Bluestreak

The sunlight nearly blinded my optics. I suppose it's my fault for staying on my recharge slab for so long. But who could blame me? It's my last night as a free 'bot. Tomorrow, I ship off to basic on Moonbase 1. 

Despite the war raging on the other side of the planet, Iacon was as alive as ever. The streets were bustling with cars, while the streams of jets flew overhead. The sidewalks were crowded with Cybertronians who preferred a more relaxed way of life. Bright neon signs adorned the sides of every building: advertisements for Energex, an enlistment ad for the Cybertronian Defense Force, a reminder to check your serial number for the draft, a call to expose Decepticon Sympathizers in your area. Iacons citizens were smiling, but they were not happy. 

There was only one thing I knew I wanted to do today, visit Maccadam's and see how much Energon I can guzzle. But unlike some of the bot's I know, I try not to sizzle until dark. So I made my way to the Nova Memorial Park to take a look around. 

The park was as alive as the rest of Iacon. It was an Alt Mode Free zone, and the only remaining one in Iacon. Built to celebrate the first Prime and the hero of the second great war, the park is in the shape of the Matrix's Center, a large circle divided into six sections. At the head of it, nearest the Prima Ballista, is a large monument for the bot, a spire that's dwarfed by the surrounding Iacon. I never saw the appeal of a big stick to celebrate a hero, but it provides great shade. 

I check my datapad while sitting under Cybertron's golden sun. Nothing too exciting in the news, an update on the war, the latest antics of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, a compilation of Rook from the ICNN flubbing. Apparently, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were both drafted as well, so they're spending their last day running around Iacon. I hear a nearby ICPD siren and only pray to Primus that I don't run into those two at Boot Camp. 

As I scroll through another datastream about the dangers of Nominus Prime, I hear my name from a distance. I look up to see two Iacon City Police Officers heading towards me. "You still shipping out tomorrow?"

"And I couldn't be more excited," I reply. “I’ve got my shuttle all set, my supply of Energon all packed up, and plenty of datastreams saved on my pad. It’ll be smooth sailing from here. You know, until I actually make it there.”

"It's not too late to join the ICPD, we got a history of taking bots with your chassis," the Officer smirked. 

"I wanna serve my fellow 'bot, sir. Besides, if I dodge the draft, how will I look to potential Conjunx Endura."

"Well, thank you for your service Bluestreak."

"Thank you both too."

The two Officers continue their patrol, stopping to check on a blue 'bot recharging on a bench. I chuckle and return to my datapad, the article I was reading now gone. I see a notification from a couple of bots I emerged with, Cross-Cut and Excellion. 

I make the walk to Maccadam's, only a few blocks away. Two 'bots loiter outside of it, shoving each other. Cross-Cut's an averaged size 'bot, silver and red with a compact alt mode. Excellion is a muted, light blue color, with a deeper blue for his accents. He's a good head or two taller than both of us, but with a heavy amount of kibble tacked on. 

Cross-Cut gives me a good smack on my shoulder, grinning under his faceplate, "Where you been Blue, we've been looking for you."

“Just taking a walk, waiting for you two Auto-dolts,” I respond, giving Cross-Cut a good whack on the shoulder. “So, decided to join the Guard huh? You sure you’re up for that much responsibility?”

“Well, it beats going up to Moonbase 1 for basic with you two losers.”

“Come on you two,” says Excellion smoothly, “We’ve got a whole night ahead of us. And I still want to hit the tracks.”

We enter the maroon colored bar. It seems like every Cybertronian in all of Iacon is here. There’s a few ‘bots I recognize. I see that famous doctor, Ratchet, having a glass of Engex with that nutty professor at ICC. Prowl and Chromia, two ICPD officers, are taking shots with one another at a table. I wave to them. Only Chromia waves back. And that new racer guy, think his name’s Blurr or something, is eying Maccadam’s menu really closely. I see Excellion perk up when he sees the blue racer.

“I’m telling you,” he leans in to say, “I’m gonna beat him at a race someday.”

I smack his chest, “You’ll have to be stationed on Velocitron to get speed like that.”

Cross-Cut snorts as we sit down at the bar. I see my silver friend took the spot closest to some sleeker-looking bots. Guess the ‘bot wants some company for his last night on his home Recharge Slab. I take middle, which keeps these two bozos from getting into too much trouble without me. And Excellion stays to the right, so he can keep gawking at his new idol. Been that way since Blurr beat Mirage at the Polyhex 500 two stellar cycles ago. 

An orange and brown bot with blue spectacles makes his way over to us carrying two pitchers in his hands. The three of us raise our hands, “Maccadam!” we cheer in unison. 

