NTLDR

Freight ships had a nasty habit of shedding off material shortly after lift-off.  Extra pounds of height-resistant plating that were worn-out and ready to detach, straps and buckles of towing equipment that hadn’t been tied down properly, and the accumulation of dirt and grime that built up on a long stay of any planet, all these were scraped off during a rapid ascent and floated away helplessly in a ship’s wake, to no concern of anyone but any smaller ships that might be directly behind it. If enough of these freight ships lifted off regularly from a planet, they’d leave their mark across space: a line of trash, like resid

It took Knockout an absurdly long time to figure out that ‘General Hospital’ was in no way an accurate depiction of the human medical system.  Or human culture.  Or human interpersonal relationships.  Or human actors.  Or...anything having to do with this reality, really. Primus, people watched this junk?! Feeling more than a little foolish that he’d once again been bamboozled by the enigma that was Earth’s global computer network, he tried searching for medical shows with more “reality” in them.  Paradoxically, these were even less believable than the soap operas.  Humans mumbled out obviously rehearsed

Sunstreaker didn’t leave the bridge until Hot Rod had been in recharge for at least a joor in his, as the youngling had dubbed it, “sleeping room,” which was supposed to have been his regular, allocated personal space until Hot Rod had decided to take advantage of an entire cargo ship being occupied by only two mechs and put the rest of the rooms to use. His use, Sunstreaker reminded himself with a weary grimace. Despite Hot Rod’s eager invitation, he doubted he was going to be adding to the “rock collection room” anytime soon.  And he’d had to put his foot down at the idea of a “swimming room

Whenever the duo had the luck of finding an abandoned base that hadn't yet been picked cleaned, it was rare that anything was labeled in the same way that it would have been in the Autobot military, let alone organized and stacked correctly.  That wasn't to say that Sunstreaker would turn away valuable parts because they didn't have the right inspection sticker, but he'd have to endure the processor-draining task that was regrouping everything into a system that he could more easily and readily access, especially when it came to weapons and ammunition, and he didn't feel safe regulating any more to Hot Rod than separating different sized gear

His spark felt awful. Sunstreaker tried to ignore the sickening feeling of dread, betrayal, and failure that kept echoing through his processor and circuits.  He focused instead on recalculating the distance to the lander and his estimated time of arrival, making sure to add in the speed reduction caused by the extra weight of the sled of provisions that he was towing. Four breems. His spark continued to feel like it would gnaw it's way out of it's casing, scurry over to his processor, grab it and shake it until it ordered the mech to turn around.  His processor was already running as if this had happened, and logically and calmly explaini

Sunstreaker double-checked the provisions stacked on the hover-sled. “...This is generous to the point of ridiculous,” he muttered, staring at the piles of energon cubes and boxes of other supplies.  “Are you really sure you want to part with all this?  You barely know us.” “I have plenty.  Why not share with those who need it?”  Sigma shrugged his cloak off of his shoulder as he adjusted one of the cubes that a robot had stacked incorrectly.  “Besides, the energon well of this planet will be depleted within the next several vorns.  I'll be leaving soon enough, and I won't be able to take everything

((AN: Before you read, head over to greenapplefreak's page and familiarize yourself with her comics about Sunstreaker and Hot Rod.  The established universe will be difficult to understand without them.)) Hot Rod winced as the panel over his abdomen was slid back into position with more force than necessary.  Sunstreaker barely murmured an apology, which ended in a growl of frustration as he checked the monitor next to the medical berth. “At least your tanks aren't short-circuiting.” “But you still don't know what's wrong?” the orange youngling asked. “No.” Hot Rod started to sit up, but a black hand o

The promotion to Strategic Command had been offered because of his innate ability to pick on the subtleties of the rest of the crew, and to use that information to balance out Prowl's overarching tactics. It was his job to be the quieter, personable commander which the Autobot Second-In-Command could not be.  Thus, he'd become acquainted with the little quirks and idiosyncrasies of each Autobot, both good and bad. Smokescreen, however, had not much experience with younglings. The dark blue mech glanced over the top of his cards at the orange youngling seated close to Sunstreaker.  Hot Rod's frame made him easy to mistake for a weakened, und

Sunstreaker cocked his head to the side as he inspected the damaged wiring inside of the ship's plating.  “How in the Pits did it only damage these...?” The star that the planet orbited provided him with plenty of light to work by, but the end of its day was nearing.  The Autobot worked as quickly as he could, not wanting to be stranded on the planet for very long.  Granted, it didn't seem particularly dangerous. Its atmosphere was stable, and they'd happened to land in a place where the flora was rich and thriving, the trees reaching high into the skies, the grasses and bushes ruffling around their knees.  It reminded him of the

((AN: Before you read, head over to greenapplefreak's page and familiarize yourself with her comics about Sunstreaker and Hot Rod.  The established universe will be difficult to understand without them.)) "Vroxen.  Patch over one eye.  Scarred. Carrying a weapons packet.  Doesn't appear to be part of a unit.  Mercenary or bodyguard. Keep an eye on him.  Don't care much about him, but he's got to be guarding valuables." The Cybertronian merchant spoke subtly into a communicator in his palm while he rested his back against one of the supports of his stand, his feet crossed on the counter in front of him. The traders' outpost on Asteroid Drega