Edited 10/06/2023: Changed Spitfire's active weapons layout in wolf mode, gun barrel now extends out of mouth rather than being in the tail in order to avoid the gun barrel – which his entire body is built around after all – having to turn around between modes, and changing some lines around that section to mention that he was wanting to shoot things.
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Optimus watched the small black and grey plated Wolf make their way out of the main atrium until their white tipped tail disappeared around the corner, turning back to see Ratchet walking over to him grimly. Primus, he wished he wasn't so familiar with this particular expression.
"... How is he, old friend?" He asked the old medic quietly, a quiet sense of guilt churning in his own spark chamber. He'd not exactly known Spitfire well, only knowing the mech as one of the many that had attended those early rallies, when the Decepticons had been a force for good... It beggared belief that Megatron would have done so heinous a thing to one of the exact kind of bots he'd proclaimed the need to free.... but then, Megatron has always had a vengeful streak a light-year wide. And Optimus had likewise promised to help him when he had asked for it, only for that very same bot to end up in a storage box in his own capital city.
It was not a new feeling, and through long practice he didn't let it show on his faceplate as the Medic took a breath before pulling up his list.
"... His systems are starved of all major minerals and his fuel system is clogged up from running on fragging weapon-grade, but that'll be sorted by the Med-Grade and some rest." He said, waving a manipulator to dismiss it as an issue, "The bigger issue is that his transformation system has been under an unbelievable amount of strain with that... device on him for so long. Frankly I'm amazed he was able to transform at all. He
should not do anything that would require him to transform again for at least a few orns, but he also needs to keep moving to avoid his Root mode's joints seizing up. His plating and internal structure are also thinner than they should be, though the extra minerals should help with rebuilding that, but... I'm most worried about his mental state." Ratchet looked down somewhat at the end, "Optimus, he diverted his self repair to keep his weapon form operational at the expense of his own frame, to the point where there were hairline fractures and worn thin plates just from periodic contact. That doesn't just happen in a few deciorns. If it had gone on for much longer before he got put into stasis..."
Optimus vented deeply and closed his optics. Primus, he only wished he'd had more time to investigate all the little problems that he had seen back then, before he'd been drawn into the war. The Matrix told him that he couldn't have done any better; that he'd simply come in too late to fully avert things.
Still, he doubted the little bot would willingly show any kind of weakness in front of him; he'd seen it before, how as soon as his initial moment of weakness had passed the mech had done his best to act like he was completely unaffected by everything he'd just gone through.
"... Understood. He will not be expected to do anything related to his weapon form until you have determined it to be safe,
and that he is ready for it. As for his other issues... I am afraid that offering an understanding audial and monitoring the situation may be the best we can do for now, other than ensuring that everyone knows to talk to him as a fellow Cybertronian first and foremost."
Hopefully, Spitfire would be more willing to show weakness to nominal peers. The Matrix prompted him reassuringly with many cases of such things happening, but... He knew full well that just as many cases simply had them suffering in silence until the figurative or literal explosion.
Ratchet nodded grimly, "Agreed." He sighed, turning away a little, "Another crime to lay at Megatron's pedes. As if he hadn't done enough already." He scowled to himself before sighing. He had work to do if Bulkhead was going to be combat capable anytime soon.
I jolted online again as I heard pedesteps passing nearby, scrambling onto my paws before I realised it was just someone walking past the corridor outside, and more importantly, I was
standing up.
I closed my optics again and just cycled coolant in and out for a few astroseconds, grounding myself again. My actuators ached slightly with the sudden activity after so long stuck in place, their movements a little stiffer than I liked, but the sensation of moving at all was still so overwhelming that I paid it little mind.
I wasn't sitting in some armoury wondering when the next Decepticon would walk past and grab me. I wasn't laid out next to a snipers nest, or clamped onto someone's weapon holsters, or hidden in someone's subspace compartment. I was here, on Earth, on my own four paws, with nothing stopping me from doing anything I decided to do. I could walk, I could run, I could cry and laugh...
I could finally stretch out and get all those old kinks out of my servos, or scratch at an itch... Or... Feel the sun on my plating.
