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Ultra Magnus’s optics scanned the rec room for the bot he needed to speak with, having gone on a wild goose chase to find him. The former Cybertron Commander had learned that, despite what everyone else said about the lead tactician, Prowl was not at all easy to find. Before he arrived at the rec room, Ultra Magnus had already been to the mech’s new office, as he now occupied the one the tactician formerly was given. He waited for a moment in the new office before heading to the old one, his new one, a few doors down. The transition was rather recent, and by recent he meant the transfer was only a matter of earth days ago, therefore making it quite plausible that Prowl left something behind in the move. With no luck to be found there, Ultra Magnus headed over to the Command Center. And yet, there was still no Prowl. Consulting Teletraan 1; because Ultra Magnus was positive that there was something amiss with the duty roster he had been given by one of the troops on the base; he found out that the mech he was looking for was not on patrol, but in the rec room.
Considering what Ultra Magnus thought he knew about the Praxian, the truck was a little surprised at the answer. He did not think Prowl was the type of mech to slack off and relax in the middle of the shift in the rec room. However, he did remember that the new office the tactician has been assigned did not have its own energon dispenser, unlike the one Ultra Magnus now had as his own. The rec room, on the other servo, did; hence the reason Prowl was probably there. Ultra Magnus knew for a fact that the tactician had skipped his morning ration for the day, adding yet even more logic to his assumptions. Arriving in the rec room, it did not take Ultra Magnus long to find the bot he was looking for. He began to walk over to the smaller mech. “Ah, Prowl, there you are. May I talk to you for a moment?”
Over the last few days, Prowl had noticed drastic changes in his once lively, over-excitable, and even rambunctious troops. Now, don’t get him wrong, Prowl could appreciate the newfound discipline and adherence to authority, however, recent circumstances had gone too far. At first, it had been fine, his troops had been acting more civilized. Things such as no more racing or flying in the halls, the decrease in crude language -surprisingly even when the topic concerned the Decepticon forces-, and even mecha being more punctual to perform their duties were all positive improvements befitting the mecha supposedly the Elite in the Autobot army. And then… the bad things started happening.
Prowl noticed that even the most sociable bots seemed tense and stiff, voices in dull almost muted conversations, as if they expected to be chewed out by someone at any given moment. Originally, Prowl did not fret much about such behaviors, yes they had him curious, but he chalked it up to an upcoming major prank war from all sides on the Ark. A few days after his initial observation, it was perturbing to Prowl to realize that no pranks had come. Not one paint bucket was out of place, nor did paint stripper replace the solvent in wash racks, and there had been no glue or glitter bombs traps that had gotten tripped when someone walked down a hallway. The commonplace pranking seemed to just trickle up and cease completely. And by Primus, wasn’t that unnerving.
The oddest thing about this lack of happenings was that it seemed no one was happy about it. Non-prankers would look to the pranksters, and the prankers to the Twins; both groups in an almost pleading manner. In return, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker just mournfully scowled. Not even Jazz, perhaps the most cheerful mech on the Ark, was smiling anymore. Prowl realized that the day the music, which once blasted through the Ark 24/7, died. The silence unnerved him, to say the least; and while he appreciated the newfound discipline the troops seem to have, Prowl made it his personal mission to find the cause of it and put a stop to it.
It did not take long for Prowl to discover what, or rather who, the common catalyst in all these events were. The start of all of them just happened to coincide with the arrival of Ultra Magnus, and his mecha. Catalyst found, Prowl formulated a plan to reverse what the newly arrived officer had turned his troops into, though he made sure not to tamper with any professional or duty-bound state of affairs. The tactician’s reasoning for such a plan was plain and simple: the Ark was not the Ark without its usual brand of everyday craziness.
Prowl looked up from his newly retrieved energon cube when Ultra Magnus approached him. Huh, that human expression finally made sense. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. In any case, it would not do to not pay the proper respects to his superior officer. Standing up from his seat Prowl saluted the other mech before speaking. “My apologies, Sir. I was unaware you were looking for me. How may I assist you?”
Ultra Magnus saluted back, giving a slight nod in a pleased manner. Here was a mech who understood discipline and professionalism. It truly was a pity Prowl was never able to pass on such noble traits to the once rambunctious mecha of the Ark, before Ultra Magnus himself had seen to it upon his arrival. “There is nothing to apologize for, Prowl. I just have a few reservations concerning the ship’s roster.”
At the truck’s statement, Prowl had to actively fight down an eager smile. With luck, his carefully planted bait had just been taken. Of course, Prowl knew that his carefully laid out plan resided on the next few key minutes, and, as hard as it might have been, he smoothed his faceplates down into one of sincere professional interest. “Is that so? I do not believe I had made any errors in sending the infantry files you requested access too.”
“Perhaps not, but I’d still like to verify this with you. If you will accompany me to my office, I would like to discuss my doubts with you.” Ultra Magnus replied, sensing an unusual undertone to the usually stoic tactician's words. Granted he just called the tactician’s information false, without even knowing what the facts truly were. Perhaps the apparent mistakes were actually a joke played by the pranksters before he quelled their dysfunctional ways. It would explain the tone to Prowl’s words, and serve as a logical explanation for the oddities in the information files.
While Ultra Magnus spoke, Prowl noticed the dimming of the taller Cybertronian’s optics, a telltale sign that his fellow officer, and as of late, replacement, was thinking. Prowl went to interject before Ultra Magnus could make any concrete conclusions that could potentially be more or less accurate. “I apologize, but I cannot accompany you, Sir. I am currently taking my one joor break, as mandatorily prescribed by my physician. However, seeing as the designations of troops and their functions are of little security clearance, I would not object to reviewing the files with you here and now.”
“I am not sure doing so would be appropriate, Prowl.” Ultra Magnus replied back from his musings with a small frown.
“How might it be inappropriate?” Oh, Prowl knew exactly why, but between his false innocent probing and noteworthy reputation, surely his words came out to be believed as being innocent. Yes, playing innocent was essential for the next few minutes just to make sure his bait was caught. Of course, that did not mean he could not poke a subtle jab at the mech who not only took his position in the Ark but took the morale out of the ship with his position as well. “If I recall correctly, Sir, and I am quite sure I do, a ship’s roster is just a datapad with designations and functions on it.”
Ultra Magnus’ frown grew deeper as the subtle jab was nonetheless received. “Prowl, I am going to be blunt with you. Before I came here you were the Second in Command of this Unit, yes?”
“That is correct, Sir. Might I inquire as to what your question has to do with the roster?” Prowl asked.
“Look Prowl, if you were the second in command here, then you must know all the troops.” Ultra Magnus pressed onwards.
“I certainly do.” Only a bot familiar with wings or doorwings would notice the proud cant of the tactician’s own pair at the seemingly straightforward reply. Yes, after looking after the Ark’s mecha for many years, especially after their arrival on earth, Prowl had come to know the Autobots under his command personally, not just professionally. The troops could say the same of their own knowledge of the tactician. It seemed over the course of 4 years of arriving on earth the Ark’s mecha had become much closer as a unit, as a family, than most Cybertronians in a combat unit could ever claim after 400 vorns.
