Chapter Text
Whirl stood resolutely at one of the ship’s edges, arms crossed over his cockpit as he gazed out into the vast, infinite expanse of space. Thunderclash had long since stopped delivering his sermons, trying to convince him to return to his duties. But no speech—certainly not even one from Optimus Prime himself—could make him relent. This was an injustice, plain and simple.
Pits, he hadn’t caused any major incidents in a long time (at least none that threatened the physical or mental well-being of the crew). Rodimus had even awarded him one of those ridiculous star badges with his face on it as an incentive for good behavior. Whirl could act like a civilized mech if he wanted to, and he’d done it just to prove to Ultra Magnus what a glitch he was—and to show that he didn’t deserve to be relegated to maintenance duty (exactly where he’d ended up).
He wished an asteroid would appear out of nowhere and crash into Smokescreen, doing just enough processor damage to explain why the fragger acted like a bit-brain. But that wasn’t likely with Knock-off Optimus supervising, the mech would never let anyone come to harm under his watch, because he's that competent.
He hadn’t even been present when the fight started. Whirl didn’t care who threw the first punch—Misfire or Smokescreen—but letting any mech, engex-drunk or not, gamble away one of the ship’s without a currency (they're poor) rarest treasures was undeniably stupid. Even Whirl could say that.
That’s why he’d tried to steal them.
Primus bless Swerve. The minibot might have his flaws, but he could make works of art like no one else. Thanks to his metallurgist and bartender skills, Swerve could make brews so exquisite that Whirl would kill for them depending on the mood. This time, it was energon sweets. They’d been distributed across the ship and were gone in mere cycles. Inevitably, the ingredients for 'Sins of the Night' (a ridiculous name) had been sourced from the previous universe, and they were gone as quickly as the treats— or so it was believed— until some idiot showed up with a dozen sweets to gamble.
As much as he despised Smokescreen, Whirl had to admit the mech was a walking threat when it came to gambling. There was an unspoken rule in Swerve’s whenever the mech decided to leave Visages: never bet against him if you valued your dignity. A rule easily forgotten by overcharged mechs.
According to Rewind’s recounting, the dozen energon sweets ended up in the fragger’s servos in less than five kliks. The worst part? Smokescreen didn’t even want them for himself. He immediately started gambling them away. Whirl vividly remembered when footage of the fight was leaked onto the ship’s network. Seeing his chance, he attempted to swipe the sweets, but his plan was thwarted almost embarrassingly fast.
He’d barely stepped into the bar when Ultra Magnus hauled him off to the brig. Not long after, he was reassigned to maintenance duty, just as Magnus had warned him deca-cycles ago.
Cleaning the ship’s exterior wasn’t the worst task in the universe, though the space debris was disgusting. Whirl had seen worse. The real problem was the debris itself—fragments of asteroids and other space rocks—that sometimes carried extremophile organisms. Even small quantities of these organisms tended to spread quickly, leaving organic material across the ship’s hull. And then there were the free-floating extremophile creatures. Unlike asteroid fragments, they moved freely through space, were fully organic, and left residue that clung to his seams more stubbornly than dust or rock. Worse yet, when pressure differences changes killed them, they began to rot, turning into sticky, irritating muck.
Eventually, he’d have to ask Cyclonus to help clean the mess out of his seams. His claws weren’t up to the task, and as much as Tailgate meant well, the minibot wasn’t meticulous enough.
“Whirl, you know if you don’t do anything, they’ll just assign you another shift, right?” Thunderclash’s firm voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Whirl hadn’t heard him approach; he’d assumed the mech had finally given up. He didn’t bother to look at him.
“Say whatever you want. I’m not moving—not for something that wasn’t my fault this time,” he spat, letting his EM field bleed anger, enough to make Thunderclash take a step back. If he was uncomfortable, everyone would be.
Suddenly, a small clump of space barnacles floated near his helm, and a few meters away, the culprit laughed.
“Admit it—you’re just a crybaby because you don’t want to help,” Brainstorm said with a mocking tone. Fragging glitch.
“What’s a 'crybaby’?” Thunderclash asked, sounding genuinely curious despite his stoic facade.
“It’s human slang from one of those holodramas Swerve likes to show at movie night. Nothing to worry about,” Hoist answered, a mech crazy enough to volunteer for this alongside Thunderclash.
“A crybaby is an organic that leaks lubricant from their optics in situations that increase oxytocin and endorphin production. Unlike other organics, any situation can make them leak through their optics,” Misfire explained flatly, his overly serious tone starkly contrasting with the absurdity of his words—especially given how unusually quiet he’d been until now.
After what sounded like a few good tugs, Missfire finally managed to get out whatever he was trying to retrieve, though the momentum got the better of him, sending him sprawling backward onto his wings
"Just like you," Whirl heard Smokescreen remark as he walked toward Misfire, who made no effort to get up off the ground.
Before Thunderclash could react, another resounding impact echoed, followed by a string of curses. Whirl finally turned his head, only to find Missfire atop Smokescreen. The latter, face down, was trying to wrestle him off, but Missfire had him pinned, slamming Smokescreen’s helm against the ship's hull.
Before Thunderclash could step in, Smokescreen managed to roll over, tossing Missfire aside and sending himself hurtling forward into Brainstorm’s gravity machine.
"Watch where you're going!" Brainstorm shouted, immediately rushing to inspect the device with exaggerated concern.
"Missfire! Smokescreen! You two get twenty extra cycles each!" Thunderclash announced firmly, helping Missfire to his feet. Missfire let out an exaggerated groan of protest.