Struck by the sudden urge to feel that comforting warmth again I walked out of my berth-room – the door opened for me automatically, thankfully – and made my way up the emergency stairway to the helipad on top of the base. It was a bit of a walk, but that just gave me something to focus on.
One paw in front of the other, slowly loosening up as I moved until I carefully pushed the access hatch open and stepped outside onto the top of the rocky mound that Omega One was built into.
And...
Oh.
I hadn't been able to sync up my chronometers with the local time yet, but the sky was just now brightening as the first rays of sunlight came over the horizon.
It was... beautiful. Cybertron had many exotic sights, but this... It was something simple, and human, that I had thought I might never see again.
I lay down on my side and splayed my plating to catch as much sunlight as I could. The trickle of energy from my photovoltaics was only a supplement to my power supply, but it just... felt nice, to indulge in an aspect of my programming that I'd not really had much chance to lately. Basking was a way of taking it easy, right? The warmth seeping into my plating felt nice too...
I only realised that I must have drifted into a recharge nap at some point when I was jolted awake by a ring from my comms system.
"
Spitfire, where are you? I just sent Arcee to your room and she says you're not there." Ratchet's voice came through, and I realised with a sinking feeling that I hadn't actually asked anyone if being up here was okay.
"
I'm by the helipad on top of the base. I know you said not to leave the base but I found the door and I figured it wasn't really leaving the base and I really wanted to see outside..."I cut myself off before I could dig my hole any deeper. Damnit, stupid, stupid! I shouldn't have left before being given permission, I should have learnt after the last time I got stuffed in a subspace compartment because they got annoyed I wasn't where I should have been, Primus I didn't want to go in the dark place again...
The medics quiet sigh came through quite clearly, but he at least didn't actually sound angry,
"That's fine, Spitfire. You don't have to ask permission, but just let someone know when you go up top okay? I was worried you'd gotten stuck or injured somewhere."
... Oh, right, that... makes sense, doesn't it? Nothing to worry about. I'm good. We're all good here.
"Ah... I see. Sorry for worrying you then. I'm fine, just basking."
Ratchet signed off briskly and the call dropped. I stayed up for a while as I calmed myself down and made sure any coolant that may have escaped had dried before I decided that I should make an actual appearance before anyone else got worried, heading back down the stairs to the main area of the base again.
Ratchet and Optimus were there as usual, Optimus still decoding more of the relic coordinates and Ratchet handing me another cube of Medical Grade that I again lapped up eagerly. Damn, I hadn't even realised how hungry I was, maybe that was why I'd had the urge to go and bask for a bit? It was actually a bit worrying how much more Energon I was using than I was used to outside of combat… Though, was this normal actually? It'd make sense if I used more like this than hanging on a weapons rack…
Primus, had I really forgotten what it was like to
not be a gun that just hung around in the armoury when not being used? Or… Maybe it was just the extra drain from my self repair finally catching up on Vorns of neglect?
I chose to believe the latter for now… Even if it said nothing good about the state I'd let myself get into, it was less existentially terrifying.
Ratchet watched for long enough to make sure I was actually drinking it before I felt the tingle of a high power scanner running over my plating while he looked at the open medical readout panel on his arm with the results, nodding slightly to himself, "Good, your self repair is functioning properly at least, fuel system is clearing up, efficiency is acceptable… Any joint movement issues?"
Well… He was already pointing a medical grade scanner at me, wasn't like there was much I could hide from him right now. "… Was a bit stiff when I first onlined. It cleared up after stretching and moving around a bit."
"As expected. You're probably going to find yourself getting tired faster than normal while your self repair is so active. Recharge as you need to, but make sure to keep moving when you're active, keep them from seizing up." The medic noted, which at least answered my earlier worries somewhat. So I probably
was using more Energon than usual at the moment.
"Understood, Doctor." I inclined my helm to him. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do." Ratchet nodded, turning back to monitoring Bulkhead and... something to do with the Groundbridge? I wasn't much for the technical side of things, other than things related to weapon maintenance – and even that mostly from experience.
