Motormaster's Awesome Day: Midnight.
Title: Motormaster's Awesome Day.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei.
Rating: this one's PG-ish. others higher.
Warnings: Motormaster-torment.
Summary: From the Awesome Day Meme, Motormaster has 24 hours in his awesome day, in which awesome things can happen to him.
Disclaimer: They're a bit much to be mine.
Motormaster came on duty to shrieking alarm klaxons---the specific type that meant "escaped prisoner alert" and had one note in their sequence that the speakers on the bridge glitched on and the resulting feedback just grated his audials something fierce. It took three cycles of the sequence before he about-faced and commed the brig duty station from the hall. "Brig, Bridge, who's escaped?"
"Bridge, Brig," came the reply---Thrust, it sounded like. "Deploy security forces to Deck 5, sections Beta and Gamma.
"Who's escaped?" Thrust wasn't the Conehead who bashed his processor to pieces on a regular basis, so he had no excuse not to know what to do with a question, and Motormaster conveyed this by underlying his words with a growl.
"It's fine, I can handle it, just send people where I said to."
"THRUST!" Actively snarling now, and heading for the turbolifts, though whether to intercept the prisoner(s) on Deck 5 or to head down to the brig and beat some sense into Thrust, he wasn't quite sure. "Tell me who the frag escaped!"
"Uh . . ."
That was never a good sign, reflected Motormaster, and then his suspicions were confirmed as Thrust said, "Carly and Spike?"
Carly and Spike?
"The Autobots' pet humans?!" Motormaster thundered, storming toward the turbolift with every intention, now, of beating Thrust senseless with his own nosecone. "You let humans escape?!" Honestly, some people's ineptitude was really exceptional. "How did you let humans escape?!"
"They fragging did something," Thrust howled; Motormaster was about to scoff at that when he collided with something and rebounded; throwing a punch put a dent in it but numbed his fist to halfway up his arm at about the point he realized that it was the turbolift door; he slammed the call button with more force than was necessary and interrupted Thrust with a flood of curses.
That lasted all the way down to Deck 6, when he started to repeat himself; he paused, and Thrust got a word in edgewise to the effect that Megatron wanted them alive, for getting concessions out of the Autobots with. Which was fine with Motormaster---humans were so easy to squish, it was really kind of unsatisfying, and left a nasty mess besides. Honestly, how any being could stand having things like stomachs and spleens inside them, not to mention those long soft rope things that held their solid waste products . . . Motormaster supressed a distasteful shudder and turned his thoughts to the much more entertaining prospect of terrifying them. The turbolift doors opened on Deck 5 and he headed for Section Gamma, optics on the floor to make sure he didn't step on anything.
And canvassed the entireity of sections Gamma, Beta, and Delta for good measure, and found nothing.
"Thrust!"
"Yeah?" Timid little fragger, and rightly so because Motormaster was going to feed him his exhaust ports when he was done up here.
"Where the slag are they?!"
"In the vents somewhere!"
. . .
"You couldn't'a told me that first?!"
"Slaggin' obvious," the bastard jet was going to die when Motormaster got hold of him . . .
"Frag you," he snarled, and cut the comm off, scanning the vent ducts as he retraced his steps through the halls. There were two nice little heat signatures up in the ceiling above him; he stealthily moved to stand under them, reached up, and drove his hands through the metal to capture them. Two shrieks pierced the air, and something cold and gloppy and disgusting came into contact with his right hand.
Letting that human go, Motormaster let out a strangled yelp and flailed, sending the sticky purple goop flying. And then noticed that what he held in his other hand was not exactly a human.
"Frag, Moto, what the fuck!" Captured in his palm, Rumble fixed him with an indignant scowl. Above him, Frenzy echoed the sentiment.
Motormaster looked from Rumble to Frenzy to the disgusting . . . whatever-it-was on his hand. Torn between throwing Rumble down the hall and squeezing him until he popped, Motormaster was interrupted by his comm unit. "Bridge, Repair Bay, we seem to have lost power." That was Scrapper, and Motormaster called up a power-use display which told him that Deck 6 was completely without power; diagnostics indicated that the relays next to the vertical vent ducts had been damaged.
Motormaster swore, dropped Rumble, and headed uplevels, wiping his hand on the wall. He hoped they were at least pranking Thrust with whatever was left of that stuff.
