#skip tracers

[tearsofrefugees]

ICE wants to spend $180M on bounty hunters to track down thousands of immigrants

Homeland Security seeks ‘skip tracers’ for physical surveillance of more than 1 million homes

[uscollectionservice]

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[markparker1889-blog]

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[partition-tools-andlong-c]

Skip Silhouette and Hippety-hop Tracing and Commercial In the red Recovery - Do The ingroup Have Something ingoing Common?

Jump-hop pen-and-ink is the manage by which someone's latitude and longitude tush be known. Skip tracers (the anchor who carry out the repair referring to skip ebauche) are experts in this field, and carry out this task swish an efficient and uninjured feather. However, the question that arises is, why do we need skip tracing? The answer can be tracked down to history, when debts were given to the people, for little entangle rate. If the amount was high, the debtor used in transit to elope in some situations, when he didn't have money to pay by installments back.<\p>

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It should be noted that the process in connection with skip graph is not easy, and involves a lot in re risk. Whence, only professionals who have been in this field for at least a few years should have being hired. These days, debtors try in passage to use wrong methods to threaten the lender himself and get rid of the debt. They also eradicate any plausibility of pestiferous them via destroying the proofs and over over with respect to their the future status. <\p>

The process of commercial arrears recovery usually involves a large tally up. For which reason, even banks and big organisations hire well-versed skip tracers en route to trace debtors in critical situations. As things go example: the manager respecting a climb may have being sauteed from job, if the person as far as whom he has martinmas money elopes. If proper records are present inclusive of the lender, superego mascle she may use legal procedure on hang the debtor and get his or her brass rotary.<\p>

In fact, this field has become an emerging source respecting employment in many nations, and there are special courses taken by way of the people a la mode order until become expert in skip tracing. Newfashioned ingenious cases, the debtor may also destroy the proof of lent independence, i.e. the affidavit etc.., which makes it even more difficult for the lender to deal hereby the situation.<\p>

If you fall into such a condition, hire an experienced team of skip tracers, preferably online. With little time spent in research, you surplus find the firms that offer successful solution of critical cases, intrusive which the debtors are not farseeing to pay the hitting bordure run away from the shire yourselves. Ripe competition in this walk shift that inner man can reserve skip tracers at an affordable price.<\p>

[ajremix]

Going through some old notes and I come across this one that I really love.  Sadly, even if I ever got around to working on what it's attached to, it's cultural background for a satellite character so it'd most likely never be mentioned in-universe.

So Imma put it up here because why not.

There's a country (island? series of islands?  never decided on that as well as a name) that's mostly tundra.  Small, scattered communities and the people that live there are known around the world to be tough as nails because of how tough it is to eke out a living.  The toughest among them are a group called Roughneckers who function like cowboys (actual cowboys, not the hollywood kind).  They travel from place to place (occasionally in groups, but mostly individuals) to do work- herding, scavenging, construction, what have you.  They're mostly men (they function similarly to group animals where the younger males leave to join or form another group to keep up genetic diversity) but it's not surprising to see a woman Roughnecker, either.

Roughnecking is a tough job.  If you can't fix or replace clothing on the fly, there's a chance you could die out in the wilderness.  Sewing is considered an essential skill.  But, sometimes, when you're forced to hole up somewhere for days on end because the wind is too fierce to go out, you need to entertain yourself.  So embroidering became a Roughnecker tradition.  They'll teach each other tricks- how to make interesting knots, how to fix damaged thread, how to make a particular design -and the intricacy of ones embroidering is like a status symbol.  The more complex, difficult or well-crafted your embroidering, the more respect you'll be treated as it's seen as a meter for your patience, focus and all-round mental aptitude.  After all, no one wants to be shoulder to shoulder with someone that gets frustrated over a chain stitch- they might snap from the mental stress of being stuck in a dark place, shoulder to shoulder with the same people for weeks on end.

Embroidering isn't a 'manly' skill; it's more of a cross between artform and psychological test.  Everyone in this nameless country considers embroidery very highly and takes pride in wearing embroidered clothing.  They know that embroidered clothing is more often machine made than not elsewhere in the world, and that some who do it by hand aren't as tough as Roughneckers, but that doesn't stop them from automatically giving those people mad respect.

The character in question that this would be attached to- probably the biggest, most ruthless, most intimidating (but also very laidback) knife nut of the cast (on the protagonist side anyway), but all his clothing is very colorfully embroidered, mostly as trim as he especially enjoys doing fine detail work along, say, buttons and buttonholes, belt loops and seams.  He carries an emergency sewing kit everywhere and feels uneasy without it, and his favorite hat is almost completely covered in embroidery as when he gets bored, he'll take it off an embroider something just as easy as other people will, say, doodle on a napkin.

[ajremix]

Various Challenges (original work)

Now we finally come to some original work!  Okay, so only the Skip Tracers stuff is actually original work.  The Rally brothers are my Transformers OCs and human!Wreckers is, well, humanized Wreckers with a history really not paralleling Transformers canon all that much.  So they all get lumped together because why the hell not?

Skip Tracers

Third, Kai, Bowen - Flip a Coin ---

When Kai came up to the table, he looked pale and nervous. “Um, Tio? I think I inadvertently did something stupid. Very stupid.”

While it wasn’t wholly unusual for Kai to be stupid it was never something so stupid he looked frightened over it. Tio leaned back in his chair and bit. “All right. What did you do?”

“Well, Balt was talking about how Bowen has the best arm and aim in the whole division and- I agree, if he’s not the best, he’s damn well close to it.”

“But…?”