The pot-bellied bot chuckles, “hey you bots. Don’t you have boot camp to be getting to?” His voice is gruff but kind. 

“We got till morning Maccadam,” I say. “Don’t you have some drinks to be serving? Or are you gonna run that mouth all night like usual.”

Excellion smacks me in the shoulder, denting my finish. The bartender’s turquoise spectacles glisten, “Oh, you’re one to be talking Bluestreak. I thought you’d never stop.”

“What's on the menu for tonight Maccadam?” Cross-Cut asks, ready to get to the part where his memory processor shuts down.

“I’ve got anything, and everything, you could want down below.” Maccadam smiles, pulling out some spiked Kremzeek. “This should get you three started.”

“How’d you know?” I ask as Maccadam pours the yellow tinted liquid into our glasses. “They say you’re omnipotent, but I didn’t know you were a mind reader.”

Maccadam puts his finger to his nose and shakes his head. He looks between the three of us, “How are you liking the first chapter so far?”

“First chapter of what?” I ask, guzzling down my glass of Kremzeek. I feel the tingle of it reach my servos. “First chapter of our drinks? Of our night?”

“Of this conversation?” Interjects Excellion.

The Orange bot sighs and shakes his head, “the first chapter of your lives. We Cybertronians have a long shelf life, longer than the supply you three will burn me through tonight. But even we have an expiration date, and hopefully, it won’t be from a laser bolt-”

“Amen to that!” Cheers Excellion, taking a big swig from his half-empty glass. We three chug some of our drinks as Maccadam pulls out another two cans of Kremzeek for us to refill with.

“Enjoy your times while your sparks still burn fresh. Ya don’t want that inner Energon to get rusty anytime soon now, do ya?”

“Of course not, Maccadam,” I cheer as I inhale the rest of my first glass.

“I’ve seen a lot of bots come through this tavern. Don’t tell Trion, I know he likes to write everything down in his little journal, but I keep a black book of stories right here at the bar. If you ever want to hear one, feel free to ask.”

“It’ll be a bit before we can do that,” I chuckle. “Little hard to come back to Iacon when you’re at Bootcamp up on the moon.”

“Well, when you get back you know where to go.” A big smirk forms across the bartender's mouth. “You know why?”

“Why,” I ask.

“Cause when you’re here-” 

“You’re Family!” the three of us reply in unison. We laugh our afterburners off, Cross-Cut downing his second glass of Kremzeek.

Maccadam smacks the bar and starts to head toward the grouping of bots Cross-Cut was checking out. I swear I hear him mutter to himself, “God I love Applebee’s” as he walks away.

Cross-Cut taps my shoulder. “Look at their serial numbers.” 

“What?” I ask, looking around the bar. “There’s a hundred bots in here, who’s serial number am I looking for?”

Cross-Cut rolls his yellow optics, and grabs my head by my forehead crest, turning me toward the ‘bots next to us. “Them, look at their numbers.”

“Why, trying to see if they were forged after you? Afraid you missed their Forge Day party?” 

“Just look, will ya.”

I extend my optical zoom onto the waist of a green and white bot. It is a stream of numbers that I am too drunk to make out. “What am I looking for?”

“Her numbers, look.”

“I see them, I’m just not seeing it though.”

“Look at the end of them, what do you see?”

I strain my optics to stay focussed enough to make out a tiny inscribed ICC after their numbers. “ICC. So what, they’re college students.”

“I know.” I can see his smile through his faceplate.

“You know, if I’m not mistaken, they were forged before you.”

Cross-Cut shakes his head, “that doesn’t matter, what matters is that they came here and are probably looking for someone to hang out with.”

I shake my head, “You’re losing it Cross.”

The silver bot waves his hand at me and turns to go toward the group. Of course, as his luck would have it, they too turned and headed toward the table with Ratchet at it.

“I’ll never understand him,” I hear Excellion sigh. I turn to see him still staring at Blurr, who’s now awkwardly having a conversation with Maccadam. 

“Who, Blurr?”

“No, Cross-Cut.” Excellion takes another sip from his glass. “The bot is so worried about finding his Conjunx that he’s asking random strangers out at a bar. I just don’t understand.”

“I thought you didn’t want a Conjunx, Excellion.”

“I don’t, why do you ask?”

“You seem to know an awful lot about them for someone with no interest in it.”

He chuckles, “You don’t have to want something to know a lot about it.” The two of us ding our glasses and he sighs, looking back over at Blurr. The blue bot turns away from the bar. Excellion starts tapping my shoulder, “Oh, oh, he’s leaving. I- I gotta go get my datapad signed.”

