The Constructicons

*There is a desert. It stretches from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea, from the Mediterranean Sea to the middle of Africa.

In one particular part of the desert, it is filled with drifting sand and wind-shaped, sun-baked rocks. A few plucky, low brown bushes try to eke out a living here and there, but it looks like the only thing keeping them going is spite and sheer meanness.

There is also a city-shape in black metal. It sits gleaming in the sunlight, all curves and contrasting colors of metal. And guns. The guns are an important feature.

Nearby, the six Constructicons stand around, coffee mugs in hand. Steam rises from the mugs, or perhaps it's just heat-shimmers from the ambient desert temperatures.*

[Long Haul] So...
[Mixmaster] Don't say it.
[Long Haul] But, we've been takin' five-finger discounts all over the place. Ya'd think-
[Mixmaster] D-don't say it!
[Scrapper] *ahem* Constructicons! We've built Trypticon, the largest Transformer ever created!
[Bonecrusher] Yeah, Scrapper. We just did that.
[Scrapper] I've got a new project planned that will make this one look like a minibot.
[Hook] This entire *planet* doesn't have the resources to build *that* project, Scrapper.
[Scavenger] *his tail jitters* Well... What if we bring in Cybertron?
[Long Haul] Hey, hey! Anyone want to clue the supply sergeant in on what we need for this?
[Scrapper] *comms the details to the Constructicons he hasn't filled on in the plan*
[Mixmaster] *low whistle*
[Long Haul] ... You gotta be *crazy*!
[Bonecrusher] ... Can we keep it?
[Scrapper] Maybe.

(( Continuing from here.))

*Why, yes, something horrible has happened while Scavenger had his back turned: Bonecrusher and Mixmaster arrived. They immediately, of course, went over to the collapsed Hook to check on him.*

[Mixmaster] *looks up from Hook and waves a finger menacingly at Scavenger* I-I am shocked! S-s-simply shocked, Scavenger! You drugged him!

[Scavenger] *hides his face in his hands*

*Scavenger set the still huddled over Hook down in the wrecked mess hall. Today, he'd already decided, was one Those Days. Life would probably continue to be full of Those Days until someone came and took over the Decepticons. Clear leadership at least galvanized people into trying to behave.

Besides, leaving the Constructicons to their own devices was just a painfully bad idea. He patted Hook's shoulder gently and went to fetch him some energon. Scrapper thought that would help with Hook's periodic slips into beast-mode instincts.*

(( ETA: Transformation descriptions. ))

*Hook suddenly lunges forward.* It's password-protected!

*Bonecrusher reacts instinctively to the lunge of his praying-mantis brother and body-checks him.* Wait, what?

[Hook]Get off me.

*Scrapper looks over from where he's supervising Skystream.* What's password-protected, Hook?

[Hook]Our transformation ability! Hook, terrorize!

*The surgical engineer transforms, insect head twisting back to uncover his face, lower body splitting into his legs. His lower four insect legs curl around his robot legs, even as his arms split open and pull back to uncover his hands. The uncovered portions of him are the familiar Constructicon purple, except for his face. Bonecrusher is still on top of him, however.* Get off.

[Bonecrusher]Sure, sure. *He backs up slightly.* Bonecrusher, terrorize. *Transforms, abdomen unfolding into his legs, head folding down onto his chest, termite legs curling over his chest as reinforcing armor.* That's a slaggin' stupid password.

[Scrapper]We can fix it later. Terrorize! *Has a transformation very similar to Bonecrusher's, except that his insect head splits in half to reveal his robot head, the mandibles folding down over his face to form a mask.*

[Mixmaster]T-terrorize!! *Transforms, the majority of his beetle carapace folding up on his back into a cylinder, while the legs curl around his robot-mode and the head folds over his chest.* Hah! I can feel my equipment again!

*Pretty soon all of the Constructicons in med-bay are in robot-mode, and shortly after that, Scavenger pokes his robot-mode head into the room. He looks much like a green version of Scorponok, except that his mouth is also covered by part of his new alt-mode's head. The scorpion claws have also pulled back to act as bracers, leaving his hands uncovered.* Hey, guys.