I eyed him for a moment before deciding that I might as well go say hi to Bulkhead given he was so far the only one I'd not talked to at least a little bit, and the humans weren't here yet.
Seeing how far along he is in recovery should also help give me an idea of when exactly I was.
So, I walked over to the big green mech where he was sitting on the medical berth, boredom radiating from his field as he half heartedly sipped at his own cube of Med-Grade. He was conscious at least, as I'd guessed from his half-hearted yell back when I'd first gotten here, though from the looks of it was still needing to rest while his self repair systems got his legs working again.
"So, you're Bulkhead then?" I asked carefully as I stopped in front of him.
"Ugh, yeah." He grumbled at his Energon and set it down, "And you must be Spitfire. Have to admit, I wasn't expecting one of the relics we were looking for to be a bot."
"It happens." I flicked my shoulder plating in my best attempt at a shrug. "I should probably be angrier about it, but... Well, being stuffed in a stasis container isn't actually the worst thing that could have happened to me. And it worked out better than the alternative."
Such as being used to block one blow too many, or used as a club and just breaking, or being shoved in a subspace pocket or non-stasis container forever. At least in stasis I wasn't aware of the time passing.
"Hm. If you're sure. So, I didn't get a good look earlier, what exactly do you turn into anyway?"
"Reconfigurable heavy Rifle. Variable zoom scope, adjustable fire rate and mode selector. Can do charge shots in single shot mode, and I'm pretty accurate, so I've been used as a marksman rifle a few times too, but default is a full-auto assault rifle. I'd show you, but... well, one, I'm under medical advice not to transform, and two... no offence, but I think you'd just crush me."
Bulkhead's tendency to crush small instruments was amusing when they were Ratchet's things. Less so when you'd known bots that turned into those things.
He glanced at his bulky digits and frowned, "Hey, I can be careful!"
"I'm sure you can be – you've been interacting with organics after all." I acknowledged. In truth I doubted he'd
accidentally hurt anyone, but the problem with turning into a tool or weapon was that even for another bot it was easy to forget who you were holding for a moment – and Bulkhead was the kind of bot who
did forget that he wasn't supposed to break certain things… A lot. "I just dislike adjusting my trigger guard that much. Feels weird." I admitted instead, looking away a bit. There, give him another reason for it that isn't saying he's clumsy. And has the side benefit that its also true.
"Heh, suppose that's fair. And I'm not really that big on handheld weapons anyway. Tend to get in the way when things get up close and personal." He grinned slightly, crashing his manipulators together for emphasis.
I mean, I
can deploy a bayonet, but... yeah, wrecker style close combat would be a nightmare for me. And I'm not going to mention that lest he get ideas.
"Yeah, plus I bet a bruiser like you already has some decent blasters. Bee was alright though. He can shoot mostly straight and practised trigger discipline at least." I agreed, thinking back to Bumblebee's brief time carrying me. Inexperienced with handheld weaponry, sure, but he had the right instincts for it and had obviously internalized whatever lessons he'd had.
Seriously people, keep your fingers off the trigger and your gun pointed at the ground unless you intend to shoot something. You'd think everyone in this war would have learned that lesson by now, but certain Decepticons had made me wonder… Then again, maybe the occasional
unintentional fragging was an intended outcome.
"Bumblebee's a good kid, and a great scout." Bulkhead nodded, "I'd trust him to watch my back any day of the week."
At least I don't have to worry about slipping into Earth idioms too much, these guys already use it enough.
"Benefits of a small, tight-knit team." I agreed, "I look forward to seeing how I can fit into things. Hopefully not in the armoury, they tend to be pretty boring." I added the last part with a little laugh to say I was joking. Mostly. Bulkhead chuckled a little uncertainly.
"So, what were you anyway, before the war I mean?" He asked after a few astroseconds, "I was in construction." He added quickly.
"Iacon Enforcers Armed Response Team." I replied, "Though, don't think I ever actually made any arrests. I was the 'Armed' part of 'Armed Response Team', I was actually prohibited from transforming back when on shift, supposedly to avoid any unnecessary delays. Hated it, at the time, but… You know, I think I miss it now."