“Well, as you know I have just recently come to Earth, and perhaps my logs are inaccurate because of that. So you will have to tell me the troops' designations so that I'll know who's under my command on the field now.” Ultra Magnus said.
“Of course, Sir,” Prowl affirmed that he would do that. The smile he had been actively holding back had just returned to his faceplates. Barely a second after it returned, Prowl smoothed his faceplates down for another time, although the proud and smug cant, unreadable to Ultra Magnus remained. Prowl then pressed forth, setting up the final stages he needed before what he was gearing up towards unfolded. Sparing a moment to comm the mecha he needed for later parts of the scheme, the tactician rattled on a little to preserve time as he sat down back at the table. “I will tell you their designations, however, I feel obliged to warn you before I do so. It seems to me that they give these Autobots nowadays very peculiar names.”
“You mean ‘funny’ names?” Ultra Magnus asked.
“Very strange names, the humans call them nicknames...like-”
Ultra Magnus held up his servo to cut the Praxian off. Suddenly they seemed to be going off-topic, and that could not be tolerated right now. He was behind schedule enough as it was, having to deal with the foolishness of the Ark bots as well as his own troops. “Spare me. This is irrelevant to our task.”
Thinking that they would be taking a while now, Ultra Magnus joined Prowl at the table. The thought was no more than mere instinct, and yet such an instinct had him sitting down anyway. Besides, the tactician already had done so himself, so Ultra Magnus felt it would be rude to continue their impromptu question and answer session without doing the same.
“Could you tell me who is in charge of the communications, security, and engineering departments please?” The truck asked once he settled on his seat. He began with the officers, specifically those senior to the Ark, even though they weren’t officially part of Autobot High Command. Ultra Magnus, of course, knew everyone on High Command, so learning the additional officers he would work with would be important. Indeed he’d start from the top of the latter and learn more about the lower rungs as he descended.
“Of course, Sir. Well, let's see, we have on the roster that, Who is in charge of Communications, What operates Security, and I Don't Know runs engineering…” Prowl informed with the tiniest hint of a smile, which curled up around his faceplates.
Ultra Magnus frowned, not noticing the smile. “That's what I want to find out.”
Prowl mirrored the frown right back at the taller mech, having perfected the art, thanks to the troublemakers on the ship. Said troublemakers never seemed to hear him the first few times either. “I said: We have on the roster that, Who is in charge of Communications, What operates Security, and I Don't Know runs Engineering.”
At the repeat of their tactician’s words, onlookers in the rec room; most who had been watching the officer duo since Ultra Magnus implied *Prowl* made a mistake in the ship rosters; told their friends who were off duty to come to the rec room. For those on duty, Rewind and Eject started recording the event so that those unable to leave their assignments could watch later. Why? Well, Prowl had been acting more suspicious recently to the Ark mecha- though it wasn’t like any of the new arrivals could tell- and it seemed likely they might now figure out why.
Eight of the Ark’s mecha had received datapads with a singular word or phrase on it,seemingly without any apparent context. To other bots, Prowl had asked what they were doing for today, and let it slip that he’d like it if they came to find him later. Though it was not mandatory, most mecha that Prowl had asked, agreed to find him. It was Prowl after all. Why would he ask to see them without a good reason? When asked what time and where the tactician would like to meet, he said the rec room, and that they’d know when it was time.
The word around the Ark traveled fast, even if it was hissed during shifts, to avoid Ultra Magnus’ ire for slacking off. It did not take long for the entirety of the original Ark mechs to let each other know that something was going to go down with their tactician. After hearing the words more clearly from Prowl’s vocalizer, Smokescreen grinned. It appeared the rumored ‘going down’ was going down *now* and from what he gathered it seemed like word interpretation was going to play a huge role. Good. Their former SiC was a proven master when it came to battles of wit alone.
Not wanting to miss any more of what was happening, Smokescreen turned to look sideways at the two officers; hiding his grin by sipping an energon cube; tuning back into the conversation.
“Are you the one who assigned these posts?” Ultra Magnus inquired.
Prowl paused for a moment, thinking over his response. A moment passed and the Praxian nodded in confirmation. “I contributed my input to Optimus Prime, yes.
“And were you the commander of these troops previously too?”
“Affirmative.” There was another nod to go along with his words, though it was clipped in small annoyance. Prowl knew that Ultra Magnus already knew such facts. In fact, such a fact had already been established several times during the truck’s arrival.
“And you are sure you know these Autobot’s designations?” Ultra Magnus asked to confirm, yet again. To an outsider, he seemed to definitely be grilling the tactician now.
“Well, I should.” Prowl could honestly say he felt a little insulted at such a question. What did Ultra Magnus take him for? A mech with a simple desk job who did nothing to care for or get to know his troops? Sure he may seem stoic or overly strict at times, but he was there back to back with his comrades every single time the Decepticons struck, and he was always there to lend an audial and a shoulder to cry on whenever the war became too much to deal with.
“Well then…” Ultra Magnus was surprised at the indignant hurt coming from the tactician. Then again, Ultra Magnus could understand what might have gone through the black and white’s processor. He too would not be happy if someone accused him of standing idly by while the bots he was supposed to be leading offlined. Breaking off from that morbid train of thought, Ultra Magnus asked the question he had intended to ask once the tactician confirmed he’d know the answer. “Who’s on communications?”
“Yes, Sir.” Prowl canted his helm in confirmation.
“I mean the Autobot's designation.” Ultra Magnus clarified his question. Perhaps Prowl just did not get the question, in the initial phrasing.
“Who.”
“The mech who runs communications.” Ultra Magnus tried again.
“Who,” Prowl repeated.
“The Communications Officer.” Ultra Magnus attempted once more.
“Who,” Prowl repeated.
“The mech on Communications…” The truck inquired after for a fifth time, gritting his denta. He had grown just a little tad annoyed by that time. Why would Prowl not just give him the answer already?
“Who runs Communications!” The tactician raised his voice as if the truck was missing something completely obvious.
All Ultra Magnus knew was that his annoyance had quickly taken control. It came on too fast for his liking, but what could one expect when his very important questions were parodied and mocked. Granted, having his servo slam onto the table in a fist during his small outburst might have been a little uncalled for. Especially since he made a jabbing motion at the tactician with his other free servo. “I'm asking you who runs Communications!”
Prowl to Ultra Magnus’ surprise did not even flinch at his new commander’s reaction. When the black and white was planning for this confrontation, he knew that an outburst like that had a 94.72% chance of occurring sooner or later. As such, Prowl prepared himself for the motions accordingly. Raising an optic ridge to draw the taller bot’s attention to the unprofessional outburst, the Praxian spoke calmly, “That's the mech's designation.”