Scattered throughout the Nemesis, the six Constructicons are deconstructed and rebuilt by the energy wave into something much more durable for work in high-output, low-stability energyscapes.

Down in the hangar, Long Haul pushed himself off the floor on all six of his new legs. .oO(Okay, still in the nest. That's good.) Pause. .oO(Spaceships are not nests. Scrapper has built both, and he'd get ticked for me confusin' the two.) He shook his head slowly, trying to sort out the new information in his head. Okay, fact number one... He was in alt-mode. He hadn't transformed consciously, which meant there was likely some processor trauma.

Oh, and he had six legs. ... Okay. What the frag was his alt-mode set to?

"Leafcutter ant?" He muttered. "Aren't those squishies? Aren't they smaller than this?"

Long Haul was still at the same scale as he always was, even if he has turned into a giant ant. He's also still lime green and royal purple. Some things never change.

***

In the medbay, Hook awoke to find himself slumped rather compromisingly against Astrotrain. His joints burned agonizingly as he climbed off the partially-rebuilt triple-changer, until the engineer shut down his pain receptors. Useless things. As if the reports from his damage-control computers weren't a good enough indication of injury.

Standing up proved a bit tricky as he seemed to have acquired elaborately designed slicing arms in a fetching lime-green. He tilted his head as he settled back on his lower legs. Peculiar. Rather awkward for precise armor-cutting, though perhaps mashing a limb or torso between them would work well.

He tilted his head towards the prone, stasis-locked Astrotrain, antennae bobbing slightly. Already paralyzed, how convenient.

Taking hold of Astrotrain, he raised the triple-changer to his mouth and bit down. Ah, spacer armor... How thick, how full of useful metals for his repair systems....

What was he doing?

Hook dropped the triple-changer. That- That was an alt-mode reaction! He did not let his alternate mode override his own mind, it wasn't done!

Besides, construction equipment didn't have instincts!

Well, he thought darkly, construction equipment certainly doesn't have six limbs, either. Run a diagnostic, you fool!

The diagnostic reported a few key items of interest. One, he was in better shape than he had been in years. Two, he was a praying mantis. Three, he was roughly the same size as always.

Oh, and four, he was hungry. And Astrotrain still looked tasty.

"No," he said firmly. "I already went to the trouble of designing and partially installing all sorts of upgrades. I even overhauled his train-mode into something far more modern. I'm not going to eat him now. I am going to transform and finish the job." Pause. "I'm talking to myself." Longer pause. "I can't transform."

***

Scrapper groaned and clambered to all six of his feet. That hurt. Didn't look like he'd broken anything. Good, no repairs to make. Had he lost any data on his project?

He picked up the drafting pad between his mandibles and waved his antennae at it, trying to detect the data. Needless to say, that didn't work very well. .oO(Optics. You use optics to look at datapads, Scrapper.)

Something nearby groaned and rose to its feet. "Scrapper, did you have to hit me with the hangover cure before I got done being o-overcharged? I like going into the fuzzy-catatonia state!"

Scrapper stared at the datapad held between his mandibles. Smelt it, he'd lost everything from after the last save. Bah! "Mixmaster, I haven't touched you since Bonecrusher left you in here."

.... Since when did he have mandibles?

"Scrapper? You're, um...."

"A termite," he rasped. "Worker caste. That's what the diagnostic says."

Mixmaster fell silent for a time. When he spoke again, he sounded much more subdued. "Bombardier beetle, and I can't transform."

Scrapper automatically tried to transform himself. Nothing happened, though his diagnostic reported that every bit of his internals was not only completely intact, but virtually brand new. "Neither can I." He took a bite out of his desk, chewed it thoughtfully. "We'll want the scanners in the medbay."

"Right. You and Hook will figure out the problem, while I will mix the high-grade with which we will get gloriously overcharged upon when we're fixed!"

***

In one of the armouries, Bonecrusher comes to on top of a dark green and purple armored invertebrate with two wicked looking claws attached and one hell of a stinger hanging over him. He mentally tagged the scorpion as 'family' and didn't worry about it. Okay, self-diagnostic says...