I chuckle and tell him to get there quick. Excellion smiles and rushes over to Blurr, datapad in hand. I look back over at Cross-Cut, standing in front of the group of ‘bots taking their pictures with Ratchet and the professor. I see the doctor wince with each of the camera flashes. I turn back to my drink. I watch the little bubbles of carbonation rise through it. The way the red hues of the bar reflect in the orange of the drink. The way the drink looks the same color as rust.

“Friends ditch you?” I hear to my right. I feel my body return to the present and look to find a ‘bot the color of my drink and blue as Blurr. They have a faceplate on, with two black antennae coming off of their head. Huge shoulder pads with the entire wheel well of their car strapped to the back of it. Their red hand waves in front of my face. “Hey? Your Spark extinguish or something?” I blink my optics a few times, seeing the furrowed concern on their brow. “You were a motormouth earlier, what happened? Turbo fox catch your processor?”

I smirk, “Well, I didn’t see any turbo foxes run through here, did you?” 

“I certainly hope not. Not this deep in Iacon at least.”

“I have heard some strange stories come out of Maccadam's. Once I heard that a beastformer flew through the ceiling after someone spilled his glass of Energex on him.”

“I feel like I heard a poem about that.”

“I remember hearing about it on one of those datapad shows, right after hearing some crazy antics that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker got into.”

“You a fan of them?”

“Nah, they made maybe one good holofilm and it got to their servos. I was a fan of them getting lapped by the actual racers during the Grand Prix though.”

The stranger chuckles. “I had the pleasure of working with them. I’ll tell you now, those two are the exact same on set.” They retracted their mouthplate to take a sip of their Energex.

“What were you, camera operator? PA?” I start jumping in my seat, “I’ve got it, you were in charge of lighting.”

“Afraid to break it to ya, I was the lead love interest.”

“You’re an actor?”

“I prefer,” they started, pausing to look down at their glass, “Actress, personally,” She finished, adjusting one of her antennas. “It’s just a personal thing, my mentor was big on that kind of stuff.”

“You have a name ‘Actress’,” I ask, leaning in. 

“Depends,” she coos, “will you recognize me again?”

I start to chuckle when the bar is filled with a crash. I turn to see Cross-Cut laid out on the floor, with a red and orange bot standing over him. The bot bends down toward my friend and picks him up by his collar. I turn to the orange and blue ‘bot beside me, “I’ve got to help my friend.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I hear a boom from behind me. The sound of gears shifting fills my receptors as I turn to see the once potbellied Maccadam transform into a towering behemoth. Whatever alternate mode he became, it looked like it was ripped out of a Quintessonian Horror Novel. “Hot Rod,” He exclaims, his voice octaves lower than it was when we first started talking, “Drop him.”

The red and orange bot, Hot Rod, tosses Cross-Cut down, sending my friend skidding across the floor. He trudges his way over to the bar, as Maccadam reverts to his usual self. “He wouldn’t leave them alone,” says Hot Rod, fiddling with a dent on his flame tampoed chest.

Maccadam places his hand on the ‘bot’s shoulder, “that doesn’t mean you break a table and try to punch off someone’s faceplate. I know you want to do the right thing, lad, but if Prowl and Chromia were still here, you know what would happen.”

“I know,” Hot Rod sighs, “I’d be forced to join the Guard.”

“Now,” booms Maccadam, “go apologize to that bot, and buy him a round of drinks.” Hot Rod rolls his eyes as Maccadam slips him some shanix. Maccadam looks at the two of us, “Sorry for that interruption. I do believe you two have a conversation to return to.”

“Oh no,” says the orange and blue bot, standing up from the bar, “I’ve got to get going. I have a gig in the morning.” She turns to me, “It was a pleasure talking to you-”

“Bluestreak,” I say, extending my hand. 

“Bluestreak,” she retorts, grabbing my hand, “aren’t you a little silver for a blue-streak.” She chuckles to herself, “you probably get that one a lot.”

“Only every day,” I say, giving a smirk and removing my hand, “I’m numb to it at this point.” 

The blue and orange bot punches my shoulder, “Numb to that too?”

I feel a sharp pain run up my body, “hopefully after Bootcamp, I will be.” 

I see a smirk run up behind her faceplate. “Here,” she says, extending her arm. She unfurls her hand to reveal a dataslug within. “I don’t give this out to no one, but you caught me on a lucky day.”

I pull the gunmetal slug out from her red hand and look it over. On the side of it reads the name Punch. “So,” I say, turning the slug over in my hands again, “was the punch because it's your name or just cause you like me?” I look up from the slug, expecting a reply. 

Instead, I see Punch walking away shaking her head, going into the great unknown that I will soon find myself in.