Ep 0.5 - You Remind Me... - Closed

[bulkhead]

New duty roster? Sounded great to Bulkhead. Nice change from the monotony they'd fallen into when it'd only been the four of them and Prime, the original Team Prime.

New duty roster that included new team partners, swapped out on an almost daily basis? Awesome. The best thing about the influx of arrivals was a) backup and b) new people to hang with. Bulkhead hadn't synched schedules with half of them as much as would've been nice, and now here was this new roster, arranging just that. Sweet.

Until, he discovered early one morning, the new roster included questionable new additions.

Like supposedly ex-'Cons.

Sniper was waiting to meet him when Bulkhead trudged out for patrol, the sleek framed 'Con standing out like a noxious green opticsore against the rusty red and tans of the Nevada landscape. Bulkhead was clenching his fists before he thought better of it, engine rumbling a low, angry sound.

Ex-'Con. Sure. And Bulkhead was a fragging rotary frame.

But orders were orders, a roster was a roster, and he'd apparently been assigned pet 'Con walking duty for the day under the disguise of 'long range patrol'. Lovely. Reigning himself in, Bulkhead gave Sniper a short, sharp nod. "You ready?"

[sniper]

It seemed both factions had their own Breakdowns, Sniper thought when he observed the round Autobot rolling to his direction. And he happened to know that this chubby platform had a history with the actual Breakdown of the Decepticon faction. The air about them both was so similar it was almost ironic, really. Opening his research folder on Bulkhead, Sniper peeled his weight off the wall he had been leaning against while waiting. The gaze of his narrow optics was attentive, strict and sharp- like it always was. Much, like his voice, when he said:

"Certainly," his tone was cold and a tad snappy. It seemed he was growing tired of the constant Autobot surveillance he was under. "But should your people have trusted me alone with this task, it would be done already," he muttered, his voice shifting slightly towards a dull one: "But it's not like I can blame you for your lack trust." Sniper was in intelbot, above all. He understood the Autobots' need to protect their information. It didn't, however, make the situation any less frustrating for him.

A long, lanky arm made a gesture for the warrior-class lugnut. It said exactly what his words did just a moment after: "Now that you're here, lead the way, will you?"

[bulkhead]

It would be done already - Bulkhead snorted, throttling back another growl. Cocky little sports car slagger. Probably one of those speed racing types. And ...should your people have trusted me... oh, THAT was a laugh riot right there. Ha ha ha. Fragging 'Con. Thought he was so Pit slagging clever, trying to sound Tower formal and slag.

And he was expected to drive a long patrol with the little back biting 'signia switcher riding herd on his bumper the whole way? Oh, frag no. Bulkhead didn't think so.

"You've got the same route map I do," he growled at Sniper. "Seeing as you're so all fired in a hurry, get your wheels on the pavement and get with it." Frag, no. If he was tasked with taking the 'Con for a drive, he was gonna do it with the scrawny crime-against-the-color-green in front of him, where he could keep an optic (and a target lock) on him.

[sniper]

There was a sharp, red glance thrown at Bulkhead when the chubby mech snorted. Sniper's faceplate wore its grumpy, displeased expression. He didn't like being talked back at - not quite as much as he loved to do it o others himself, anyway. But he said nothing, regardless. Sniper just walked past the bigger mech, noting how Bulkhead could probably have crushed him with a couple of well placed swings of his mauls. But what Sniper lacked in built and power, Bulkhead lacked in wit. Or, at least Sniper was counting on it.

"Fine," he muttered, getting ready to collapse into his flashy vehicle mode. But before he did so, he moved his head so that Bulkhead could maybe catch a glimpse of his grumpy profile. "Aren't you worried I'll lead you into a Decepticon trap?" Sharp sarcasm in Sniper's voice. There was hostility in Bulkhead's field and it didn't take a genius to figure out why that was. And Sniper answered it in the only way he knew.

[bulkhead]

A trap? Did the mouthy little 'Con really think... oh please (and Bulkhead was mech enough to admit that, in the privacy of his own processor, the word came out more like Miko's aggravated "puh-leeeze" and to tag it as an expression he probably shouldn't use out loud unless he wanted to risk saying it like that).

"You think I'm that fraggin' dumb?" he snapped, instead, transforming with a rumbled, menacing growl of his revved engine. "Don't make me laugh. Way I heard it, the 'Cons threw you out with the garbage." Which didn't, in any way, erase the mech's former Decepticon status in Bulkhead's mind, but it also didn't add up to any heavy support coming the mech's way from his previous faction. "Hope they're paying you really slagging well for playing THAT kind of bait. Oh," he added, with deadpan sarcasm, "wait. They're 'Cons. Do you guys even get paid, or is it all 'for the greater good of the glory of the cause blah blah blah...'"