“That's whose designation?” Ultra Magnus questioned settling back down. He would not let that minuscule embarrassing unprofessional moment get the better of him.
“Yes.” Prowl deadpanned.
Optimus Prime’s new second made a continuing gesture with his servo. “Well go ahead. Tell me.”
“That's it.”
“That's who?” The blue and red bot asked; another outburst not forthcoming, as that would not help him get to the bottom of whatever Prowl was saying. Obviously, he was missing something here, and he was determined to figure this out.
“Affirmative.” Prowl canted his helm in verification, leaving his successor baffled.
In the background, Smokescreen practically inhaled a good portion of his energon cube, doing his best to not snerk at the Ark’s newest, strictest, and most disliked officer’s misfortune. Primus, the gambler, was so happy that Prowl took the truck’s arrival and approach to dealing with the Ark as irksome and generally problematic; especially compared to how things were under the black and white Praxian’s guidance and command. If Prowl supported Ultra Magnus’s changes, Smokescreen did not know how long it would take for his fellow soldiers to snap back and retaliate. The lack of morale had already put severe tensions between even the closest of crewmates.
Ultra Magnus shuttered his optics resting his faceplates in one servo, in what was basically a prolonged facepalm. Sighing, Ultra Magnus re-shuttered his optics and looked up slowly. As he spoke he deliberately stared straight at the other’s icy blue optics. “Look, does the roster have a Communications Officer?”
“Certainly.” Prowl replied with an amused cant of his doorwings. He had seen the other Praxian’s reactions while waiting for Ultra Magnus’s reply, and combined with his replacement’s own reactions Prowl felt that it was okay to express his personal amusement in unassuming ways.
“Who's the Communications Officer?” The taller Cybertronian tried once more.
“That's right.”
That pinprick of annoyance started to come back to Ultra Magnus. If this was not a test to his patience, Ultra Magnus did not what would be. Pushing back on his frustration that threatened to spill once more, the commander let out his second sigh in the breem. “When you give leave time to the Communications Officer every month, who gets the leave?”
“Every second of it.” Prowl smoothly reported.
“All I'm trying to find out is the bot's designation in charge of Communications!” Ultra Magnus exclaimed back at the impassive tactician, who seemed determined to make his orn difficult.
“Who.” Was the infuriating response that had Ultra Magnus amend his earlier thought. It seemed Prowl was determined to make his orn very difficult.
Ultra Magnus ground his denta to send a response back to the bane of his orn. “The mech that gets-”
.
And he was promptly cut off by Prowl, for the tactician knew exactly what was going to be asked, and did not want to hear it. “That's it.”
Ultra Magnus growled aloud in frustration when his important question was cut off, only to gain another unhelpful answer. “Who gets the time?”
Prowl nodded and opened his mouth to speak, right as the rec room’s door opened to admit Jazz and Blaster. Prowl closed his mouth, as an idea struck him then, upon his friend’s and the cassette carrier’s arrival. Prowl waited until the duo sat down at the table with Mirage and Bumblebee, before sharing his response. “He does, every second of it. Sometimes his cassettes go with him to collect it.”
At the mention of his cassettes, Blaster turned his optics towards the tactician suspicious and with concern. Right as they walked in, Blaster’s sensitive audials caught something about ‘time’ so he assumed that Mr. I-got-a-stick-up-my-tailpipe and Prowl were talking about leave time, but that did not make any sense as to why he and his cassettes were mentioned. A glance at Jazz showed the former TiC was just as confused too.
“Who's cassettes?” Ultra Magnus spoke, deliberately accentuating the first word in his question.
Out of the formerly acclaimed mech music duo, it was Jazz who figured it out first. Since being loud was now considered being ‘disruptive’ even in the rec room, and Jazz didn’t want to spoil it for Magnus, Jazz opened a comm line to his friend to eagerly exclaim, ::You’re Who!::
::Jazz-mech, ya know who I am. I’m Bla-oh. Oh!:: Blaster started his response disbelievingly before he too realized both of what was going on with the Praxian and semi-truck and just what his friend was referring to. Primus, how had he missed that? The datapad he received from Prowl a few days earlier finally made sense. It said, ‘You are who,’ on it, which served to cause the cherry red mech enough of an existential crisis, that he had to go see the base’s unofficial resident psychiatrist. Speaking of Smokescreen, the blue, red, and yellow Praxian had just told the base at large that everyone off duty should come down to the rec room. Eager for some excitement, which had been lacking as of late, Blaster and Jazz both individually did as their comrade suggested. And now everything was starting to make sense! ::Yeah, I’m Who!::
Sporting a slag eating grin, and snapping his fingers once loudly, Jazz cheered for the first time in days, answering both Ultra Magnus and Blaster simultaneously, “Yep, yer right on!”
Prowl could not help but feel a wave of smugness and pleasure when not only Jazz but Blaster went along with his logically illogic scheme.
The cassette carrier glared darkly at Ultra Magnus. Yet, Prowl could tell from the Communications Officer’s uncharacteristically closed up EM field that the cherry red mech was actually amused by the proceedings; and was just trying to hide such feelings from the victim of Prowl’s display of wittiness.
“Is there a problem with that, Commander?” Blaster questioned darkly.
Ultra Magnus was taken aback by the question laced with a dark undertone. “Of course not,” He responded to the cherry red mech whose name he did not know. Ultra Magnus in that sense also didn’t know that the who he was talking to was for all intents and purposes: Who.
Picking his battles, Ultra Magnus turned back to Prowl instead of carrying on with the stranger. “Look, all I want to know is when the Communications Officer submits his reports, how does he record his designation?”
“Who,” Prowl said dryly.
“The mech.” Ultra Magnus spoke tersely back, keeping his words to a minimum.
“Who.” Came the deadpanned response.
“How does he sign it…” The question came out of Ultra Magnus’s mouth tiredly, so that by the end of it the line trailed off.
“That's how he signs it!” Prowl exclaimed.
Ultra Magnus shook his helm, clearly, he was missing something, but as it was he’d be slagged if he knew what it was. “Who?”
“Affirmative.” The black and white tactician responded.
“All I'm trying to find out is what's the bot’s name who runs Communications.” Ultra Magnus practically growled at the base’s former SiC and now TiC. How hard could it be to answer one single question?!
“No.” Prowl took on an almost patronizing tone as he addressed his superior. “What runs Security.”
“I'm not asking you who runs Security!”
“Who operates Communications.”
Ultra Magnus seethed. Unless the same mech was in charge of both the security and communication department, which Ultra Magnus knew that that was not true, the two departments should not have interacted with his very simple inquiry. It was with this thought that had the semi-truck snapping at the police cruiser once more. “One division at a time!”
Prowl bristled at the demanding outburst. When he responded back to it, the strategist’s voice took on defensive undertones, to display his support for his previous replies. “Then don’t change their billets around.”