Two floors up, he found a new pair of heat signatures; they were rather warmer than Frenzy's and Rumble's, which made him feel stupid for having mistaken the cassettes for the prisoners, which in turn did not improve his temper; he waited, tracking them, until they entered a more horizontal piece of ductwork, then broke a joint and tore the duct away from the wall.
Two human shrieks greeted him this time, and he looked inside the duct to see the pair of them moving back the way they came. Not so fast. He tore the other end apart and, hefting the whole section of it over his shoulder, headed back the way he came.
One human came out one end of the pipe, and the other human came out the other, giving Motormaster pause for how to react. "Get back in or I'll roll this thing," he told the one on the front end, perched on top of it and crawling up; the other one was smart enough to stay near the edge, in position to jump clear or jump in or jump aside as the situation demanded. He shook it for emphasis, and the human nearest him yelped and leapt onto his arm plating.
He shifted his grip on the pipe to free his other hand for grabbing at it, and the other human clambered up the pipe and launched itself at his aft.
Motormaster snarled and dropped the pipe, squirming and trying to grab at the too-quick human that was traversing from arm to back now, tiny clever fingers finding handholds in the gaps of his plating. They tickled. He snarled and turned full circle trying to grab at that one, banged the pipe against the wall, and then banged the pipe against midair.
Which could only mean one thing. The Autobot spy, Mirage, who could turn himself invisible---and who was much too clever to still be there when Motormaster swung the pipe again.
The last thing he remembered was the floor coming up to meet him as the world went dark and the humans were pulled away from him; the first thing he remembered was an aching processor and somebody squawking at him through the comm. "What the frag just happened?!"
"It's that fragging spy of theirs," came the answer---Ravage, stationed at the security monitors. "Shot you and grabbed the humans and disappeared." Motormaster stared at the duct-pipe next to him, and gave it a vicious kick, humiliation feeding fury.
"Stop that, or you can repair it." Motormaster turned around and had to look up at Bonecrusher; he clambered to his pedes and immediately staggered into the wall as the world shifted in a way it was really not supposed to. Bonecrusher laughed unkindly, and Motormaster seethed anew at that. Speaking of mechs that needed their heads shoved up their thrusters . . . but the Constructicons were gestalt---beat up one, and you had six Constructicons angry at you, which became highly problematic the next time you needed repairs. Motormaster settled for snarling as he staggered back towards the bridge, wishing his shift were over.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei.
Rating: this one's PG-ish. others higher.
Warnings: Motormaster-torment.
Summary: From the Awesome Day Meme, Motormaster has 24 hours in his awesome day, in which awesome things can happen to him.
Disclaimer: They're a bit much to be mine.
Motormaster came on duty to shrieking alarm klaxons---the specific type that meant "escaped prisoner alert" and had one note in their sequence that the speakers on the bridge glitched on and the resulting feedback just grated his audials something fierce. It took three cycles of the sequence before he about-faced and commed the brig duty station from the hall. "Brig, Bridge, who's escaped?"
"Bridge, Brig," came the reply---Thrust, it sounded like. "Deploy security forces to Deck 5, sections Beta and Gamma.
"Who's escaped?" Thrust wasn't the Conehead who bashed his processor to pieces on a regular basis, so he had no excuse not to know what to do with a question, and Motormaster conveyed this by underlying his words with a growl.
"It's fine, I can handle it, just send people where I said to."
"THRUST!" Actively snarling now, and heading for the turbolifts, though whether to intercept the prisoner(s) on Deck 5 or to head down to the brig and beat some sense into Thrust, he wasn't quite sure. "Tell me who the frag escaped!"
"Uh . . ."
That was never a good sign, reflected Motormaster, and then his suspicions were confirmed as Thrust said, "Carly and Spike?"
Carly and Spike?
"The Autobots' pet humans?!" Motormaster thundered, storming toward the turbolift with every intention, now, of beating Thrust senseless with his own nosecone. "You let humans escape?!" Honestly, some people's ineptitude was really exceptional. "How did you let humans escape?!"
"They fragging did something," Thrust howled; Motormaster was about to scoff at that when he collided with something and rebounded; throwing a punch put a dent in it but numbed his fist to halfway up his arm at about the point he realized that it was the turbolift door; he slammed the call button with more force than was necessary and interrupted Thrust with a flood of curses.