It was better than what had come later at least. Even if things had progressively been getting worse, there were still cases I could be proud of my involvement in. Breaking up illegal domestication clinics, armed responses to murder reports, finding and removing Nuke refineries… It was something, at least. The pay wasn't great considering the demands it had, but… what else could I have done?
If you'd told me before the war that I'd look back on those first Vorns wistfully I'd probably have called you stupid, but... despite everything, it was better than what had come later. Sure, my bosses were assholes who treated me like a piece of equipment, and most of my 'partners' weren't much better, but at least I had off-time, pay, and some perfunctory respect for my position.
"Heh. Yeah…" He sighed a little, "I know what you mean. Well, maybe not exactly, but…"
"Close enough." I decided. I wasn't about to say a manual labour bot was too high caste for me to sympathise with.
We continued talking for a bit about our pre-war lives, studiously avoiding Bulkhead's current… condition and the events leading up to it. Frankly I was amazed he seemed to like me as much as he did given his initial reaction to Smokescreen, but then, the 'rookie' had hardly made a good first impression on him I suppose.
Ratchet though soon chased me off to 'let Bulkhead rest' – though, it looked more like moping to me – and I ended up making my way up to the mezzanine that had been set up for human visitors to use, allowing them to stay in the main chamber without worrying about being underpede all the time, as well as being closer to eye level with the bots, a fact I used as I climbed over to a section nearer to Optimus and reset my vocaliser quietly. Maybe it was silly bringing up something like this to
the leader of all Autobots, but he and Ratchet were the only ones both here and able to do anything right now and I really didn't feel like bringing it up to Ratchet. I trusted the medic, I guess, but he wasn't the most… welcoming of mechs.
And, I was maybe a bit mad at him for telling Raf that Laserbeak was just a drone he didn't have to feel bad about hacking.
Optimus turned his helm slightly to look at me, "Ah, hello again Spitfire. How are you settling in?"
"Okay, I think… I uh, did just want to mention, my berth is kinda… Too Big?" I said, cringing in on myself slightly as my processor screamed how stupid a thing that was to complain about to a Commander, "Not that that's an issue or anything, it's just, I can't actually... get into it. It's too high, so I was going to ask if someone could put a ramp or something in there but you're the only one here other than Ratchet and-"
A digit not all that much smaller than I was rested itself on my shoulder carefully, gently enough to not set off any stress warnings "Spitfire, please calm yourself. I am glad you brought this to my attention; I had simply not considered that the standard layout would cause issues for you." Optimus said kindly, "Hmm… You were automatically assigned one of the standard berths we had built when we took possession of this base from the human military, however, some of the original quarters used by the human staff should still be intact. Would they be more to your liking?"
They'd still be built for the wrong body shape, but at least they'd be the right scale… I could fix the rest if I had free reign in there and could order some things off the internet.
I nodded quickly, "That sounds perfect, thank you. I'll still want to move some things around, I think, but if its built to the human's scale I should actually be able to do so."
"Indeed." He turned back to the console for a moment, then sent me a map ping to a new set of coordinates, "This wing should still be mostly intact, and hasn't been used since we arrived. You should be able to select whichever one you want."
It was also near the armoury, which… well, I might have a look at at least. Omega One was a lot more substantial than the couple corridors and main room seen in the show – the unused human scale spaces for one, and the armoury and training areas for another. Suppose I might as well check them out…
"My thanks." I nodded again, wagging my tail a little, "I'll go pick one now, unless you need me for anything?"
"I do not believe so – Ratchet has yet to clear you for action, so remain inside the base perimeter and try not to do anything too strenuous, but otherwise you may do as you wish."
"Great, thank you." I nodded and went to turn around before pausing and turning back to him, "Ah, do you have the local time pack and any schedules you have going? I just realised I'm still on Cybertron time."