Kai swallowed. “But I said throwing around a machete can’t be anywhere near as easy as throwing around a dart and of course Balt had to go tell him that and now…”

Tio felt his stomach plunge to areas previously unknown. Over Kai’s shoulder a crowd was gathering and Bowen, tall and narrow as ever, stood there with an apple in one hand and twirled his weapon of choice like it were a twig between the long fingers of the other.

Kai offered up a shaky smile. “I think we’re going to reenact William Tell and everyone’s arguing about if the apple goes on top my head or in my mouth.”

Tio sighed and dug into his pockets. “Hang on, let me get a coin.”

~*~*~*~

Kai, Kylan – I want to win

Funny thing, I keep making reference to real world stuff, but this doesn't take place here at all. ---

Kai let out a hoot, half-finished with the last lap. “Bye bye, greenies!” He cackled, his own two-manned cart zooming by like a demon-thing out of hell. “See, Kylan?” He told her, finish line looming around the corner. “This is what’s called a total ass-whooping.”

Kylan glared at her squadmate. Then leaned forward and yanked his controller out of the game system.

Koopa Troopa and Toad coasted to a halt just in front of the finish line. “You BITCH!”

Kylan’s own Yoshi-Luigi combo raced across, cheering. “Sorry,” she smiled wickedly, “but I play to win.”

~*~*~*~

Balt, Duragon – Mutable ---

Balt loved his job. He loved his job when he was working in the field with the Military and after his knee got blown out, he loved the job they gave him dealing with Tracer squads. Being an easy-going kind of guy he generally got along with all the squads that reported to his office and was friends with a good number of them. He had, in fact, become so used to the habits of each squad he could distinguish which ones were coming to see him from how they talked coming down the hall.

“But, Momma! Would you let your poor defenseless children starve?”

“For the last time STOP CALLING ME THAT! For God’s sake, you’re almost ten years older than me!”

And that would be 8th squad.

“Poppa~! Momma’s being difficult again!”

“I said KNOCK IT OFF! It wasn’t funny the first time and it sure as hell- Duragon, I swear. I so much as a smirk on you face, I’m requesting a transfer, got it?”

“Poppa, are you and Momma getting a divorce?”

“That’s it!”

There was the sound of scuffling breaking out- well, more like laughing and someone growling in frustration. 8th squad was always one of the more interesting groups Balt had to deal with. The door opened to the office and Duragon, looking haggard (though if it was from the mission or his squadmates, Balt didn’t know) and held out his report.

“Another fun day in paradise?” Balt asked.

Duragon sighed heavily, his sentiment echoed by Q at his waist. “I don’t suppose you have a mute button for those two?”

He held up a finger, skimming through the report. About three heartbeats after, a door opened further down the hall and GySgt Cowlan was heard bellowing, “IF YOU TWO DON’T SHUT THE HELL UP I WILL COME OUT THERE AND MAKE YOU!”

Silence descended on the building.

Balt looked up with a sly smile. “Why yes, actually I do.”

~*~*~*~

Bowen, Hunter - flick ---

She flicked his hat so it settled high on his head, leaning forward with a wicked smile on her full lips, "Sorry, big boy- go fish," she grinned, pushing the pile of cards at him.

~*~*~*~

Third, Tio, Kai - elephant ---

Tio looked from Kai to the thing to Kai to Third slowly going blue from trying to inflate the thing back to Kai, "I don't even know where you two found a life-sized inflatable elephant, let alone why you thought it was a good idea to buy one."

~*~*~*~

Third, Kai - idle hands are the devil's plaything ---

Kai didn't get up from where he was crouched on the floor, looking at- but not touching -the epic battle on Mount Raya recreated out of carved soap figures and said, "Third, I don't know what's creepier- your brain or your patience."

~*~*~*~

Bowen, Hunter, Balt - teasing ---

They looked at Bowen, then at each other, "It's pretty much impossible to make fun of someone who just sits there and grins at you like he's going to slit your throat in the night, isn't it?"

~*~*~*~

Duragon - flu season ---

Duragon looked at the cookbook example, then at the smoldering pot whose contents looked nothing like soup and told Q, "I think Rin will ultimately get well faster if we just bought canned soup."

~*~*~*~

Rin - freezing rain ---

Rin liked rain- he liked all water, but having grown up on a tropical island with a rainforest, rain had never bothered him. Until he learned that sometimes rain came down as ice that stung like a bitch and could get as big a pea

~*~*~*~

Duragon - angry ---

There was something about Duragon getting angry that transfixed Rin- Duragon always had this appearance of being coolly distant, far away even as he softly smiled and spoke with the rest of the squad and his looked almost lanky for his height, sometimes even like he was trying to hide behind his bangs; but then he'd get mad and his shoulders would level out, growing broad and strong with dark eyes flashing like thunder in open plains at night and his voice was a growled low that grabbed you by the throat, threatening to cut off your breath or shake the stupid out of you. But, most of all, it was suddenly he like was right there, finally standing in the same world as the rest of them.

~*~*~*~

Duragon, Rin - desert ---

The squad stood on the road. Pavement was blistering under foot and Rin was certain the soles of his shoes were melting. He wanted to follow Q and Kizuna under the shade of the shack- the only rest stop for twenty miles in either direction -but instead he went to stand by Duragon who stared into the waves of desert before them. In the heat, Duragon was shivering. Rin wove his fingers between Duragon's. "We don't have to do this," he said quietly, "we can go back and tell them to send another squad." "No," the older man said. His eyes were stuck on the distant horizon, looking like a lost little child. But his fingers tightened around Rin's. "No. It'll be a few hours before dusk. We'll travel then."

Even though they rejoined their squadmates in the rest stop, Duragon kept looking into the desert, as if he could see the tribe that had rejected him so long ago.