That lasted all the way down to Deck 6, when he started to repeat himself; he paused, and Thrust got a word in edgewise to the effect that Megatron wanted them alive, for getting concessions out of the Autobots with. Which was fine with Motormaster---humans were so easy to squish, it was really kind of unsatisfying, and left a nasty mess besides. Honestly, how any being could stand having things like stomachs and spleens inside them, not to mention those long soft rope things that held their solid waste products . . . Motormaster supressed a distasteful shudder and turned his thoughts to the much more entertaining prospect of terrifying them. The turbolift doors opened on Deck 5 and he headed for Section Gamma, optics on the floor to make sure he didn't step on anything.
And canvassed the entireity of sections Gamma, Beta, and Delta for good measure, and found nothing.
"Thrust!"
"Yeah?" Timid little fragger, and rightly so because Motormaster was going to feed him his exhaust ports when he was done up here.
"Where the slag are they?!"
"In the vents somewhere!"
. . .
"You couldn't'a told me that first?!"
"Slaggin' obvious," the bastard jet was going to die when Motormaster got hold of him . . .
"Frag you," he snarled, and cut the comm off, scanning the vent ducts as he retraced his steps through the halls. There were two nice little heat signatures up in the ceiling above him; he stealthily moved to stand under them, reached up, and drove his hands through the metal to capture them. Two shrieks pierced the air, and something cold and gloppy and disgusting came into contact with his right hand.
Letting that human go, Motormaster let out a strangled yelp and flailed, sending the sticky purple goop flying. And then noticed that what he held in his other hand was not exactly a human.
"Frag, Moto, what the fuck!" Captured in his palm, Rumble fixed him with an indignant scowl. Above him, Frenzy echoed the sentiment.
Motormaster looked from Rumble to Frenzy to the disgusting . . . whatever-it-was on his hand. Torn between throwing Rumble down the hall and squeezing him until he popped, Motormaster was interrupted by his comm unit. "Bridge, Repair Bay, we seem to have lost power." That was Scrapper, and Motormaster called up a power-use display which told him that Deck 6 was completely without power; diagnostics indicated that the relays next to the vertical vent ducts had been damaged.
Motormaster swore, dropped Rumble, and headed uplevels, wiping his hand on the wall. He hoped they were at least pranking Thrust with whatever was left of that stuff.
Two floors up, he found a new pair of heat signatures; they were rather warmer than Frenzy's and Rumble's, which made him feel stupid for having mistaken the cassettes for the prisoners, which in turn did not improve his temper; he waited, tracking them, until they entered a more horizontal piece of ductwork, then broke a joint and tore the duct away from the wall.
Two human shrieks greeted him this time, and he looked inside the duct to see the pair of them moving back the way they came. Not so fast. He tore the other end apart and, hefting the whole section of it over his shoulder, headed back the way he came.
One human came out one end of the pipe, and the other human came out the other, giving Motormaster pause for how to react. "Get back in or I'll roll this thing," he told the one on the front end, perched on top of it and crawling up; the other one was smart enough to stay near the edge, in position to jump clear or jump in or jump aside as the situation demanded. He shook it for emphasis, and the human nearest him yelped and leapt onto his arm plating.
He shifted his grip on the pipe to free his other hand for grabbing at it, and the other human clambered up the pipe and launched itself at his aft.
Motormaster snarled and dropped the pipe, squirming and trying to grab at the too-quick human that was traversing from arm to back now, tiny clever fingers finding handholds in the gaps of his plating. They tickled. He snarled and turned full circle trying to grab at that one, banged the pipe against the wall, and then banged the pipe against midair.
Which could only mean one thing. The Autobot spy, Mirage, who could turn himself invisible---and who was much too clever to still be there when Motormaster swung the pipe again.
The last thing he remembered was the floor coming up to meet him as the world went dark and the humans were pulled away from him; the first thing he remembered was an aching processor and somebody squawking at him through the comm. "What the frag just happened?!"
"It's that fragging spy of theirs," came the answer---Ravage, stationed at the security monitors. "Shot you and grabbed the humans and disappeared." Motormaster stared at the duct-pipe next to him, and gave it a vicious kick, humiliation feeding fury.
"Stop that, or you can repair it." Motormaster turned around and had to look up at Bonecrusher; he clambered to his pedes and immediately staggered into the wall as the world shifted in a way it was really not supposed to. Bonecrusher laughed unkindly, and Motormaster seethed anew at that. Speaking of mechs that needed their heads shoved up their thrusters . . . but the Constructicons were gestalt---beat up one, and you had six Constructicons angry at you, which became highly problematic the next time you needed repairs. Motormaster settled for snarling as he staggered back towards the bridge, wishing his shift were over.