“I'm not changing anybody!” Ultra Magnus declared firmly but with vast amounts of returning exasperation. As he spoke he slapped his servo on the table to prove a point. How could he change anyone’s jobs around when he didn’t anyone who had the jobs in the first place?
“Woah, take it easy there, Commander, dude.” Beachcomber entered the rec room with Seaspray. Both of the boatformers were caught up in a discussion of some sea creature or another.
Ultra Magnus stiffened, ready to issue a warning at the mech who addressed him with the relaxed ease of near insubordination and disrespect to his rank. Ultra Magnus stopped short from glare and a reprimand of the blue and yellow mech for two reasons. The first reason was that the boatformer was not completely disrespectful. He had still used the proper title; and, secondly, to be fair to his subordinate Ultra Magnus did have to admit to himself that his reaction was a little overblown. If only the reason for his reaction was that simple to dismiss and move forward. Speaking of which… “I'm only asking you, who's the mech that operates Communications?”
“That's right.” The tactician responded calmly, wiping up the energon that had splashed onto the table from his unfinished cube. Ever since the Twins decided that paint was boring and replaced their bucket drop pranks with fast-drying rubber cement, Prowl had made it a point to carry a larger equivalent of a towel on him. He would not try to blindly try to locate the medbay to get the substance removal solvent again, thank you very much. Of course, the towel had other uses besides a ‘Post Prank Optic Wiper’. Such uses were in cases like now when energon spilled.
“Okay…” Ultra Magnus said hesitantly, even though it really was not okay. Surely Prowl got that and would stop with whatever this was and get serious. Wow… Ultra Magnus thought: that was one sentence he had never expected to think of when it related to the tactician.
As it was Prowl did not in fact ‘get serious’. Nor did it seem that the Praxian even recognized Ultra Magnus doubts. “Alright.”
“Fine.” Ultra Magnus sighed. He could not take more of this. Nonsense such as this he expected from the lowly, undisciplined mecha who made up the Ark Crew, but not their straight-laced, stoic, tactician. As it was, it appeared that he would have to find a different bot who knew the crew well enough and would give him accurate and correct answers. The truck’s optics landed on the other black and white in the room. Yes, he would do.
“Jazz!” Ultra Magnus barked. He knew of the former TiC’s, now the unofficially official Autobot Fourth in Command, sociability, and connection to many of the Autobots stationed here. Even if not all the Autobots and Jazz were friends, Ultra Magnus knew that the Special Operations Department Head had more than enough information about the mecha here to answer the simple questions that the former SiC was unable to.
“Yessir!” Jazz exclaimed at almost yelling level decibels. As he acknowledged his name being barked out, Jazz scrambled to attention in a highly exaggerated manner. The salute he gave Ultra Magnus was mocking at best, causing snickers to roll through the mecha in the rec room.
Ultra Magnus was not deterred by the subtle mocking as he stood up from his seat to stride over to the SpecOps officer. “What's the mech's name that runs communications?”
Jazz tilted his helm at Ultra Magnus's words. Shaking his helm, Jazz grinned, with a mischievous glint in his optics. He did not plan to be involved with Prowl’s little scheme, but the SpecOps Officer didn’t get to his post without being adaptable. Besides this opportunity for subtle revenge was too good to just pass up. “Nah, mech, What’s runnin’ security.”
“I'm not asking you who's on security.”
“Who's on Communications, Commander.” Bumblebee piped up from the quote-unquote Special Operations table; going along with Prowl and Jazz’s lead.
From his now empty table, the Praxian’s doorwings twitched in slight amusement. He was nervous that if too many mechs joined in on this, that the joke would’ve been picked up on sooner, yet he had to admit the few who had gotten involved in so far were doing a great job. That was the positive consequence of having more mecha than just himself getting involved. His words would seem to be more common knowledge, which hopefully would only make the overly strict red and blue mech more baffled. Prowl also knew, from getting to really know the crew of the Ark well, ever since their arrival on earth, that many of the mechs on board preferred being more servos-on. The small boost to morale, which would occur by thoroughly baffling the new SiC so that he would leave them alone for a bit to figure things out on his own, could only be augmented further by the individual Ark mecha who felt they contributed their two cents into such a victory.
“I don't know.” Ultra Magnus growled in the meanwhile to both of the Special Operations mechs.
Jazz shook his helm in a ‘no’ manner more vigorously this time. “He's Engineering, and we're not talkin’ ‘bout him.”
“Now how did I get to Engineering?” Ultra Magnus was completely puzzled.
Jazz tilted his helm in an ‘I can’t believe this’ and ‘how are you not getting this… it’s common sense manner’. “Why ya mentioned his name.” The saboteur spoke slowly, intentionally adding on to his disbelieving act.
The truth was that Jazz really didn’t get exactly what was going on, and yet at the same time his instincts were telling him what to do. Jazz followed his instincts, of course; why wouldn’t he? Following his instincts had saved his spark many times while on a mission, even if the times he did so it more often than not drove the tactical department insane. But that’s what made him and Prowl a great team. The Praxian would come up with the most logically sound plan, and Jazz would follow it, if only in the most illogical fashion at times. One couldn’t deny the results though. They were too effective to just be ignored. Now they were doing the same thing, albeit unofficially and undecided upon, and Jazz could not wait for the end result.
“If I mentioned the engineer’s name, who did I say is in Engineering?” Prowl and Jazz’s victim inquired at last.
Jazz opened his mouth to respond, but it was Bumblebee who beat him to the chase. “Nope,” Jazz responded, popping the ‘p’. “Who's on Communications.”
“What's on communications?” Ultra Magnus responded, expecting the name of the engineering mech and not anything related to communications. He should have known better, by this point.
Mirage finally decided to contribute, having enough of sitting on the sidelines, now that the scheme really got going. “What operates security!” The former noble exclaimed with false aggravated annoyance.
“I don't know.” Ultra Magnus admitted once again. His talents did not lie in security, and though he had a general idea of what was needed to make it work, he really did not have a solid idea of what exactly operated the systems.
“He's in engineering,” Mirage emphasized, bringing the circle to another complete rotation. Just after he spoke, the blue and white spy turned back to readdress Bumblebee in conversation.
“There I go! Back on engineering again!” Ultra Magnus exclaimed with frustration.
Ultra Magnus turned around to once more face Prowl. At least the tactician consistently focused on one specific department at any given time. Of course, that had been the communications department, which had been of no help to the semi-truck. Perhaps though, he’d have more luck trying out a different department. “Prowl, would you just stay in the engineering department and not go off it?”
“Certainly, Sir. What would you like me to tell you about the department?” Prowl responded, right after taking another sip of his energon cube, in a rather helpful tone.
Ultra Magnus fought back the urge to smile or react in any form or relief. Relief meant he was stressed out and nervous about the situation, and Ultra Magnus felt neither fear nor stress. He was just satisfied that the tactician appeared to be more willing to be helpful to him now. It was with this satisfaction that Ultra Magnus spoke. “Now who's in charge engineering?”