~*~*~*~

Rally Brothers

Relay - keeping up appearances

Takes place kinda early in Style's arrival on Earth. ---

Jazz had gotten three complaints in two days. 'That mech's just been causing trouble since he got here!', 'The entirety of the section 8 junction is a mess!', 'Jazz, you need to get Freestyle under control.'

Which, under normal circumstances, would have had that black and white pulling said mech aside for a long chat, but the circumstances were hardly normal. Jazz hadn't seen Freestyle in days. With the exception of showing up for monitor duty, the Impreza had made himself scarce. And that, to Jazz, did not bode well.

But first thing was first. Jazz tracked down Relay in one of Ark's common areas, the mid-day hours granting him almost exclusive use of the room while everyone else was either resting or attending to their assigned duties.

"Jazz!" The red mech smiled broadly, waving at the empty seat next to him. "What are you up to today?"

Jazz, though accepting the seat, did not return the smile back. "Relay," he said flatly, "you need to stop."

The Lancer tilted his head to one side. "Stop what?"

"You know you can't lie to me. I know the both of you too well."

The smile fell from Relay's faceplates. Deciding it prudent to not press his commanding officer, he stayed silent.

Air heaved through Jazz's vents and he was feeling his rank and age in ways he didn't enjoy feeling. "Why are you pulling these stunts, Relay? It's not from some weird sense of obligation, is it?"

Yellow optics widened at that. "What? No! No, it's not... not... really..." The Lancer slouched down, looking at his hands as if staring at them would hide himself from Jazz.

"So then what is it really?"

"It's for Freestyle. I'm not trying to make up for anything doing this, I'm... it's...," he'd be slouching down further if it were possible, "I'm trying to protect him."

Jazz did not look at all convinced, opticband staring steadily through the younger mech. "Protecting him by getting him into trouble with everyone else?"

"No, it's not- I'm trying- it's complicated!"

"Freestyle's still distancing himself from the other Autobots due to trust issues, went off somewhere and you're trying to cover for his absence by pulling pranks to make everyone think he's still lurking around so they won't grow concerned about him and start pressing him with questions he doesn't want to deal with. Right?"

Relay boggled. "Er... well, yeah. Pretty much."

A quirk of lips was his first reply. "I told ya I knew the both of you too well. Where's yer brother?"

The return of Jazz's less formal speech pattern didn't ease Relay's guilt any. "I don't know. He's only been back when he has to and leaves without telling me anything." Then, almost inaudibly, "He hasn't been answering any of my comms."

Standing, the Porsche leaned over to pat Relay's shoulder. "I'll track 'im easy, no worries."

A hand clamped down on his, Relay's expression desperate, "He's not in trouble, is he?"

Were it anyone else- and were he anyone else -a denial would easily have slipped through his vocalizer. But this was Jazz and he didn't pad the truth for his mechs. "We'll havta see. I'm not lookin' to get him in trouble, but him an' I are gonna have a long chat. What comes outta that will depend on him." He patted Relay's shoulder again before turning to leave the room and then Ark.

~*~*~*~

Freestyle, Sunstreaker - Duct Tape ---

He held it out like it was the ultimate peace offering. Sunstreaker looked at it- and him -as if he was wabout to put a fist through armor weaker than what he was built to destroy. "Are you mocking me?"

The look Freestyle gave him was affronted, "What- no!"

"Duct tape?" The Lamborghini snapped up the offensive roll where it was perched on the smaller mech's finger. He crushed it between his fingertips. "You rip loose part of my bumper and your offer of help is duct tape?"

Getting defensive and frustrated, Freestyle crossed his arms over the blue expanse of his bonnet. "I didn't do anything to you. You were the one that clipped the guard rail."

"Because you were coming the other way in the middle of the road!"

"You're the one too stubborn to go into medical to get it fixed."

Sunstreaker's engine growled hard, shaking the trees around them. "Because another rant from Ratchet is exactly what I need on my day off!"

The Impreza tossed his hands in the air, done with the argument that rightly shouldn't have happened to begin with. "Fine," he snapped, "I tried to help, you don't want it, my involvement is done."

Freestyle's exit was blocked by an arm barring his way, a fist heavy on the end of it. "I don't think so. You caused this damage, you're taking responsibility for it and I will not tolerate anymore of your stupid jokes."

"I'm not joking! Duct tape is perfectly capable of-"

"Forget it!" Sunstreaker whirled and stalked off as best he could as his left ped dragged part of his front bumper along the ground. "I can't take your incompetence and idiocy!"

He gingerly transformed, sulking on his wheels as he eased his way back to Ark and Freestyle slouched on his support struts, seething. "Incompetence my exhaust port. Just because some bots don't know a proper tool when it's offered to them..." He turned back to the road leading away from the other Autobots and transformed, tires skidding over the sealed surface, looking to dump his bad mood miles behind him.

~*~*~*~

Relay, Fireflight - brothers ---

Ever since he was released from medbay, no one seemed to know how to act around Relay anymore. Everyone kept their distance, pretended they weren't watching him or whispering to each other. As if Relay weren't built with advanced sensors to know when he was being watched or hear shushed words. Whenever anyone attempted to engage him in conversation, it was usually stilted and awkward and Relay would always give them a way to gracefully bow out of the talk that they always took.

His life had been completely upended. He found out his supposedly dead brother was still alive and had been a Decepticon captive while command forced Relay to believe he was dead. The red mech glared down into his energon, unable to stop the furious reeling of 'they lied to me' from cycling through his processors.

"Um..."

Relay's head snapped up, a little surprised to find Fireflight giving him a curious look. "Yes?"