Snorting, he revved his engine again, the sound snarling. "Get your wheels going, already. Or are you just there for looking at?"

[sniper]

Then the bigger mech just exploded into a puddle words. Sniper bit his dental plates together and rolled his optics in secret, even if there was a significant amount of truth to Bulkhead's words.

"For Primus' sake," Sniper sighed. "I wasn't being serious." The spy's voice was as grumpy as ever, he glanced at the bigger mech again with a sour pair of optics. "But thank you for the reminder," he grimaced. "It is so hard to keep tabs of such petty things." Like getting your knee joint pulled out for one.

The spy cycled a frustrated breath of air he had been holding in his chest and collapsed into his vehicle mode. The smooth, carefully buffed paint job captured the hot Nevada sun on its venom green surface - a nice contrast to Bulkhead to whom looks didn't seem to be ... as important. Sniper's engine started quietly and pulled him into motion. The muscle car moved effortlessly ahead, locking onto the route that had been marked into the map he shared with Muscles here.

"And I'll have you know, I was never a very firm believer in the 'glory' of Megatron's cause," he continued to mutter to the truck that drove behind him like a big, clumsy shadow. "But then, I was 'thrown out with the garbage' as you said," the spy continued with the same sour note dancing about the carefully collected words. "So in human words; 'Touché', I guess."

Primus, Sniper's life had truly hit rock bottom.

[bulkhead]

Frag, the little street racer show car was so slaggin' shiny Bulkhead would have called him on the 'Con sob story if he hadn't heard it direct from Bee. Bulkhead could actually see himself in the switcher's rear bumper through his forward optics.

And the way he drove, you'd think his precious finish was still factory fresh and his undercarriage was made of silicate glass. Primus. Bulkhead tried to think which of the officers he had obviously fragged off, but couldn't recall any particular incident recently. Maybe Arcee just thought he needed to learn 'patience' - she was big on that sometimes. Frag it.

"Yeah," he growled back. "Boo fragging hoo. You signed up with them, didn't you? Too bad it turned out to be not such a great idea after all."

There was no one else on the roads this far out from Jaspar. Snarling, Bulkhead pulled out of Sniper's wake and slid into the other lane, paralleling him instead. "Primus, you don't have to stay five miles under the slagging speed limit, you know! Are you trying to make this route last an extra three hours, or what?"

[sniper]

"Oh, and here I thought I was keeping the speed around your vehicle mode's standards," Sniper snarked. "It seems politeness will only get one so far with you Autobots," he continued idly, awknowledging Bulkhead's remark on his driving speed. Of course, as someone who was yet to get accustomed to driving on this planet, Sniper was a a bit irritated. But he also happened to know his slender built came with at least some advantages compared to the bulky kind of the bigger mech's. "It isn't fair when I can outrace you even a flat tire, you see," he continued, his composed voice having a slight amusement about it.

Bulkhead's hostile remark did, however, get Sniper to pick up the pace - maybe a little bit more than was neccessary. And the way he did it, it seemed more like a taunt than anything, even if he was also playing by the Autobot's rules. Physical physical power between the two could not have been more unbalanced.

[bulkhead]

"Flat tire my aft," Bulkhead growled, matching the smaller mech's speed, engine roaring. Oh, he wouldn't be able to match it if the racer opened up all the stops, but that scenario had two possible outcomes - either he wouldn't have to, or he'd just let the ex-'Con pull ahead, wear his bitty fuel tank out, and Bulkhead would be towing his sorry scrawny aft back to base.

His credits were on 'wouldn't have to', because he knew this route like his own mesh and 'wouldn't have to' was coming up, in the form of some lovely winding curves through the foothills, short embankment drop on one side, rock wall on the other. The way the optic-sore drove... amused, Bulkhead opened up his own stops and pulled ahead, swerving happily across the lanes, lights flashing in juvenile challenge. "That the best you got? You really are nothing but show. Come on, princess, we ain't got all day."

[sniper]

"You would be wise not to challenge me, Wrecker," Sniper transmitted, with a tiny bit of his signature viciousness draping around the calmly spoken words. There was also a bit of amusement in the way they were spoken. Should there have been actual race, the spy's reaction would have been more aggressive, but he was a lamborghini while Breakdown was an SUV. And as far as Sniper was concerned, the competition would be over before it even started.

But as Sniper was a very proud and competitive mech (which was also one of the reasons he had been thrown off the Nemesis), Bulkhead's taunts were exact kind of spark that would light the spy's fire. A slight crinkle occurred in his EM field - something equivalent of a slight grimace, maybe. The spy picked up his pace, engine revving slightly as an answer to the irritating little light blinks Bulkhead was sending his way. He wouldn't be blinking in such fashion for long!