Self-diagnostic says he had a formosan termite soldier for an alt-mode. Must have damaged something.

Well, at least he's not drunk anymore. No hangover, either. Maybe trying to close an ammo box with his forehead hadn't been a stupid idea, after all. Okay, so he had processor damage. Was that any different than any other day? Scavenger was used to fixing his processor problems!

"Bonecrusher? Are you all right?" The scorpion asked timidly.

"Last blow to the head damaged my repair system. It thinks I'm a termite."

"... Um, are those the bitty insects that eat wood?"

"How the slag should I know?"

"Well... You're kind of a large version of one of those."

He mulled that over. "Huh." Pause. He stared at the stinger hanging over him. "I like the tail."

"I don't. Do you think we should check on the others?"

"Yeah, sure."

***

Up in the command room, the much less physically altered and much more traumatized Oikodomopolis sits quietly and gibbers quietly. The base'former gibbers in a deeper voice than normal, repeating the following words over and over. "I'm a homme, I'm a homme, I'm a homme..."

Scrapper looks up from the plans he's sketching out on his drafting pad. [Comm: Long Haul]I need the survey maps for any place on Earth that has a G3 through G6 rating.[/comm]

*

Down in the training area that most of the Decepticons tend to ignore on general principles, Long Haul looks up and gets clocked by the combat-sim droid. He backhands it hard enough to smash open its chest. [Comm: Scrapper]We don't have survey maps for the majority of Earth, Scrapper. Check the archives for what we got.[/comm]

[Comm: Long Haul]... Those won't do. I need some place new.[/comm]

[Comm: Scrapper]Well, we don't have survey maps for anyplace new.[/comm]

[Comm: Long Haul]Then get some.[/comm]

"An' where am I supposed to get that? Not like we have a survey team..." Long Haul stalked over and stomped the droid's head in. "We're the only ones with the training to look at site photos and rate 'em..."

The droid tried to get back up and Long Haul stomped down on one of its knee joints. "And," he continued. "None of the Seekers are around to take site photos for us." He picked up the droid and ripped off its other leg. "Not that I'd trust them to do the job right. Reflector's the only one with any skill in photography."

He paused and grunted, then opened the weird tri-link comm to Reflector. [Comm: Reflector]Scrapper wants survey maps for G3 through G6 rated terrain.[/comm]

[Comm: Long Haul]What?[/comm]

[Comm: Reflector]Just get me survey pictures of places fairly isolated and not mountainous.[/comm]

[Comm: Long Haul]It is something to do. Very well.[/comm]

(Or, Reflector is really bored and wandering around randomly to take pictures.)

*Scrapper is seated at a desk in some obscure part of the Constructicon workshop^. He has his feet up on said desk and a drafting pad in his lap, on which he is writing.*

^It has been argued that the door into the Constructicon workshop doesn't actually go anywhere on the Nemesis, but is actually a transporter to a self-contained subdimension. That's the only explanation many people can think of for why it seems larger inside than out.

Said theory has also been applied to any storage-bay under Long Haul's command. He says that's idiotic.

---

*Hook is waiting in the medical-bay. Semi-patiently; on the one hand, he's downloaded some trade 'zines from Cybertron and is going over them. On the other hand, he is expecting Astrotrain sometime in the near future.*

---

*Mixmaster, Scavenger, and Bonecrusher are playing cards. Scavenger seems to be winning. There are assorted cubes of what might be energon but is definitely the wrong color scattered about.*

---

*Long Haul is down in the most heavily armored part of the ship's internals, slagging combat-training drones. His optics blaze.*

Just finished the last cassetticon Soundwave requested. Suspect I ought to do something about 'Poli's message earlier about a wolf-mech roaming the halls... But a) I'm not in the halls, and b) security isn't my problem.

Let me tell you, it is very good to have functional fingers again.