Prowl’s tight frown and subsequent words had Ultra Magnus rethinking his relief and satisfaction. “Why do you keep insisting on putting Who in charge of Engineering?”
The semi-truck shuttered his optic. “What am I putting in charge of Engineering?”
“No. What runs security.”
Oh, Primus no… it was happening again wasn’t it? Ultra Magnus shattered his optic, looking up at the ceiling in a ‘why-me-Primus’ manner. “So… You don’t want who on security?”
“Of course not!” Prowl exclaimed with horror. The mech’s doorwings twitched with firm distaste at the very thought. He wasn’t the only one. Blaster’s own faceplate was quite aghast in its appearance. “Who is on Communications.” The tactician said with total finality in his tone.
Ultra Magnus noticed the crotchety cherry red mech from before nodding in the background, from where he was now talking with another Praxian model. For whatever reason, the mech seemed to be just as resolute as the tactician was on the matter.
“I don't know.” Ultra Magnus responded at last just wanting to be done with this whole thing by now. The new SiC was beginning to regret he ever tried to find out the answers. Actually, the semi-truck was beginning to regret leaving Cybertron in the first place. At least then, he could just shoot at the current bane of his existence. He could not do that on earth, because shooting at a fellow Autobot with the intention to do harm was a crime of the utmost gravity.
From their table, it seemed the trio of Special Operations agents were eager to join in again. It made sense that they wanted to be included. SpecOps mecha in general were used to being some of the most servos-on mecha in the army. For them to sit back and do nothing, when they could take part in an event, was equanimous for them to be on their very death berth.
It had nothing to Jazz’s comm about piping up on Prowl’s behalf in unison, whenever Ultra Magnus unwittingly said something ‘related’ to the third department. Of course not.
“Engineering!” All three proclaimed when Jazz finished his countdown from three on their private comm channel.
When the SpecOps trio spoke in perfect unison Ultra Magnus reached his finishing point. He was so absolutely done with this conversation. He had wasted enough time already, and there were still so many other things he had to get done today to catch up on everything. He could worry about different unknown mecha later, once Optimus got back from his meeting with some human government officials. “Look, let’s move on to something else. Have you completed the battle plans I asked for?”
“I have, Sir.” Prowl gave the affirmative in the question because of course, he completed the work. He would never let his duties slip to the point where he wouldn’t be prepared for the Decepticons' next move. Though… he did make a second version of the battle plans to go along with his own purposes.
“The left frontliner’s designation?” Ultra Magnus inquired.
“Why.” Prowl deadpanned in return.
Ultra Magnus was taken aback at such an answer. It was a simple question, like all of his other questions had been today, but it seemed Prowl was especially guarded today. Besides, it was not like he was asking for all of the personal details about the frontliner in question. He just wanted the bot’s designation!
“I just thought I would ask you,” Ultra Magnus explained himself despite how simple and reasonable he considered the question to be. Did the tactician have reason to believe there were Decepticon spies nearby to overhear them? Was that why Prowl was being so difficult? Well, certainly it would explain the oddities in the black and white’s demeanor as of recently.
“Well, I just thought I would tell you,” Prowl responded calmly as if he expected such a response and had come prepared to echo it.
“Then tell me who's battling on the left!” Ultra Magnus exclaimed. If Prowl actually wanted to tell him, then what in the name of Unicron was causing the holdup?
“Who's on Communications.”
“I’m not-” Ultra Magnus started before he broke off, recognizing those words. Oh no… he did not. Prowl did not just say that. Not that infuriating response again. “Stay out of the departments!!!” Ultra Magnus demanded quite loudly, slamming both servos down on the tactician table. “I want to know, what's the bot’s designation fighting on the left field?”
“No,” Prowl pursed his lips in slight annoyance, together as another spill of his energon courtesy the semi-truck occurred. “What is running security!”
“I'm not asking you about who's running security!” Ultra Magnus growled with aggravation. He had just told the tactician to stay out of the departments! Perhaps Prowl was more insubordinate than he thought. Perhaps that unruly crew of the former SiC’s was the reason for it. After so many vorns Prowl finally was forced to sink to their lows.
“Who's on Communications!” Came the insistent reply from the Praxian.
“I. Don’t. Know.” The semi-truck grounded his denta together, pounding out each word as if each one was its own sentence.
“Engineering!” Chorused the Special Operations table.
At that, the doors opened once more to admit two of the Autobots' most prominent warriors. Also known as the Terror Twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were feared and admired by many, both for their prowess on the battlefield and their outside of the box problem-solving skills. The latter of these skills had resulted in a great range of things, spanning from the ever-seeker dreaded Jet Judo, to some of the most memorable pranks, not only in Autobot history but probably Cybertronian history as well.
But it was for neither of those skills, that was why Ultra Magnus turned to them from the Chief Military Strategist in the Autobot army.
“You two are frontliners, correct?”
Sideswipe’s optics widened as they were addressed suddenly, expecting to be chewed out for something yet again, and Sunstreaker’s own pair narrowed with an air of suspicion. “That’s right.” The golden twin answered for both of them, optics moving from the truck to the police cruiser behind him.
The golden twin did not trust Ultra Magnus in the slightest, his suspicion and dislike growing with every day their new commander forcibly put an end to another thing that made the Ark home, and it’s crew a family, these last few years. He did, however, trust Prowl. The Praxian had saved his and his brother’s lives more times than Sunstreaker could count. Though, all the trust the tactician had earned to this point was now held in jeopardy. Ever since their days in the same gladiator pits as Megatron, neither twin was fond of the idea of being split up across vast distances for long. And Prowl knew this.
What was more was that the tactician promised to do everything in his power to avoid such situations, despite all three knowing it was common for frontliners to be moved around from place to place, rarely with the same teammates. So it would be a huge blow to the large sums trust Prowl had gained from the Twins over the last few years, if the mech had decided to go back on that promise.
“Then, you can tell me what the left frontliner’s name is?” Ultra Magnus inquired assumingly. Of course, the answer would be yes, and of course, it would be followed by the name of the mech. Because why wouldn’t it be? Unlike Prowl, these two were most certainly enlisted mecha, who should have a solid respect for the chain of command. And despite them being part of the ever troublesome Ark crew, Ultra Magnus felt confident about his assumption. Frontliners were prone to getting moved around from battlefront to battlefront constantly, and if these two were as close as they appeared to be for whatever reason, Ultra Magnus had great reason to believe that they would stay inline for the officers to avoid any potential ideas of separation.
::What’s going on, Prowl?:: Sunstreaker growled through a commline containing just himself and the tactician, and Sideswipe. No one else was to be privy to this discussion. At Sunstreaker’s growl, the golden mech gave one of the darkest glares he ever gave to the tactician, and Sideswipe regarded the black and white with uneasy pointed optics. Both of them awaited the tactician’s response.