"Your brother is kinda..." the jet trailed off, trying find a word he liked. Unable to find it, he tried again, "Are you-"

"What happened was not his fault," Relay snapped, simultaneously angry and relieved that someone finally got around to say it directly to him instead of where they thought he couldn't hear. "Freestyle went through a lot of trauma. He was in pain and disoriented and he didn't recognize me. I should've known better than to approach him when he was in that condition, getting stabbed was my own fault."

Fireflight just looked confused. "I was going to ask if you were glad he's here, but okay."

"Oh," caught completely off balance all of Relay's annoyance drained out. "Well, yeah. I am."

Sitting down next to the Lancer, Fireflight stretched out his legs under the table, aileron flexing unconsciously. "Do bots really think he meant to hurt you?" He tilted his head in thought, "Well, a lot of them don't have siblings so I guess they wouldn't understand them."

Unable to help himself, Relay drawled with a phantom grin, "What, your brothers have a tendency of putting you in medbay?"

"Actually, most of the time it's my own fault," the Aerialbot laughed, "but Air Raid and Slingshot sometimes get carried away and might do or say something to hurt one of us. It's not intentional, they just don't always think first." Fireflight hummed. "It's probably not the same thing that happened with your brother, but when he gets better, I'm sure he'll be sorry about it, just like Raid and Sling do."

Folding his hands together, Relay let out a quiet, "I guess..."

"Of course he will!" The certainty in Fireflight's words- as well as the arms suddenly thrown out as wide as his wings -surprised the other mech, allowing Fireflight to plow on. "He's your brother! No matter what the two of you might go through, you'll always be brothers so you really don't have much of a choice but to make the best of it!" He ended with an important nod.

The corner of Relay's mouth twitched into an almost outright smile. "Did you get that from Slingshot?"

"Silverbolt, actually. I think he was kinda annoyed with us then."

"Well," Relay agreed, "Freestyle with me now. That's what really matters."

~*~*~*~

Freestyle - puppy dog optics

er, prompt inferred |D ---

"You're plotting something."

"I am not plotting."

"You're plotting."

Freestyle leaned back, causing Relay to tilt to one side as the blue mech flopped against his arm. "I'm not plotting, I'm planning."

"I didn't realize you differentiated."

Freestyle craned his head back to give Relay a 'your wit does not amuse me' look. He kept giving off that look until the younger mech gave in and asked flatly, "Alright, what are you planning?"

"I'm planning that, we are on a planet whose native species is on a somewhat technologically and culturally advanced level, correct?"

The Lancer rolled the thought around for a moment. "One of the more advanced of the species we've come across, yes."

"And they're unaffected by our war and therefore their entire culture doesn't revolve around warfare."

That thought, too, got rolled around. "Not to our extent, no," he conceded.

"Therefore, they probably have interesting ways to entertain themselves."

This hypothetical question-answer session was starting to get interesting. "Very probable."

"Except, for some reason, the officers don't really trust me."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Hush, you," with a finger tapping against his chin, Freestyle continued his verbal planning. "I'm sure I've figured out the officers' collective weakness but I have to wonder, is it manipulation if it's for the greater good?"

Relay paused for a moment, wondering if he heard right. He gave his brother an incredulous look, "As your idea of the greater good is being entertained, would it stop you either way?"

The Impreza's lips pulled back into a sharp grin. "Well put. My dear younger brother, I do believe we will soon have installed a full blown entertainment system like the one you've been pining for."

He pushed himself off of Relay and meandered a few tables over where a couple of the Protectobots were gathered. Relay watched his brother plop himself down and could hear him ask, "Hey, have any of you seen a Bose catalogue around? My brother left is somewhere and I can't find it."

Curious optics turned to the saboteur. "Bose? What's that?"

Feigning surprise, Freestyle asked, "You don't know? It's a great catalogue that has all these sound and entertainment systems in it..."

Relay ducked his head to hide a smile and shaking shoulders. He couldn't decide if his brother was the worst or greatest thing ever.

~*~*~*~

Relay, Bluestreak - helping out ---

Of all the things Bluestreak was expecting on a nice, quiet drive up the wooded mountain road a meek [Little help, please?] was not among them. He paused in the middle of the road, scanners sweeping the area around him in confusion. Getting pinged back, he edged to where the road ended and dropped off into a row of trees. There, leaving no damaged guardrail and just a couple lines of gravel and skid marks as evidence, was a red car leaning against a tree.

[Relay!?] The gunner transformed, straining to find a safe way down. [Are you okay?]

[Well, you know,] came the almost conversational reply, [aside from my pride I think I'm doing pretty well.]

[You can't transform?]

[I could but my front end is kinda hanging over oblivion here so moving isn't exactly in my best interest right now...]

Bluestreak's doorwings flapped wildly, fretting about. [Okay, okay, uh, whadda we do? The trees are too thick for an aerial pick up and I don't think there's enough room for Grapple to-]

[Blue, Blue, hey now, take it easy,] Relay soothed over the comm. [It's okay. I've been here for a while now and this tree is very stable. No need to get ourselves worked up over nothing. I could probably stay here all night if I had to.] There was a pause. [Not that I really wanna do that, but the option is there, I guess.]

The gray mech's flailing halted and he turned the situation over in his processors again, reanalyzing it. See, that's why he liked Relay. He was always nice and patient and he never made Bluestreak feel stupid over his overactive processes. He reminded Bluestreak a lot like Hound in that regard-

"Oh!" [Hound has a winch! He can get you out, I'll be right back-]

[Ah- Bluestreak!]

[What? What's wrong?] Doorwings hitched high, Bluestreak scanned the area, straining to read any destabilization of the area.

[I actually have a winch here. I just can't get it hooked on to anything in this position.]

The gunner halted. [Oh. Well, toss it at me. I can anchor you up here.]