How can I possibly work without them?

fajpos

Scrapper taking over. Hook was about to start whining about this whole affair at the Ark - yes, you most certainly were. Shut it.

jf9s
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Thank you, Bonecrusher. Freshly repaired mechs should not be picking fights with their gestaltmates.

We've patched up everyone else who came down here. Which would be Reflector and Oikodomopolis. Those shoddily-built Autobot fools actually damaged her! How dare they?! Don't they know perfection when they see it?

Looking at the records, there should be some others showing up here when the Texas team gets back. We'll deal with them when they get here. Or they'll hide in their quarters and try to repair their own foolish selves. Whichever.

Yes, yes, Long Haul, you can have the console.

A'right. Reflector, the forms you'll need to fill out to requisition a new chemical cannon are WD-01 through WD-42. In triplicate, no discrepiencies. Or I'll make ya do 'em all over again.


... We have requisition forms?

Right, right. This is Scrapper again.

Seriously, we have requisition forms? I thought we just told you to get stuff-

Oh. All right.

Signing off...

(( Back-tracking a bit here. ))

*In the Nemesis, the Constructicons contemplate their new assignment. And try to ignore Rumble and Ravage.*

Scrapper: So, we need to get through the perimeter defenses, into the Ark, and... *checks his notes* randomly destroy things.

Hook: Don't we have the Stunticons on the aimless destruction detail?

Scrapper: Seems they're busy AND seperated on different assignments.

Hook: I see. Well, we can't tunnel up into the Ark again.

Rumble: Uh, why not? Worked just fine before....

*Hook looks at Rumble as if he's being especially stupid today.*

Scrapper: We did that already. Doing the same thing twice would get boring.

Long Haul: What about goin' in through the main entrance?

Scrapper: Too many perimeter defenses. We want this to be a sneak attack. Something they'll never expect coming.

Bonecrusher: They're not stupid enough to not expect an attack by now.

Scrapper: Which is why we're not going to just walk in through the front door.

Rumble: They don't have a front door.

*The Constructicons all turn to look at him.*

Rumble: ... Well, they don't.

Scavenger: We could build one.

Scrapper: Good idea, Scavenger. Anyone remember the dimensions for the hole in the Ark?

Hook: I do.

Scrapper: Right. Figure out how much in the way of supplies-

Ravage, interrupting: Wouldn't building a door on the Ark be rather... counter-productive?

Mixmaster: Depends on which side it locks on. *chuckles*

Ravage: Let's do this the simple way. We'll go in through the top of the volcano.

*The Constructicons consider this.*

Long Haul: Eh, why not?

Ravage, in annoyance: This is rather time-critical.

Scrapper: But-

Ravage: We have to attack the Ark before the group from Las Vegas returns.

Scrapper: But-

Ravage: Otherwise we'll get damaged needlessly.

Hook, to Scrapper: He has a point.

Scrapper, quietly: I want to build something.

*The Constructicons lounge around, amid spires of green metal. They're very, very obviously bored.*

Scavenger: "I think he got lost."

Long Haul looks up from the (Constructicon-sized) comic book he's reading. "He's not going to get lost in his own ship."

Scavenger goes back to toying with a lawn flamingo for a little bit. "... Can we spark it?"

Hook: "It is a scale model for a citycon, nothing more. There is no point in sparking it."

Mixmaster, his arms in a muddle of wires connecting to their latest creation: "Oops."

Bonecrusher: "'Oops' as in 'It's going to explode soon', or 'oops' as in 'I think I broke something vital'?"

Mixmaster: "'Oops' as in 'I've already finished installing a spark'."

Hook puts his head in his hands.

Scrapper: "Well, just don't turn the mind on."

Hook, yelling: "Why does it even have a mind? IT'S A MODEL!"

[Sec. Comm: Megatron]Sir, could you get down here? Hook's worrying about that Alternator we built for Shockwave will turn up and cause our creation to explode.

Hook steps back from the prone form of Motormaster, looking pleased with himself. "Flawlessly executed."

Scavenger's visor flashes a blink. "There was another possibility?"

"Of course not."

"So, are we going to turn him on?"

"Bask in my perfection for a bit."

Scavenger settled back and waited for a while.

