube from the dispenser and sat at a table in the corner of the fueling room. He was sipping his cube peacefully as he caught a blur of red and blue in his peripheral vision. Turning his head to the side he spotted Ultra Magnus standing before a window, one hand holding a cube the same as his own, and the other on his hip a little awkwardly. He was looking out the window intently, similar to those weird small fluffy organics he recently learned about.
Cats, they were called, if he remembered correctly. Ultra Magnus stood there like it was the most interesting place to be right now. Hot Rod tried to pry his optics away, but the sight of him was surprisingly peaceful… or at least, it was, until Arcee tapped his pauldron for staring at their commander. Snickering teasingly as she plopped herself down in the seat next to him.
"Are you the reason why the word lashes he usually gives us has died down recently?” Arcee teased.
Hot Rod’s head swung to face Arcee.
“What?” he choked out, optics wide.
Arcee swirled her cube before taking a sip. She grinned, “Haha! Hmm, well, nevermind.” She giggled and waved her hand dismissively. “Why’re you just staring at him anyway?” she leaned at him.
Hot Rod didn’t know how to answer that. Even he himself didn’t know why. “Dunno, he just looks funny like that. Have you seen those small organics called ‘cats’? They kinda look like him.”
Apparently, to Hot Rods surprise, Arcee had been keeping up with what was going on the planet much more than he did. So yes, she did know what ‘cats’ were. Halfway through their respective cubes, she took out her personal datapad and started to show him a variety of videos and images of Earth that intrigued him.
They both started endlessly scrolling and pointing out oddities at videos on the “internet”. He giggled at a particularly funny one, (a video of a cat that had dipped its ‘paws’ into a bowl of cold water and it jumped really high, crashing into the human recording it) and looked up from the datapad. Ultra Magnus had gone. He checked his chronometer and time had flown by without him realizing. He and Arcee agreed it was late, so they disposed of their empty cubes and walked down the hall together, heading to the habsuites.
Arcee laughed softly, “I really liked the one where they made that orange cat wear a ‘suit’. It looked so cute and adorable. Ahh I really want a cat!” She made grabby hand gestures at the air, imitating squishing a cat like that one human did.
Hot Rod chuckled, “Arcee, I think a cat might be too small for you. Plus, I’d be terrified if it crawled into our seams…” he grimaced at the thought.
“Well, imagine if there were Cybertronian sized cats. Wouldn’t that be fun!” she laughed again.
“I like to think we already have one.” Said Hot Rod jokingly.
“Prowl?”
“Huh?” he faltered “Oh, yeah. I mean, he does seem really cat-like. But I always thought Jazz was more of a cat than him… he is a lot quieter, pedesteps-wise.”
“Yeah, but none of the cats in the videos we watched were actually quiet” she nudged an elbow at him.
Hot Rod snickered, “Well, they are just huge balls of fluff. They more so reminded me of someone else though…”
“Hmm… Ultra Magnus?” Arcee raised a optic ridge at him, smirking cheekily a little. She remembered that this connection was what started their internet spiral.
Hot Rod noticed the change in her expression and smiled back sheepishly, “Yup, big blue frowny boss mech. C’mon, don’t tell me you look at him and don’t see a cat? Hes practically one with the way he frowns all the time. Oh, oh! just like that brown striped cat we watched, the one where the human sings and puts a flower on it.” He explained with enthusiasm. “He practically looks like that when something bothers him!”
Arcee hummed thoughtfully, as if considering a tough question. “You know what… I do see it.” She giggled even harder.” The way he frowns does look like a ‘grumpy kitty’.” She said as she nodded.
“Right!” Hot Rod laughed. “Well, here’s my stop.” He said as he turned to a door.
They bade their goodnights and farewells as Arcee walked on, and Hot Rod entered his habsuite. Hah, Ultra Magnus as a cat. Isn’t that silly.
He wondered what the rest of the crew would be like as cats. Blurr would definitely be those ones that run around during storms and crash the whole place.
‘Hmm. Ultra Magnus as a cat. He’d definitely be the type to sit on a cushion in the corner.