A quick nod, and the new time-date package soon found its way into my comms suite, being scanned by my antivirus programs before I installed it and blinked slightly as I felt my comms system start listening to multiple human satellites. Ah, GPS time. Makes sense, humans have already built a global positioning and timekeeping system, might as well make use of it while we're here. That was combined with a new calendar and a set of shared schedules – mostly whoever was on 'curbside duty' on particular days, times where the kids needed to be picked up or dropped off at school, and a few options to book time in the training rooms so that everyone knew when they were occupied.
While I digested that I made my way up to the quarters Optimus had listed for me, which… turned out to be the officer's quarters? Made sense, the lower ranks typically had barracks style lodging I guess, but still… I guess those probably got removed during the remodelling into an Autobot base? Or, everyone in 'Team Prime' is technically an Officer?
… That could take some getting used to.
Most of the furniture in each room had been stripped and would have been useless to me anyway… But I grabbed bedding and anything else soft I could find from each, dragging it all into one room while I allowed code-instincts to guide me in setting up a soft bedded den, which my human memories insisted on calling a 'pillow-fort'.
Whatever you called it, it was warm, comfortably enclosed, and the softest thing I'd ever rested on in this life… But, I'd already dropped off once today and it would still be here in the night.
So, I regretfully exited, sending a quick ping to Optimus of which room I'd picked (and the fact I'd yoinked some of the bedding from the other rooms), before hesitatingly walking towards the armoury, pausing on the entrance for a long moment before scrunching my optics shut and turning away.
Nope. On second thought, not doing that today. Lets have a look at the training rooms.
These were built deeper into the base, both sparring chambers like had been seen in a few episodes, and less seen but something I would likely be seeing more often – a firing range.
This one I did step inside of, reaching out to its systems to check the capabilities. By Cybertronian standards, it wasn't paratactically impressive – no solid holograms, only simple projections on moving targets. Still, it had the basics and a solid backstop that I doubted I could blast through even at full power.
I quickly decided that, whoever I ended up partnering with, we'd be running through drills in here until I was sure it wouldn't be a waste of time. And speaking of time…
I might not be supposed to transform right now, but my firing mechanism felt…
itchy. And this wasn't really transforming…
I opened my mouth and paused slightly as my barrel extended out from my muzzle and started glowing ominously, my tail lashing slightly as the feeling of raw power flowed through my firing mechanism again. Yeah… Yeah, I needed this.
So, I triggered a standard target practice routine at varying distances, made sure the weapon was set to training mode, and started firing – starting from simply standing in place, then once I was hitting consistently like that started the targets moving, followed by myself moving as well, first slowly, then moving into a run, jumps and diving under imaginary weapons fire as I tried to practice as best I could for being in combat myself.
I'd been helpless before, not being supposed to train or fight in my actual root mode, and I'd hated it. Ravage had taught me to fight with claws and fangs, but those hadn't helped much against most larger mechs.
I wouldn't let myself be helpless like that again.
Even if my actual accuracy still left something to be desired when I stopped after the final round of targets, panting roughly as my cooling systems struggled to vent the heat from both rapid firing my weapon and running around everywhere, I felt at least a little better about that. I'd probably never to able to take on the stronger bots one on one, but… this was something, at least.
The thing I was most annoyed with though, was still those
stupid purple coloured blasts and targeting sensor. I grumbled as I stowed my weaponry again and headed back out and up to the main section of the base. Maybe I could ask Ratchet to fix those during the next check up.
When I reached that main chamber though, it appeared the kids had gotten out of school for the day, as I saw Miko leaning over the railing while trying to run Bulkhead through his exercises while Jack and Raf were sitting on the couches in their raised area.
My main attention was in walking over to Bumblebee though, "Hey again Bumblebee." I greeted him lightly.
The yellow and black scout turned to look at me and smiled a little, +Oh, hey Spitfire!+ He beeped back at me, +Look, about grabbing you earlier-+
"Don't make a habit of it. But given that it got me here to someone who could give me back my root mode? I think I can make an exception." I grinned up at him, wagging my tail happily.
+Scrap, yeah, that must've been
awful.+ He shuddered, +I was… unable to transform for a while, but at least it was in my Root mode. If I'd been stuck in alt...+
I accepted the sympathy for what it was, to be fair out of any of them he was the closest to understanding what it was like, if from the opposite direction. "Oh, it fragging sucked. But hey, you're a half decent shot for someone who probably hasn't used handheld weaponry since training."