Relay's gratitude was palpable. [Thanks.] His trunk slowly eased open, the movement slowly rocking him forward and Bluestreak had to clamp down on a squeak of warning. A tow-hook shot at him and the Datsun fumbled it in surprise for a moment before clapping his hands around the cable.

He twisted it around his arms, braced himself hard on the ground and gave Relay the okay. Bluestreak wondered what other gizmo the Lancer had on him and if those were standard equipment for all Special Ops.

The cable went taut, Relay's rear wheels slowly shifting on the earth and Bluestreak's denta clenched tight, ignoring the pain of the coils digging into him. Eventually the red mech found his grip, easing back entirely onto the ground and slowly driving toward the road backwards. When his tires hit the pavement again, he transformed into a crouch, a crooked smile on his faceplates.

"Well," he said, looking up at Bluestreak, "that was fun."

The other mech just laughed. "I hope you don't do that too often!"

~*~*~*~

Rallys, Coneheads - turn the tables ---

[Do you realize,] Freestyle commed, sounding not nearly as frustrated or panicky as someone in his situation probably should be, [I have been shot at more often on this planet than I have my entire existence prior?]

His brother, equally hunkered down behind a rock slowly being chipped away by enemy fire, replied with a [Hard data or it's just conjecture.]

It may as well have been the truth, for as much as the Nemesis Decepticons were Megatron's elite (allegedly) they had a nasty tendency of not being where they were supposed to be at any given moment. Case in point, instead of having a slow yet clear shot to a Decepticon setup via gaps in patrols, the Rally brothers ended up being stumbled upon by Coneheads who were freewheeling in the air instead of sticking to their prescribed guard positions.

A rock exploded somewhere overhead, showering the two in sediment. [I hope Cosmos gets out of medical soon. The lack of data stream may kill me.] Another rock exploded, this time by Freestyle's shoulder. [Literally.]

[You should just give in and go for stronger armor like I did.]

[And give up my speed and flexibility? Never!]

The Coneheads continued to pelt away at the Autobots' cover. That is, one of the Seekers did. The two had managed to slip into a small inlet in a nearby ravine and Thrust, being the only one equipped with VTOL fans, was able to hover in place while his trinemates circled overhead.

[Hey, Relay. If I said I was gonna do something crazy, would you follow me?]

[...well who wants to grow old, anyway?]

[Who indeed? Alright, here's the plan...]

Thrust let out a squawk of surprise as the Autobots he had pinned suddenly raced out under him, leaving him to wobble as his fans tried to spin him around. Overhead, Dirge and Ramjet swooped down, forced to fly single file between earthen wall. The Rallys barreled through the dust, nose to tail with Relay taking point. In the middle of passing a series of hoodoos, Freestyle jerked away, only his superhuman driving ability keeping him from crashing into the base.

He leapt onto the hoodoo, scrambling upward as his brother led the two jets back down the other side of the rock formation. A container popped out of one of Freestyle's compartments and as Dirge neared, he tossed it at the blue jet. It exploded on contact, magnetized dust getting sucked into his intakes and, with a howl, Dirge crashed into the ravine. Ramjet, his own engines partly clogged, decided to go out in his own style. By taking out Freestyle.

With curses buzzing through his vocalizer, the Impreza tumbled off, hitting the rock with his back and bouncing into space head first. His arm blade flicked out, stabbing into the rock and jarring Freestyle to a halt with a painful cinching in his shoulder. Dangling helplessly, he watched Thrust's ominous approach with a very final "Fuck."

Somewhere below him was the sound of metal pinging off rock and a ball ricocheted into Thrust's underside. The ball uncurled, latched on with magnetic clamps and unleashed a contained EMP, shorting out the jet's systems just long enough for him to careen into the ground.

Freestyle looked down, his brother looked right back up. They both laughed, wondering how they were still alive.

[I can't believe we just took down an entire Seeker trine!]

[Let's never do that again.]

~*~*~*~

Freestyle, Minibots - listening ---

It was tough being a minibot. Not just because the Decepticons regularly picked on and underestimated the little mechs, but because it also happened in among their fellow Autobots, as well.

"I'm gonna fraggin' end those two!"

"Jumper, calm down."

"I will not calm down! I'm absolutely done with those slag-sucking, analog-processor reject twins!"

"Brawn's got armory duty tonight. I'm sure he'd accidentally overlook a missing rifle or two."

"Windcharger! Don't encourage him!"

"Bee, c'mon. Those two have been asking for it. And what do they get for all the grief they give us? A 'stern talking to' and menial labor. That'll teach 'em, really."

"Sarcasm isn't going to help this."

"Sure it is! It'll help convince Cliffy to punt 'em in the aft!"

"Do you want to put him in the brig?"

"Well... not really..."

"Thank, Charger. You sound so concerned over my well being."

"Ya know, there are easier ways to exact revenge without getting caught."

The three minibots stared at each other. Then looked up from where the voice originated.

"What the-"

"Freestyle??"

The blue mech flipped down, landing in the middle of the three in a crouch with a (for him) mildly evil grin. "So I couldn't help overhearing your problem- mainly 'cuz I was in the air vent, eavesdropping on ya -and I think I could maybe help you out."

Cliffjumper crossed his arms with suspicion clear on his faceplates. Bumblebee and Windcharger weren't certain how they should be reacting to the sudden appearance and put their red compatriot between them and the odd Impreza. "Why would you" and by 'you' he meant 'a full-sized mech' or, in Freestyle's case 'a slightly shorter than average mech', "want to help us?" 'Us' being 'the far shorter than average mechs'.

"Would you believe that I'm an agent of Chaos and thrive off of throwing routine into disarray?"

"Actually, I really could," Windcharger drawled.