He’d probably be really fluffy, considering how big he is.
And cute too.'
WHAT?
Where did that thought even come from? Primus, he must be tired. Ultra Magnus as a cute cat? No way in the pits. He was an annoying grumpy fluffy one at best.
He plopped on his berth. ‘What a ridiculous thought.’
Ultra Magnus was one of the rudest mechs he’d met. Him being “cute” in any scenario was a thought full of horror. Well, he guessed he wasn’t that rude. Partially rude. Stuck up at best.
‘Ach, whatever.’ He rolled over in his berth and forced his processor to shut up and power down.
…zzz
zzz...
That night he dreamt of an army of fluffy Ultra Magnus cats suffocating him to death.
KRA-BOOM!!
The Autobot base’s emergency siren started to wail. The sound echoing throughout the whole base.
They were all running with nowhere to go. The Decepticons had launched a full scale assault on the base. They had struck just when the base’s guard was at its lowest, right before sunrise when the shifts switched. The one time the posts were left unguarded for a fragging one minute.
Hot Rod was running. Sirens and alarms continuously blaring throughout the smoke filled corridors. He only had a vague idea of where he was going. He tried using his commlink to find out what was happening, but there seemed to be a jammer. Only static came through. ‘This is gonna be annoying.’ thought Hot Rod. He didn’t have a long-range weapon since the door to the locker and weapons room was jammed, and his emergency mini blaster in his bedside drawer was missing. ‘Frag.’ he slammed a palm to his forehead remembering his stupidity. He had lost a bet and gave up his mini blaster to Chase. Primus, curse that motormouthed braggart of a Throttlebot. Well, he guessed if Ultra Magnus knew, he was gonna get a throttling out of it (pun intended). At least he had his knife. He took it out form his subspace and unsheathed it.
He paused to scan his surroundings, spoiler flapping up and down, using its –minimal but still effective-- sensors to search the area for threats. He crept as quietly as he could through the hallways, looking for signs of his comrades. Every door that wasn’t a habsuite or control room were jammed shut. The only doors that were open were doors that lead to the outside. He kept going through the halls, until he heard gunfire next to him, and dove to a corner wall. He heard the cackling of a Decepticon, though he couldn’t tell who it was. He leaned closer to the edge of the wall, trying to get a look. Until more unfamiliar voices echoing from the corridor opposite of him, followed by more gunfire and a shriek. He decided not to risk it, and ran to the closest exit. Outside, the sun hadn’t arrived yet. It still hid behind the horizon, but it lit up the place enough for him to see the top of the towers. While scrambling for a direction amidst smoke, dust and stray bullets, he saw Skywarp. They were at the top of one of the main four tower posts that surrounded the base. He transformed and activated his commlink again.
“Hot Rod to base! Skywarp in tower three! I repeat! Skywarp in tower three! We have a main entrance breach! Skywarp in tower three!” he shouted through the commlink. The only reply that came in was still static. He swore under his breath.
Speeding up the stairs and bursting straight into the control room. Skywarp yelped as they whipped their head around.
“What the-“ they started as Hot Rod pounced at them and started slashing his knife. He managed to gash one of their optics out.
“ARRGGGHHHH!!! GET OFF OF ME!” they yelled.
Skywarp being taller than Hot Rod, kicked him off and his back slammed into the control panel, making it beep in an unpleasant way. Hot Rod got a quick glance of Blaster laying in the corner of the room, knocked out cold. A deep dent on the top of his head. Yikes, that was going to be a pain to pound out. His focus quickly shifted back to Skywarp who was wailing, a hand covering the bleeding optical socket.
“That’s all you got?” Hot Rod nudged them on. Skywarp growled.
