When We Dared The Dawn

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Questions of Science

He was going to absolutely slag Sideswipe to the Pit when he next got his servos on him.

There was a scratch marring one armoured forearm; a scratch, slag it all!

Sunstreaker glared at the offending imperfection with intensely narrowed optics, measuring its shallow length to the nanometre with his scanners and deciding that he was going to multiply the amount by six and put a similar mark across Sideswipe's stupid faceplate when he saw him. Primus, this was a tragedy - he was going to have to resign from his post as the most handsome Autobot on the planet if his twin kept this sort of behaviour up! Couldn't he be more careful?

A favourite human song of his played on his radio channel, and he smirked as he heard the lyrics. The mark wasn't too dire, he supposed... the majority of his golden paintjob was unblemished, and he guessed that Ratchet would probably fix it up out of annoyance if he whined about it for a few hours in the morning. Now, however, it was past ten o'clock, and he knew that it would be unhealthy to enter the medbay at this hour.

I'm Too Sexy...

... oh, how he loved this song.

After a minute of listening to the tune, he decided he might as well play it out loud. The speakers of the Lamborghini's stereo system were located on his shoulders, and the male voices were soon informing the world of Sunstreaker's feelings about himself as he walked around the mirror-laden room indolently, nodding appreciatively at each of his many reflections and offering each one his unique, appealingly crooked smile.

He supposed he should recharge at some point, but he had too many things to think about - firstly, what outrageous pranks the Patrol could pull once they were done with their planned attack on the medbay.

He and Sideswipe had made a unanimous decision that they had gone a bit soft over the past four years, and it was about time that they got their exclusive brand of wickedness back - if they weren't careful, they might be beaten by Sam, Miles and Bumblebee - who formed the other side of the quintet - in thinking up the most extreme ways to exasperate Ratchet and Ironhide, and they couldn't let that happen. It was time that they did something really, really bad... to remind everyone of their reputation as the most troublesome mechs ever sparked.

The song played back again at his command, and he sung along to it vaguely as he folded his arms and eyed his reflection, hoping to inspire some ideas with his own, undeniably rousing visage.

What to do... what would be a really good wake-up call for the base's inhabitants?

"Hello, Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker let out a yelp of shock, cutting his song off mid-verse and aiming his pulse cannon at the door - only to see a bunch of the Pit-spawned humans, led by Jade and Sam, who both had identical glimmers of mirth in their eyes. Jade had her hand clamped over her mouth to stop herself from laughing, and Sam looked to be fighting a smirk.

"What the - how the slag did you get in here?" he demanded, mortified.

"Uh, the door?" the young man suggested with a small snort. "Nice singing, by the way, man. You ever considered entering American Idol with that number? I'd sure vote for you."

Completely humiliated by the midget organic, Sunstreaker turned away with a huff and turned his sharp nose up dismissively.

"And there I was thinking that you were my pal, Sam," he lamented, feeling somewhat betrayed by this turn of events. "You know, the Prank Patrol was never designed for feeble, squishy organics such as your lowly self, Witwicky, but I still let you join. I still let you assist in advancing the great mission that Sideswipe and I embarked on at the moment of our sparking - to be the biggest irritation in the cosmos. And yet this - this - is how you repay my kindness! That wounds me."