From the distinctive growl and pointed words, Prowl knew immediately what the warriors were thinking about. From behind Ultra Magnus, Prowl’s lip plates formed a tight frown. Did they really believe he’d go back on his word, just like that? Prowl could see where the two were coming from, but he was disappointed, all the same, that the Twins still held him in some suspicion despite all the experiences requiring trust they shared.
::It’s not what you two are thinking. I can assure you.:: Prowl started though neither twin looked in anyway reassured just yet. He continued trying to explain it to them since they didn’t have the opportunity to watch the action unfold and figure it out as the SpecOps agents had. ::Do you remember that video you showed me?::
It took the Twins a moment to recall, but once they did Sideswipe had a slag eating grin on his face. Even Sunstreaker had the beginnings of a smirk forming.
::You aren’t!:: Sideswipe exclaimed eagerly.
::Indeed, I am, Sideswipe.:: Prowl responded with a hint of a smirk.
::What part are you at?:: Sunstreaker asked the tactician. His tone clearly suggested that if they had the opportunity he would definitely be willing to help. Of course, Sideswipe would as well. The red mech, when given a good opportunity, would never turn up the chance to take part in a prank. Especially not in this case, when the prankee was a *certain* someone that had recently wronged the majority of his peers, including one Sideswipe’s most favorite general prank victims.
::Why.:: Prowl returned, and Sideswipe’s face lit up with the first signs of mischievous glee that had been noticeably absent on the prankster’s face for orns. For what was maybe the first time ever, Prowl did not only tolerate such a reaction; where once he would have been stern or wary; but now instead he was rather pleased the red warrior seemed to approve of his little scheme.
::Because?:: Sunstreaker spoke back, referring back to the datapad he had received a few earth days prior. Like many of the other Autobots the initial appearance of the datapads has unnerved both of the Twins, as both of their code names appeared to be more like threats than clues to the current plan. However, once they had found out about the other oddly similar and familiar datapads, both Twins were pretty sure they figured out what was going on. For them it was a matter of not ‘if’ but ‘when’, though they didn’t contribute to any of the other Autobots speculations not wanting to reveal anything Prowl intended to be a surprise.
::Of course.:: Prowl nodded in acceptance.
Ultra Magnus cleared his throat, tired and annoyed at obviously being ignored. “I said: ‘Then, you can tell me what the left frontliner’s name is’?”
Showtime, Sunstreaker thought as he scowled at the semi-truck. It wasn’t hard for the golden warrior to do so, as it was one of his most common expressions as of late, and that the mecha his current scowl was directed to, was the source of everyone’s problems.
“Why,” Sunstreaker challenged in his tone.
Ultra Magnus was agog. Ultra Magnus was also aghast, at such a challenging tone of voice. As if he was not good enough or deserving of their respect and submission to his authority. “I am your commander!” He declared, gesticulating his servos around widely, which ended up having them be held indirectly and unintentionally pointed at Tracks. “That is why!”
The Twins followed Ultra Magnus’ servo that had waved through the air, following it’s gaze to Tracks. At Ultra Magnus’ second announcement, Sunstreaker pulled a quizzical expression on his brother. “I thought you were Why?” The golden twin spoke with, a barely detectable, false confusion.
Sideswipe took his cue from his brother, replying back in the same voice. The red frontliner played it up a little bit, his expression also pinched like he was on the onset of an identity crisis. “I thought I was Why too…”
“Who’s why?” Ultra Magnus asked back, equally as puzzled as the Twins acted to be. The only difference was that Ultra Magnus was actually feeling such an emotion, and the Twins, like the SpecOps agents, and Prowl and everyone else involved were all faking.
“Who’s who.” Sunstreaker said quite resolutely, jabbing a digit at his brother, “He’s Why.”
From his seat Prowl had to give Sunstreaker an impressed nod. Even the tactician didn’t think of using that as a retort, and it was nowhere in the video that he had based his little plan on. The tactician had to give Sunstreaker the credit the warrior deserved for thinking that one up so quickly and delivering it so perfectly on the fly; especially since it had the desired effect.
Ultra Magnus looked completely baffled, turning from the golden frontliner to the red one. “You’re who?”
“Why!” Sideswipe chirped up, grinning with such exuberance, seemingly for no reason other than to grate on the new SiC’s nerves. Sideswipe knew it would work on this mech. For a while when Sideswipe first was moved under Prowl’s command, pre-Ark, the tactician had reacted quite similarly on occasion. The reactions calmed down once the prank-punishment-prank again-punish again cycle became just another common thing in their lives. Though both Sideswipe and Prowl knew, one more proud of the fact than the other, that every now and then the grin he was currently using still infuriated the tactician to no end; even though Prowl was usually able to minimize such reactions.
Ultra Magnus had no such experience with him. The taller semi-trucks optics had brightened considerably in frustration. “Because!”
“Yes?” Sunstreaker responded, with a glare full of contempt.
“Oh, he covers the center field,” Sideswipe responded oh-so helpfully, lazily pointing at his brother, grin remaining.
Ultra Magnus was done with the Twins, already planning to send them to opposite battle frontiers; unless they were exceptionally good at following orders and fighting on the earthen battlefield. Compliant warriors on the front lines could be molded into highly respectful and cooperative subordinates off the battlefield too when given the proper leadership. The proper leadership which Prowl had failed to assert over the Ark crew when he still held his rank as SiC.
“Look, do you have a sniper on this team?” Ultra Magnus turned to the room at large as the Twins left him to go sit down with the blue Praxian model and cherry red Cassette carrier.
“We do,” Prowl confirmed, drawing the semi-truck’s attention back to him.
Ultra Magnus wanted to sigh, knowing exactly how this situation was probably going to turn out. He had hoped anyone other than the tactician would answer, yet considering his previous interactions with the countless of nameless others, the blue and red mech knew that anyone else who wanted to pipe up would not likely be much better. It was with that thought that Ultra Magnus warily addressed the tactician again. “The sniper’s name?”
“Tomorrow,” Prowl responded, calmly sipping out of his energon cube.
Optimus Prime’s newly named SiC felt his optic begin to twitch. “You don't want to tell me today?”
“I'm telling you now.” The Praxian spoke in even, cool tones. His optics gained that calculating quality as he awaited the other’s next words in return.
Ultra Magnus made a continuing gesture with servo, setting the other one down on the tactician’s table. “Then go ahead.”
“Tomorrow!” Came the repeated one-word reply, although it was said with a louder inflection this time.
“What time?” The truck growled back. He wanted to know what was so hard about all of this. All he wanted was to know who was who, and he wanted to know it today. What in Primus’ good name was the hold-up and trouble here?
“What time what?” Prowl asked curiously, augmenting his question with the faintest tilt of his helm.
Wasn’t that obvious? Ultra Magnus thought so at least, although just for the sake of getting an actual answer he clarified his most recent question. “What time tomorrow are you gonna tell me who's sniping?”