He perked up a bit, his door-wings kibble perking up a bit, as he rubbed at his helm self consciously, +Ah, you think so? I was honestly just trying to shoot in their general direction…+
"And yet you knocked out all the Vehicons and gave Knockout some nasty burn marks. Oh, I can see room for improvements, but… Well, what about it? Want to try it once I'm cleared to transform again?" I offered, "I noticed you've got a whole gun range down here, would be perfect for getting everything dialled in properly, and I prefer to stick with a single person. I mean, I
can adjust between a whole team as needed but in my experience it works better this way."
+I'll take your word for it.+ Bee decided, +And, uh, sure! I've just, you know, never actually met one of you guys before, is mentioning how awesome your gun mode is weird?+
I chuckled, "No different than me mentioning you have an amazing car mode. I bet you're super fast, right? And, by the way, nice colour choice. Ever thought about inverting them?"
He glanced away at that, field radiating a little embarrassment, +Ah, well, thanks I guess? It just felt right, you know? As for the colours… Hmm, I haven't until just now but yeah, black and yellow could work...+ He added thoughtfully, +What about you? Ever thought of a matching paint job?+
"Eh, gunmetal and neutral colours are more my style." I waved off, "Always thought the colour matched guns looked tacky. Plus, what happens then if you need to temporarily pair off with someone else, or they get a respray? Can't go wrong with black and gunmetal grey. The white is a personal touch though, I will admit."
Bumblebee thought about his own grey twin blasters and shrugged, +That's fair.+ He agreed, before suddenly frowning slightly, +Hm… I just thought about something though. How are you going to go undercover? I don't think the humans have any guns that look like you, and they don't have any mechanical lifeforms for your beastmode to blend in with.+
That was… an excellent point. But one I thought I might have an idea for, "Maybe not, but… they do have other organic lifeforms, right?"
+Oh, yeah!+ He beeped, standing up and walking over to where the kids were sitting while I quickly scampered after him, +Hey Raf, could you bring up an internet search? We're trying to see if there's anything Spitfire could disguise himself as.+
"Sure!" Raf pushed his glasses up a little and opened his laptop, connecting it to one of the side screens so we could look at it, "Hmm… Well, you
are a kind of wolf, right?" He asked, bringing up an image of a grey wolf.
I nodded, "I mean, yeah, though – ideally it'd be something that I can walk into town with if needed. Or at least accompany one of the other bots."
"So, preferably not anything wild then. Yeah, probably a good idea." Raf agreed, seeing that problem as well, "Hmm… You're pretty big for most dogs, but maybe something like this?" He asked, bringing up a picture of an Alaskan Malamute.
"That could work…" I nodded slightly. There wasn't much point to me actually scanning it – I wasn't a partially organic beastformer, the best I could do would be becoming a
robotic Malamute, which wouldn't really solve the problem. But, what I could do was build up a holoform template… "We want something known to be big, but ideally disarming to humans who might otherwise be intimidated…" I spotted a link further down the page he was on, "What about a Samoyed?"
… Yes. Yes, Samoyed. I will be Cloud.
"Can you send me some pictures from multiple angles? I have an idea." I asked Raf as I spooled up the seldom used holoform designer.
Soon enough I had them, in various colours at that, and excused myself while I lay down and concentrated for a bit, cooling fans ramping up a little as I rendered out the model from both the pictures and my own faded memories of dogs.
The hardest part was making the fur look right, which I vaguely remembered as being the hardest part for human graphics designers to do too, but… Well, I was an alien super robot, I had the raw horsepower to simulate it properly.
"Right!" I announced when the new program had compiled successfully, "Watch this!" I grinned before activating the holoform generator and the projection flickered on over my plating, of an
enormous white puff cloud.
"Omigod he's so
Fluffy!" Miko screamed from somewhere to my side.
Everyone immediately turned to her.
She quickly straightened as if nothing had happened, "I mean, uh, that's cool, I guess."