Freestyle grinned a grin that said he was up to no good and was loving every nano-klik of it. "Trust me. This will be the greatest show to happen to anyone it's not being inflicted on."

~*~*~*~

Freestyle - helping hand ---

Sideswipe glared as he obediently slouched after Prowl while Freestyle said with exaggerated innocence, "Oh, you meant help you, my bad."

~*~*~*~

Freestyle, Relay - discover anime ---

Relay cradled his head in his hands and wondered if he got all the sanity when their spark split, telling his brother, "No, you really don't need to have a choreographed dance routine when you transform."

~*~*~*~

Freestyle, Relay - CANNOT UNSEE ---

After Relay got over his horror he pointed to his brother and said, "One- you have far too much free time on your hands, two- damn you, you know Ratchet won't wipe this memory no matter how much I beg, and three- I actually really want to know how you made that."

~*~*~*~

Freestyle - bumper sticker ---

"You remember how I said I'd try anything if it looked interesting enough?" Freestyle asked as Relay carefully scraped away the last of the sparkly sticker from his rear bumper, "I take it back"

~*~*~*~

human!Wreckers

Springer - age challenge: 9 ---

Eric splashed into lake, jumping at the waves that lapped the shore. He loved the long summer breaks when his family would go down to Kraken Mare's southern shore to go camping. He liked the part of the lake where they lived at, too, but this part still had a forest around it! He splashed the treated water at his mother and father and little sister where she clung, squealing, to his father's back. His mother chased him up and down the shore line in front of their camping site, laughing and threatening to throw him into the lake. She only got to dunk him once, though, because by then all the fishing equipment had been brought out. "Fishing!" Eric bolted over to his dad as the boat slid from its trailer and into the water. "It's time to go fishing!" "Yes, it is," his father dropped a towel on the boy's head. "Get Sara onboard and put a lifevest on her, now." "Oh, oh, Dad!" He tugged at the tail end of a shirt, giving the most heart-melting puppy eyes his sparkling green eyes could produce. "Can I drive the boat? Please? Can I, please?" The man looked at his son for a moment before grinning. "Tell you what, when we get into deeper waters, I'll let you have a go, okay? Now hurry up and get your sister ready." "YAAAAAAAAY!" He tore down the sands to where Sara and their mother were making little sand castles. "I GET TO DRIVE!"

His father called after, "And no jumping into the lake until after we get enough fish for dinner!"

~*~*~*~

Springer - age challenge: 12 ---

It was disgustingly hot and humid and dad said the Hadley Summers were starting (whatever the hell that meant). All Eric knew was that he hated it and he hated having his sister clinging to his back as he biked them to school, getting all hot and sweaty and disgusting before the day even started. Stupid wandering weather pattern. Stupid slow Titan rotation. Stupid not-having-an-air-conditioned-minibus-like-Dani's-neighborhood-does. Pausing at a stoplight, Eric shrugged Sara off his shoulders and draped himself over the handlebars, trying to unstick the shirt from his back. The bike's engine didn't generate much heat, but in this weather everything was too hot. And everyone said that this was just a transitional year. It was going to only get worse. Sitting upright suddenly, Eric twisted the handlebars, hovering the bike back into the air and swung it in a direction completely opposite of the school. "Screw this," he told his sister, "we're going to the Kraken, it's too hot." "Mom and Dad are gonna be mad." "You want a gross day at school or a cool swim in the lake?"

Sara hugged his shoulders again and Eric didn't much mind. "Let's go to the lake."

~*~*~*~

Springer - age challenge: 21

LAR, btw, is Light Armored Reconnaissance. --- "Ah, so here's our new meat." He jumped up to attention, surprised that two men managed to sneak up on him like that- especially given one of them had to have broken 6' easy. "Sir," he snapped to attention. "You're not going to cut it in the LAR if that caught you off guard." Eric was looked at up and down before the officer deemed him satisfactory. "Well, at least you've got a set of strong shoulders on you. Corporal Chadwell, is it?" "Yessir." "Captain Nasser, you'll be in my platoon. This is Sergeant al-Faris, your squad leader." "Understood, sir," Eric said, then nodded to the giant of a man who merely nodded back. "Good. Grab your gear and let's get you settled in with the rest of the squad for the duration of your stay." Slinging his pack and rifle on his back and carrying a bag in one hand, Eric jogged a few steps to keep up. "The... duration? Sir?"

"Only two reasons anyone gets transferred to an LAR, Corporal. Either you're shit-hot or someone hopes you'll writhe in hell before a painful death on a mission no one is to ever hear about. And as we've got one of those coming down the pipe, we'll see which one of those categories you fall under." The officer gave Eric a grin that showed he may or may not have been kidding. "Don't worry. Roadbuster hates having to retrain the newbies so learn enough and he'll feel obligated to keep you alive." "....Roadbuster?" "Captain Nasser indulges in the practice of assigning nicknames," Sgt al-Faris explained. "Roadbuster would be mine." "I see..." Eric didn't know how to take this little factoid. "Are you the one that assigns these names, sir?" Cpt Nasser chuckled. "Don't worry, Kup gave me a nice rundown of your profile before he sent you my way. The keywords 'impulsive' and 'leaps before he looks' really stuck out. I'm sure I'll find something appropriate for you." Oh boy, he really didn't know how to take that. "Do you have one, sir?" "Impactor. For various reason, really, but mainly because right now," he turned enough to prod a finger towards the corporal, "I'm about the break your whole world."