To the semi-truck, the tactician looked highly taken aback at his rephrased inquiry. Recovering, Prowl narrowed his optics, and Ultra Magnus picked up the slight growl in the Praxian’s voice. “Now listen. Who is not sniping.”
The SpecOps table was practically shaking in silent laughter, and Blaster made an exaggerated human sign of the cross, ending with a ‘thank you’ flourish to Prowl. This only made the silent laughter turn into snickers which Jazz tried to stop despite being the largest culprit.
First Aid pinged Smokescreen from across the Rec Room. The junior medic usually would have just called out to the gambler, but he figured this sort of bet was not the place to do so. No one wanted to give Mr. I-got-a-stick-up-my-tailpipe any ideas. Also, the comm was faster, because First Aid had been given a direct mission from the medbay, which had to be completed immediately. Its overseer had been watching the feed that the cassette twins were sending out, and the junior medic was determined to send it in before it was too late. He did not want a wrench to the helm for not placing the bet in fast enough and missing it. ::Hey, Smokescreen, Ratchet asked me to tell you to put him down for 300 credits if Magnus tries to break Prowl’s arm if he says ‘Who’s on Communication’!::
Ultra Magnus, unknowingly in line with Ratchet’s bet, did actually seem like he might just about try to free Prowl’s arm from the tactician’s frame. He did not end up doing so, which on Ultra Magnus’ behalf appeared to take great restraint. It took a glance up at the ceiling and a moment of shuttered optics before they opened once more albeit this time with an almost pleading look. “Listen, I just want to know what the sniper's designation is.”
“What’s running security,” Prowl answered, non-pulsed about the semi-truck’s moment of exasperation.
“I. Don’t. Know.” Ultra Magnus growled, punctuating every word for emphasis.
The same emphasis only rewarded him with another ebullient, “Engineering!” courtesy of the same Autobot trio who had done it before. Who thankfully had sobered up their snickers from before to do it.
“That’s it!” Ultra Magnus barked out, in a move to turn the tables in his favor. While most optics were already turned to face the show, Ultra Magnus succeeded in getting every single mecha’s complete attention in the room. “Is there a scout on this ship?!”
“Certainly,” Prowl responded back in smooth authority, which attracted all optics from Ultra Magnus to him. Their SiC, well now TiC, had that effect. Each of the Ark’s mecha had known for a while that if Prowl spoke about anything in that particular tone, one better slagging listen. The consequences of missing something important that came out of the tactician’s mouth could even be a matter of life or death.
However, once it became apparent that Prowl was going to respond with nothing else but that one word, all optics returned to Ultra Magnus. They knew the truck was nearly at his end’s wit, so the next few sentences were going to be treated like a tennis match.
“I’m not talking to you.” Ultra Magnus proclaimed with an absolutist air to his decision. He whirled around to point at one of the onlookers at random. “You!” He announced pointing straight to another Praxian model this one blue, yellow, and red. “The scout’s name?”
“Today.” Smokescreen replied with no hesitance. His unofficial role as the moderator of all the Autobots’ major betting pools had the information he needed to answer, readily available to him. Obviously, it helped that Hound gave a broad grin, as a few pairs of optics subtly looked at him.
“Today…” Ultra Magnus parroted back, with an almost snide and sarcastic tone, “and tomorrow's sniping.”
“Now ya got it!” Jazz chirped brightly. His digits snapped in a clear display of his newfound, and yet, typical cheer.
“All we have are a couple of days in the ranks!” Ultra Magnus servos flung up again. Disgusted with how things were proceeding, he left the room to regain control of his emotions, and to calm his thought processes.
The moment the doors closed the rec room broke out into laughter, and Prowl let them have a few seconds to drain out the tension from their frames. “Alright, that’s enough for now,” Prowl told them all, his mecha sobering back up. He smirked for a brief moment, “We still have more to do.”
“You know I am your superior officer, right?” It took a moment, but eventually, Ultra Magnus returned into the room. There were still a few hushed bouts of giggles, but he paid them no mind. His optics were on the tactician calmly sipping his energon cube, which had by now turned cold.
“So I have been informed.” The tactician deadpanned, looking up to meet the truck’s optics, in his typical way when stating the obvious or dealing with non-impressive pranksters.
Sideswipe subtly nudged his twin, ::Feels good to be on the non-receiving end of that, huh bro?::
Sunstreaker grunted in his form of admission to the question. It was nice to not be the subject of that look and tone. Strike him right, and their tactician could make even the innocent feel guilty enough to go sleep on the floor in front of their door, even if Prowl had no authority to enforce it. And Sunstreaker wasn’t even kidding. Just for the sake of ‘experiment’ Prowl pulled it on their leader, and Optimus followed the directive. At that moment it was clear who was really calling all the shots for this army.
“I see…” Ultra Magnus responded. “How much longer are you on medical break?”
“I still have 5 breems Sir.” The reported response came after a bit of a pause as Prowl checked his chronometer.
The red and blue bot sighed. “Wonderful…”
Prowl picked up on the sigh and tilted his head in a calculating fashion, though he fought off the look of amusement that threatened to form, thanks to the other’s resigned appearance. “Perhaps a troop inspection of battle plans will help you, Sir.”
“I do not believe that that will be necessary, Prowl.”
Prowl waved off the other’s statement dismissively. “Nonsense. Making sure your troops know their roles is essential to a successful mission.”
“That may be true, however, I don’t want to waste your precious time, more than I have already. I can review them myself after I talk to Optimus when he returns.” Ultra Magnus frowned as his words were dismissed nonchalantly. He had enough of this, and yet Prowl seemed determined to hold him here.
A small smile graced the strategist’s faceplates. And was that an eerie and suspicious look on the usually stoic mech’s faceplates. “It is no bother; I insist. Let me see. Hmmm… You, come here.”
Hound looked surprised at the sudden address and attention, as every optic in the room turned to him. Prowl had a mischievous glimmer in his that was also clearly calculating, which only further drew attention from the Ark mechs towards them. “Me?”
“Yes. Today, please.” Prowl nodded in confirmation, addressing the other by the code name. To anyone, basically just Ultra Magnus, it sounded like he was annoyed and wanted to get this over with quickly. To the outsider it might have made sense too, the tactician’s medical leave was going to conclude soon; and the Praxian’s time was precious.
Hound picked up on his code name, flashing a smile to the former SiC in confirmation of his understanding. “Of course! What can I do for you, Pro-uh, Sir?”
“You have read the lastest of my battle plans, have you not?” Prowl inquired with the faintest tilt of his helm.
The dark green mech inclined his help in the affirmative. “I have read them, Sir.”
Of course, he had. Why wouldn't he? Everyone in their right mind would. That didn’t mean the plans were always followed 100% of the time by 100% of the battle group, every single time; but the Autobots would likely be goners should they be foolish enough to disregard their lead tactician plans entirely. And for scouting, it was all the more important to know the battlefield terrain and a rough idea of where everyone would be located.