Speeding behind the SUV was no trouble, but that alone wouldn't do. With a slight, half afted transformation, the spy's green robot form threw itself right on the truck, landing for a very brief moment before jumping on the road right in front of it. And he landed on his four wheels, too. In a little wobbly way perhaps, since Sniper was a bit rusty on the field, but he did it successfully. And his EM field flared of smugness as he did so.

No Wrecker would outrace him.

[bulkhead]

Did the glitch-spawned slag sucker just... he DID! The fragging rust-for-processor switcher had bounced off of him, like some deranged human youngling game of leap frog! Oh, that was it. It was on. Growling, Bulkhead opened his engine up to a full roar, tearing after the little optic-scarring offense to the color green in a shrieking squeal of tire on asphalt. Oh, they'd see who had the last laugh, alright. And it was going to be Bulkhead...

....just as soon as they hit the first S curve, and Bulkhead didn't even try to hide his chortling glee as the obnoxious prissy little aft nearly spun out, dumping speed and locking his wheels in a frantic turn to keep from taking a quick tumble down the embankment on the lefthand side. Laughing, Bulkhead barreled ahead, wheelbase wide and gripping through the slingback as he sped ahead, weaving with practiced abandon through the turns. "Problem, princess?" he called back, leaning into the next turn enough to lift his outside tires, swinging through it like an inline skater before bouncing back onto all four wheels. "Can't handle the road?"

Chuckling, he took the next curve at speed, watching through rear sensors as the little ex-'Con got his wheels under him and tried to catch up. So easy. And it was going to be so fragging hysterical when they hit the mess Nevada highway crews usually left behind after road repairs, which would be coming up on the far side of the foothills, assuming the glitch made it that far without wiping himself out. Gleeful, Bulkhead ripped through another turn, pouring on speed with no care at all for the roughness of the ride.

[sniper]

While Sniper was a great driver, or at least had been in his more active days during an information thief, his lack of practice showed as his rear spun out of control, sending the sleek lambo into an uncontrolled little spin. His field flared with unspoken curses before he got his wheels under control again, only to see how the SUV had somehow managed to get ahead of him. This wouldn't do! Sniper's field spiked darkness - like he would have grimaced or furrowed a brow, or both. Yeah, it was possibly both. He dashed right after Bulkhead, who was spouting out insults. Gladly, enough, Sniper was no stranger in exchanging those.

"Oh, don't you worry about me," he snarked with a subtle grin flickering in his voice. "I was simply letting ladies go first." It didn't take long for them to come across a construction site after Sniper had grown silent again. No humans around. While construction seemed to be on going, it looked completely deserted today. And this proved to be a good thing, as the next sharp turn actually managed to rip the lamborghini out of the road.

A strangled grunt occurred and the ex-Con lost control of his wheels. He had to transform halfway through his unfortunate spin to gain control again - only to slide right across some muddy substance the construction workers had left behind.

"Scrap-!" Sniper whined when he had come to a stop. The rest of his curses sort of muffled each other, but the at least the words 'fragging road', 'paintjob', and 'wretched planed' occurred in there.

[bulkhead]

Bulkhead couldn't help it - when the obnoxious little switcher lost it completely and spun off through the tarred asphalt he had to slam on his own brakes because he was laughing too hard to take the next curve in the road. He ground to a halt on the side of the road, shocks shaking from laughter that bled into static.

The ex-Con was a gravel and tar covered mess all over his priceless paint job, tumbled into the dirt on the opposite side of the road. Bulkhead had gravel and tar crunching all up in his own wheel wells and across his undercarriage but he didn't care - it was worth it for the image captures of the 'Con's stunned and furious face and the sticky grit and rust red Nevada dirt all up over that horrific neon paint.

A part of Bulkhead really wanted to pound the little fragger, but honestly, to a mechanism like that, screwing with that prissy pristine paint job was just as good and maybe even better. It gave Bulkhead a warm glow in his spark that was nothing even close to proper Autobot sentiment the way their fearless leader espoused it, but which he took a few kliks to revel in all the same.

Besides - it wasn't his fault the cockly little slagger couldn't handle the road... right?

Still laughing, Bulkhead came up out of his alt. Just the few steps across the road left his pedes black and tarred all across his traction plates, sticky and grit laden. It was going to take off paint if they didn't wash it off pronto, and it was going to take a Pit of a lot of scrubbing to get it off. All of which only made his smile wider and more obnoxious as he surveyed the mess all over the 'Con's formerly spotless plating. "What was that, Princess? Couldn't hear you over the girly screaming."