~*~*~*~

Springer- age challenge: 30

XO stands for Executive Officer who is (to put shortly) the second behind the Commanding Officer. EOD is Explosive Ordnance Disposal. --- "You're fidgeting." "I hate wearing service uniforms." "I know you're nervous, but it's too late to change your mind, now. All the forms have been filled and filed." Springer gave him a sideways glare. "I hate wearing this uniform," he repeated tersely. "Of course," but he could see the smile still ghosting over Prowl's lips. The platform hummed as it passed each section and the shorter man schooled his expression back to complete neutrality. "Unfortunately you were granted this position at a fairly difficult time." "Yeah, you already told me. The current XO is transferring to the relative safety of, of all things, EOD." "Not just that. I'm afraid I've recently gotten news that your current ship, Sleipnir, is slotted to be decommissioned in the near future." Springer jolted. "What?" Finding a good executive officer was easy- he already knew who he wanted, but an entirely new ship? "While I understand the need to in the mere fact that Sleipnir is an outdated ship, the timing is very suspect." Prowl turned to give his fellow officer an intent look. "This unit you're about to lead has not been as productive as it once was or, indeed, should be. If you cannot produce proper results, the unit's autonomy will be called into review." And it looked like certain brass at the top wanted to ensure that review ended badly. Well, Springer couldn't help a challenging grin, he did want this command because he knew it was going to be a challenge. He cast a glance at Prowl as the platform began to slow. "Since you were the one that suggested me for this position, which side are you one?" Prowl just turned to him, dark eyes on an unreadable face. "Which do you think?"

~*~*~*~

Topspin - age challenge: 14

over 10 years later, he's still incapable of handling child birth ---

Veera eventually found him because the boy's grandmother had called him up and said he was curled up under her veranda table. "Rafito," the village doctor said kindly, running her fingers through the child's dark hair, "You're getting too big to keep hiding under here." Rafael shuddered in response. "You know, I as happy as I am you like learning from me, you really don't have to learn everything." He shuddered again. "Come, Rafito. Come and talk to Vee-Vee." Reluctantly he let himself be pulled out from under the table and the old doctor brought him to a chair where she sat him on a lean, corded lap like she'd done several years ago. "Now," she stroked his cheek, "say what you need to say." "Vee-Vee..." and it was like Rafael was five again, "I can't..." "Can't what?" "I can't... can't do.... that." "That what?" She asked patiently. He trembled in her arms, face pressed against her shoulder. He suddenly exploded, "That! The... birth stuff! I just.... I can't ever do that!" Veera pressed her lips together, willing herself not to laugh at the poor boy. "Well, not everyone can handle a birth." "It's like a real-live horror movie! All the blood and slime and screaming!" He threw wirey arms around Veera, clinging just a mite too tightly. "I'll never be able to look at a vagina again!"

There was no keeping laughter back after that.

~*~*~*~

Topspin - 30 ---

"Yo, Topspin!" Sandstorm called out from where he was looking through their foodstock. "You plan on eating your leftover stirfry?" "Nah, go for it," the corpsman called back. "I'm abstaining." That got him a pause, then Sandstorm's head poking out around the corner. "Abstaining from what?" "Meats." "What for?" "It's the week of October 2." "And?" "October 2." Sandstorm still looked at him blankly. "Mohandas Gandhi's birthday." "Wait- you're a Gandhist? Since when?" "Um, since ever?" "But you're supposed to be fasting all week, not abstaining from meats- which, by the way, you eat all the time." Topspin shrugged. "Never said I was a very good Gandhist. I don't recall you bringing this up when RB didn't fast for Ramadan." "Yeah, RB also doesn't sneak pork and alcohol in his meals during the year, either." Sandstorm leaned against the wall, eyebrow raised. In response, Topspin turned in his seat in order to talk to his teammate face-to-face. "Beside, fasting is against regulations for us. Asides from being an extremely strenuous job the lot of us have, it's hard enough finding time to eat when on missions, we don't need to worry about finding out when the sun is up at the same time." "And the reason you're not a vegetarian is...?" Topspin waggled his eyebrows. "I do like me the occasional thick, juicy meat." "Argh," Sandstorm retreated back to the food storage. "I walked right into that one."

~*~*~*~

Topspin - 82 ---

They said at his age, the little town of Cruzeiro was too high up for him. They said the roads were too steep, the winds too cold, the weather too harsh. When it got to be his own grandkids telling him that, he just laughed in their faces. He was born here, he told them, just as his grandmother was born here (she actually wasn't, but it sounded more impressive that way) and he was going to be happy spending the rest of his life here. "Besides," he told with a sharp grin that never faded, "don't you know what I used to do for a living? An easy retirement like this won't beat me. Not when I have an entire army of kids to do everything!" Except for the fact that he wouldn't let them. He still made house calls with the village's (much younger) doctor. Even if his sight was going and his hands were no longer steady, he still knew how to soothe a wound with a bright smile and gentle manner. Beyond his medical expertise, beyond his wartime heroics, beyond the generosity that gave him a family that was his in every way but blood, he was first and foremost Rafi-Avo, the old man that couldn't be stopped. Whenever he was about, all the children followed him, eager to see what strange adventure he'd lead them on to next, wanting to know all his stories and his funny jokes. They'd swarm about him for pats on the head, hugs and the pieces of sweets he'd sneak to them. He loved this life and his family and everyone in the village that wasn't technically family. But, at the end of the day, when those he loved more than anything else came up and asked with a knowing grin, "Did you enjoy yourself?" he would tell them:

"I always will until I can't no more."