“Have you memorized it?”
“Yessir!” Was the chirpy reply, “And I’m all ready to do it too!”
A small smile twitched at the corners of Prowl’s lips. He had expected nothing less from the attentive scout and tracker. “Excellent. If you will recite it for the Commander here?”
“Sure thing!” Hound grinned pulling up the document containing the shared code names of the other Autobots, so he’d be able to change some words around. Ready, he turned to fully face the red and blue semi-truck to begin some fancy fast-talking.
“First, I go behind the Decepticon lines to do some advanced scouting. Tomorrow's sniping on our side and I let him know when the seekers rise up. Now the seekers are probably going to start shooting at us. When the seekers start shooting, me, being a good scout, I'm gonna find the weapon the Cons are using. So I find the weapon and send the information to Who. Who sends it to What. What gives it to-.”
“Hold up.” Ultra Magnus ordered wearily, holding his servo up in a halting fashion to accompany his order. “You send it to who?”
The desperate-sounding inquiry was met by a digit-snapping, beaming Jazz, “Now that's the first thing you've said right!”
“Pay up Cliffy mech.” In the background of the rec room, Smokescreen nudged the rusty red minibot sitting next to him. They had made bets on how fast the new SiC could figure this whole scheme out if he did so at all. And Smokescreen, though disappointed that the joke was over so quickly after it started, was pleased that he’d be winning the credits, Cliffjumper had placed on Ultra Magnus not picking up on it at all.
“Yeah, yea-” Cliffjumper said grumbling, as he began to pass over his credit chips. He rescinded his credits back immediately when Ultra Magnus cried back out to Jazz, Prowl, and pretty much everyone else in the room that:
“I don't even know what we’re talking about!”
Cliffjumper grinned triumphantly at the blue, yellow, and red colored Praxian. “Wait, he still hasn’t gotten it yet. Looks like it’s gonna be you paying up!”
Now it was Smokescreen’s turn to grumble.
In the meantime, Hound supplied the new SiC with an encouraging look. “That’s all you have to do!”
“Is to send the information to who.” Ultra Magnus deadpanned, replaying the mech’s earlier words in his helm.
“That’s right!” Hound said.
“Precisely,” Prowl intoned.
“Yup.” Jazz agreed.
“Now who's got it?”
“Naturally.” Prowl rejoined.
“Look, if he sends the information back to base, somebody's got to get it.” Ultra Magnus summed up logically, before repeating his question. “Now who has it?”
“Naturally.” First Aid spoke calmly.
“Who?” The semi asked again, turning his tired optics on the junior medic. By nature, medics were usually some of the more understanding, compassionate, and helpful mechs both in and out of the medbay. Except for Ratchet… the CMO did indeed care, but he showed it differently than others of his profession. Still, Ultra Magnus hoped that the young bot would pick up on his unease for the situation and clarify for him, even when it seemed everyone else was being constantly difficult.
“Naturally,” Inferno answered instead of the Protectobot.
Ah. There it was again. Now, Ultra Magnus though, twice was a coincidence, thrice was a pattern. Or perhaps it was less a pattern and more of a designation. “Naturally?” Ultra Magnus echoed just to be sure.
“Naturally.” Smokescreen put on his best poker face. Which admittedly was quite good. Besides earning him credits it helped getting mechs to trust him and his words more. Except for Prowl. Prowl was never fooled by such a look, having mastered his own stricter version of the same face.
Ultra Magnus nodded to himself with satisfaction. It appeared to him he outwitted his subordinates into spilling the answers when they didn’t want to give it to him. This was why he was the Commander and they were not. Now… it was time to bring this to an end. “So let’s say I am you.” He turned back to address the nameless green Jeep in front of him.
“Me, Sir?” Hound inquired, just to make sure.
Ultra Magnus gave the Jeep a superior glance. Yes, this was exactly why he was the Commander. At least he knew when he was being addressed. “Yes, you. Whatever your designation is, soldier.”
“Today, Sir.” Prowl supplied the ‘answer’.
“Yes, right now, Prowl.”
“It’s T-” Hound made a motion to interrupt even though he knew he’d be interrupted halfway through in return.
“Hush you, you can go back to your seat.” The semi-truck dismissed the Jeep, now that it seemed the latter would not be of any further use to him right now.
Prowl was more diplomatic and polite in his version of dismissal. “Thank you for your assistance Today, you may go now.”
“Ahem.” Ultra Magnus coughed to regain the tactician’s attention. “Now if I get the information, I send it to Naturally.”
“No, you don't! You send the information to Who.” Ratchet’s gruff voice filtered through as he entered the rec room.
There was a sort of proud satisfaction as Ultra Magnus answered the head medic. And why shouldn’t he be proud? He had just ciphered out the designation of the mech that had repeatedly troubled him greatly, despite never meeting the mech. “Naturally.”
“Now that’s different.” Ratchet said, tilting his newly acquired energon cube (courtesy of First Aid) in acknowledgment before he took a large swig from it.
Ultra Magnus frowned again in consternation. “That’s what I said.”
A few tables over, Sideswipe was having a hard time holding back his snickers. “He’s not saying it…” he giggled to his golden twin brother, though he received no response back.
Ultra Magnus turned back to the tactician. “I send the information to Naturally.” He said almost pleadingly for confirmation that he was indeed right.
“You send it to Who.”
“Naturally.” Ultra Magnus naturally answered.
“That's it.” Ratchet confirmed raising his cube once again.
“That's what I said!” Ultra Magnus exclaimed with frustrated indignity.
“You ask me.” Prowl suggested, intent on using this shift in the conversation to be used to his advantage.
Ultra Magnus approved of the suggestion, seeing it as logical. “I send the information to who?”
“Who. Naturally.”
“Now you say it to me.”
“You send the information to Who.”
“Naturally.”
“That's it.”
Ultra Magnus gaped. His logic centers were now working overtime to fund the answers. There had to be something wrong here. Because... That… he said that. Prowl had said the same thing. And yet he was told he was wrong. Yet Prowl receives nods and affirmative statements following his own lines. But it was… they were…
“Same as you! Same as YOU!!!” Ultra Magnus bellowed beginning to lose the rest of the sanity and control his processor had until this point. He had to finish this; and soon. “I send the information to who. Whoever it is receives the message and the mech sends it to security. So… Who gets the information and passes it on to What. What gives it to… well! I Don't Know! I Don't Know sends it back to Tomorrow, Tomorrow takes the weapon out. Mission Accomplished! Now let’s say a combiner forms up and he starts attacking our mechs, just… Because. Why? I don't know! He controls engineering, and I don't give a slag!”
“Excuse me?” Prowl inquired quizzically when he came to a place to interrupt the rant.
“I said I don't give a slag!”
“Oh, that's our Aerial Commander.”
And with that Ultra Magnus blacked out.