"Oh, all right. Reactivate him already."

Hook, Bonecrusher, and Scrapper work on Motormaster. Specifically, Bonecrusher is dismantling Motormaster's armor while Scrapper draws up blueprints for the new Alternator design and Hook critiques over his shoulder.

Hook: You realize that if you put him in a more standard Alternator design, we'll be the only Decepticon gestalt left.

Scrapper: We already are the only functioning Decepticon gestalt. Besides, it'll waste time if we have to refit him to be Menasor's torso when we could do it right the first time.

Hook: Don't throw my words back at me. Doing it right the first time is what I'm suggesting. Put him in something weak.

Scrapper: *adds something to the plans which causes Hook to grin in delight and stop objecting*

Bonecrusher: *finishes stripping Motormaster* You guys got the plans ready yet?

Scrapper: Yes.

Bonecrusher: What's the plan?

Scrapper: Alternator upgrade, more or less identical to his old form. A few... adjustments, of course. *hands the plans to Bonecrusher*

Bonecrusher: (low whistle) Do we even have these kinds of control components?

Scrapper: (somehow gives the impression of an evil grin, despite his mask) Ask Longhaul.

( *slaps on an LJ cut* )

Scrapper reporting, sir.

Could you come back to base? We've built something we want to show you.

We just finished reinstalling the doors Scavenger broke around the base. It would have taken less time, but Scrapper side-tracked Longhaul into modifying the inventory records a bit. None of us actually knows how Longhaul organizes the storage bays, so we couldn't get the supplies we needed.

However, the records needed to be modified. Some of the components we need for this project can only be produced on Cybertron, so they are carefully tracked. We don't want to waste resources, after all.

Since we are the Constructicons, "it is better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission" works perfectly well for us. Megatron will approve of our project when he sees it complete. Whether or not the rest of the plebians do is unimportant.

Well, Scrapper and Hook are building some new Alternator, Mixmaster is poisonining a Seeker, and Scavenger and Bonecrusher are still wandering around the ship. We're probably going to get a lot of requests for replacement doors when everyone gets back. And who's going to get stuck hauling the stupid things?

Who always gets stuck hauling everything? Sigh.

Still, there are benefits to being the supply officer. I am the only one who knows where and what all of our inventory is. And I'm making more than enough energon on the side by bringing in Earth goodies for this band of lunatics. Hah.
Wait till you see what Scra-

jfkl84309fja

Mixmaster taking control. Shockwave, your Seeker has a substandard filtration system. He's going to need some serious repairs before he's capable of walking in a straight line and not crying on random passer-by. And, sorry, but Hook and Scrapper need me on this Alternator job right now. (Don't even think about asking Longhaul to repair the Seeker. He'll get insufferable if he gets to do something besides logistics.)

OW! Blast it, Longhaul-!

Bonecrusher, don't steal the keyboard! This is my entry, not yours.

jslrf

Bonecrusher here. Yes, I will steal the keyboard when you're going to post something stupid like 'Stardate blah-de-blah'. Here, you can have it back now.

I'm erasing this you realize.

... Shut up, Hook. I don't care that I agreed to not erase anything from any entry while typing it.

jflkdshfiayr983245fa

Hook here. It looks like this blogging experiment will be interesting. Scrapper is a hard mech to get the keyboard away from. Bonecrusher is currently keeping him occupied while I type up the rest of this entry.

We returned to the ship a few minutes ago, only to discover quite a lot of confusion. Someone left an insane amount of booby traps scattered around the base. Including a setup in the entrance room that has a "You must be this high to terrorize the Earth" sign. The height looks to be about chest-level on a Seeker. We're not exactly sure what it's supposed to do if you aren't that high, as we've been busy removing the traps from the repair bay, our offices, and Scavenger's junk room.

Hm? Oh, sure, you can type something, Scavenger.

ATTENTION, Decepticons! When I find out who destroyed my lawn flamingo collection, I'm telling Bonecrusher that you've been mocking his toughness!

.... Right. I'm putting this away before Mixmaster and Longhaul want a turn.