They whipped their head to look at him, and charged. He dodged, jumping behind them, ramming his knife into their left wing. Skywarp yelled again as they vanished in a flash of purple, a harsh 'VORP!' sound reverberating in the room. Hot Rod swiveled immediately, thinking they would appear behind him. But dreadfully, he heard the second teleportation sound directly above him. Skywarp crashed on top of Hot Rod. They yanked the knife out of his hand, and flipped it to try and gauge out his optics. Hot Rod gripped the sides of their arms and flung the knife to the wall. They both looked at the knife, then back at eachother. Skywarp snarled and slammed Hot Rod’s head into the ground hard, they used the momentum from that motion to launch themselves towards the knife. Hot Rod caught them by their chest vent, he swung them towards him and kicked them with the full force of both his legs into their cockpit. They flung back as he rolled over to retrieve his blade. Only to hear another 'VORP!' accompanied by a another purple flash, as he was unceremoniously tackled again from another direction, a claw pinning him to the wall.
Energon gushed all over the floor from Skywarp’s cut wing and injured socket, but that didn’t deter them from their mission. Hot Rod being pinned into the wall, swung his free arm in a painful angle that made a joint pop in his shoulder, punching Skywarp square into their bleeding optic socket. Skywarp reeled back in agony as Hot Rod took that chance to get to his knife again.
“Oh no you don’t, scum!” Skywarp raised an arm and shot out of their Nullray.
Hot Rod was hit in the square of his back, the blast power throwing him into tower’s control panel. His face knocked one of the levers on the panel and heard an unpleasant crack from his olfactory ridge. He could smell and feel the hot energon trickle out of his olfactory sensors.
In his pain he blindly scrambled all over the control panel for something to be used as a weapon. Once his hands had found an object he deemed tough enough, he turned over to Skywarp. They shanked their claws into the control panel’s screen right by his shoulder, grazing him. In that moment he started to pound their head with an empty energon canister, and shoved them back enough for him to stand upright shakily. Skywarp snarled as they stumbled back, the jumped right at him yanking the canister from his grip and slamming it back into his face multiple times. Hot Rod sputtered from the hits, and dropped to his knees blinded.
Desperately he activated his commlink again, knowing it would be futile.
“Hot Rod to base!” He said spitting out mouthfuls of energon. “I need assistance now! Skywarp in tower three! I repeat, Skywarp in tower thr-“ he was kicked in the abdomen, the force so strong it left Hot Rod curled up on the ground, wheezing and coughing out more energon.
Skywarp kneeled infront of him, chuckling as they gripped at his chevron. They tugged his head up, forcing him to look at them.
“Let’s play a game.” They sneered. “It’s one that your flesh creatures love. Basketball, I heard it's your Prime's favourite. How cute." Picking up Hot Rod by his pauldron, they dragged him to a large window.
Pain shot through his entire body, but he was too much in a haze to scream. “See that little bump down there?” they shoved Hot Rod’s face into the glass, smearing energon all over it. “That would be the hoop.” Skywarp grinned, looking at a little mound of sand, located further outside the vicinity of the base gates. A single thin metal rod sticking out of the top.
“And you,” they lifted him so that they were face to face. “are the ball.”
In a flash of purple, they teleported, Skywarp still gripping him by the pauldron.
The world warped around Hot Rod and he suddenly felt the need to purge. Fortunately, as they were hovering in the sky, the feeling passed. Unfortunately, not a moment later, he was hurled directly onto a landmine.
His vision turned red.
Pain was all he could feel.
In the half darkness of dawn, he looked up, laying on his back. The sky momentarily filled with shrapnel. The world was a blur, all that he could feel was the burn in his body. The blown off outer armour of his entire torso, pauldron and arm sending multiple errors into his processor. He had miraculously survived, but if he didn’t get patched up soon, he was going to die. ‘Oh well.’ he thought. He could almost accept dying in the midst of battle. Almost. He shuttered his optics shut, praying it wouldn’t be his end. He still had so much to make up for...
And as if Primus was listening, his prayers prevailed. A looming broad figure pulled him away from his surrender.
Hot Rod was lifted off of the ground gently by large white servos. He yelled in agony as continuous bouts of pain surged through his marred body, a feeling that went all the way to the core of his spark. The bot said something, but he couldn’t hear. His audial receptors ringing from the explosion, deafening him from the sound of gunfire and his own screams. He used all the strength he had left to look up at the bot.
Ultra Magnus’ worried expression was the last thing he saw before stasis took him away.