"But I didn’t do anything! It was him!" Smokescreen objected, his doorwings flicking irritably. "And what even is that thing? We could’ve used the Magna Wheels!"
"For acting like newsparks," Brainstorm cut in smugly, "and because Ultra Magnus approved me testing out this beauty—the Gravity Shield V.2! Mobile, versatile, permeable, and effective for anything within its range—not just us." He spun theatrically around his invention, gesturing flamboyantly as he continued to boast.
Smokescreen groaned loudly, pressing his face against the ship’s plating.
Thunderclash sighed audibly before turning back to Whirl. "I know you’re not thrilled about this, but maybe you should use this chance. You never know what you might come across during your shift—especially after the next jump. Ratchet’s still complaining about those scraplets from last time. They’re eating their way through the medbay supplies," he said with a strange mix of understanding and firmness, extending his EM field toward Whirl. It radiated that nauseating sense of certainty unique to Thunderclash.
The scraplets had evaded the ship’s sensors and somehow made their way from the exterior to the medbay. Whirl would never forget Ultra Magnus’s scream when one of the little parasites—hundreds of times larger than the ones he knew, but still smaller than his claws—started chewing through his armor. Whirl shuddered dramatically, narrowing his optic in mock disgust.
"Why would I care? I have my girl to take care of them, she is just superior to those plagues," he muttered, turning his gaze back to the void of space, staring at the distant celestial bodies. Familiar, yet so utterly alien.
They’d arrived in this universe roughly a decacycle ago, and after a megacycle of intense research, they’d finally been cleared for exploration. They’d already visited a few planets—all uninhabited but rich in resources.
"Sure, because raising Unicron’s spawn is so much safer here than in the other universe," Smokescreen snapped. "If being fragging scraplets isn’t bad enough, the fact that you raise take care of them makes it worse."
"Smokescreen, what’s your malfunc—"
Before Brainstorm could finish his sentence, Whirl lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. Without hesitation, he began raining down blows. Smokescreen managed to grab one of Whirl’s claws, creating enough distance to avoid getting slashed, but Whirl adjusted quickly, using the new angle to strike harder. Smokescreen abandoned defense and counterattacked fiercely until a pair of massive servos yanked Whirl backward.
"Enough!" Thunderclash barked, straining to separate them. Whirl broke free and lunged again, his claw catching one of Smokescreen’s bumper lights. Glass shattered, metal crumpled, and Smokescreen let out a pained grunt. He retaliated with frantic kicks, narrowly missing Thunderclash.
Just as Thunderclash stepped back to avoid the impact, Missfire—apparently deciding to join the fray—charged straight into the cluster and failed misarably. The collision knocked him flat on his face, and in the scuffle, Whirl’s claw tore a chunk from Smokescreen’s bumper, eliciting a howl of pain.
Brainstorm fell silent, discreetly recording the chaos. For scientific purposes.
Hoist, keeping his distance, monitored the escalating fight. Ready to call Ultra Magnus, his attention was caught by something entering through the edge of Brainstorm’s gravitational field. He looked up and watched as a small blue cube slowly descended.
When most of its mass passed through the field, gravity took over, and it dropped with a sharp clang!—barely audible over the brawl.
Hoist approached the crumpled object, crouching to pick it up with both servos. It wasn’t large or heavy, primarily a pale blue with darker blue or gray appendages. Cold to the touch, it was unrecognizable as anything specific.
He rotated it, first to the left, then up, then again to the left, and when he moved it once more to the left, he noticed an odd extension: four rods protruding from one side.
Finally, he turned the cube to examine last face and froze. A faint glow emanated from a wide slot.
He rotated the cube once again, paying a little more attention to the indentations on the surface.
He brought the cybe closer to his face, his frame locked up as realization struck.
Hoist wasn’t Ratchet, First Aid, Velocity, Nickel, Spinister or a medic—he wasn’t even much of a medic. At best, he was a field nurse. But he was certain of one thing.
The glow wasn’t just any light. It was a spark.
Lowering the cube, he stared at it for a few kliks before turning it over again, studying the extensions. What had seemed like rods now resembled digits.
It took him a klik to rise from the ground, his legs trembling as he stumbled toward the fight. The brawl had faded into the background of his thoughts.
Stopping beside Brainstorm, who was still encouraging the fight, Hoist held up the cube.
"hey…" he began, voice shaky. Brainstorm glanced at him, his interest shifting to the object in Hoist’s servos.
"Mechs" Hoist repeated as Thunderclash slammed Whirl to the ground.
"Someone!" he shouted, finally allowing his frustration to seep through. Thunderclash looked at him, confused, but his momentary distraction allowed Missfire to drag Smokescreen down with a yelp.
"EVERYONE!" Hoist’s shout silenced everyone. All optics turned to him. Suddenly the center of attention, Hoist hesitated.
He raised the cube, angling it to display the spark’s glow.
"I…" He faltered, grasping for words. "The cube… it’s…"
He didn't think that far ahead
"The cube is what, Hoist?" Thunderclash prompted gently, though concern crept into his tone.
"If you’re going to waste our time over that thing, just scrap it," Whirl growled from the floor.
"Hush, Whirl," Thunderclash snapped sharply.
Hoist glanced nervously between the mechs and the cube before finally speaking again.
"I think… it’s a body." His voice was barely above a whisper.
A silence filled the place.
"And I think…" He hesitated "It’s still alive."