~*~*~*~

Broadside - age challenge: 9 ---

"Look!" Temujin cried as he burst into his mother's office. "Look what I caught!" But the person he hefted the speared saber fish to wasn't his mother but her assistant. "Well, look at that!" The young woman said with unabashed interest. "That's a big one you've got there. How far down did you dive to find it?" "I went down to the third shelf," he replied, noticeably lackluster now. "Is Eji gone?" There was no need to be formal here, without either parent around and a woman who didn't care about Temujin's status as "the boss' child". "There was a problem at the Mawumba docks. She was needed to sort it out." "Oh." Despite his great size for his tender age, when Temujin ducked his head and bit his lip, he seemed so much younger than he was. It broke her heart because she knew his mother promised to spend her birthday with him. A prospect that excited him so much he had spent the last week almost twice as long freediving as he normally did. And now the eve of that day was on them and it looked like she wasn't going to be there for it. Not for a hand-strung, hand-picked pearl necklace, not for her favorite saber fish steak, not for her only son. "How's this," she said, kneeling to look into Temujin's down turned head, "I'll call her tonight to see if she can make it back. And if not, why don't we take a shuttle over and surprise her?"

It was a small smile on a face so used to disappointment, who understood why he was always alone and was afraid of expecting anything. But it brightened up his eyes with hope and made her grateful to be there to ease his lonely life.

~*~*~*~

Xantium - age challenge: 9 ---

"We're goin' to the observatory! We're goin' to the observatory!" Lana's singing and dancing made her Uncle Simon laugh to himself. It also, however, made her oldest cousin Dale scowl. "What's so great about the observatory," he groused to himself, "we live on an Orbital Hub, you can see stars whenever you want!" "But not these kinda stars!" She shot back with the kind of authority of a child who still believed the universe revolved around her. "These are globby clusters!" "Globular clusters," Simon corrected gently. "Glober clusters!" Dale rolled his eyes. "You don't even know what globular cluster stars are." "Do too! They're really old an' really far away!" "All stars are really old and really far away." "Well these are even older an' far away!" "So what? Stars are boring." Lana's expression was particularly horrified by this opinion. "Maybe you're just stupid, craterface! Stars are awesome!" She tossed her little nose into the air, imperious with the knowledge that stars were cool and her cousin was dumb. "I'm gonna learn all 'bout the stars an' go fly to 'em just like Mama did!" Dale was too old and smart to even attempt to bad mouth his aunt. Even though Lana was small, she was vicious when she wanted to be and nothing steamed her up more than someone talking bad about her mama. So he just gave a dramatic, victimized sigh and said, "Whatever." "So you're gonna be a pilot, are you?" Simon asked, pulling Lana's attention away. "Yup!" "Are you still bugging Uncle Cato about the pilot courses?"

"Yeah," she scuffed a foot, "it's gonna be forever for me to be old enough to go, though." "Just four more years," he hugged the girl's head to his hip, "then you'll be sitting in a simulator before you know it! But, until then, we'll go see all the neat stuff in the observatory, right?" "Right!" She giggled, dancing ahead again, "We're goin' to the observatory! We're goin' to the observatory!"

~*~*~*~

Whirl - age challenge: 9 ---

"Mr. and Mrs. Lehtinen," the director said, "all the evaluators have agreed that your son does have ADHD. It's mainly a combined hyperactive-impulse and inattentive subtype, but Riku-Tomi seems to have a very aggressive impulsivity as well." Mika clenched at his wife's hand. "What does this mean, exactly?" "It means that these symptoms are disruptive not only for his own development but for other children around him. If not treated, they will continue to interfere with his life into adulthood." The director folded his hands on his desk, watching the two quietly. "Riku-Tomi is a very clever and intelligent young boy, but his problems with focus and control and the frustration he feels from this is keeping him from keeping up with other children in his age group. "He's smart enough to recognize this and attempts to self-regulate by constantly talking about what he's trying to do, hoping someone will help keep him on track when he starts to lose focus. Of course, with his aggressive tendencies, this does not always work the way I'm sure he'd hope..." "Are there any treatments?" "Several." The director handed them both pamphlets. "However, there is a relatively new treatment that I believe Riku-Tomi would qualify for. It would require only slight lifestyle changes and none of the traditional medication. It's a chip that would be inserted into his brain that would read and regulate the neurofeedback, essentially controlling the sharpest imbalances. The research itself is far from new, but older treatments would require Riku-Tomi going to a lab for the rest of his life. This chip would be, with exceptions of regular check-ups, a one-shot deal." Mika mulled over this, flipping idly through the pamphlet as he thought. "There's no information about this chip in here." "No. As I said, it's relatively new technology, but I can put you in touch with other families who have gone through the procedure." "And you said Riku-Tomi would qualify...?" "We've recorded very sharp imbalances in his brainwave activity that coincides with his more extreme behavior. It is, of course, easier to regulate extreme changes than it is slight adjustments." He frowned at the desk and the pamphlet. His wife put a hand to his shoulder, imploring, "Please, Mika. I want the best for our boy."

Mika frowned still, but he steeled his determination all the same. "Alright. What do we need to do to prepare?"

~*~*~*~

Whirl - age challenge: 13

So I'm pretty sure I wrote this while half asleep because it's kind of disjointed, but I like the ideas behind it so it's getting reposted. ---

So apparently they wanted to call him a genius or something stupid like that. They said his intelligence quotient was straddling the line between highly and exceptionally gifted. They threw around big terms like 'erudite', 'philomath', 'polymath', 'homo universalis' and 'triarchic theory'.

Riku-Tomi didn't care about all that. He knew what it meant and that it was supposed to be important. But they also threw around words like 'bipolar' and 'dissocial personality disorder' and that got really annoying because it's not like his parents weren't looking at him all weird to begin with. Because, really, was it all that hard to just leave him alone to do his own thing? So he wasn't being challenged enough. So he was developing too fast for the schools in his area. So he was already doing college correspondence courses. Big deal, it happens, everyone needed to get over it and let him entertain himself. Sure he was smart. Sure he knew loads of stuff. Sure he had all sorts of knowledge on all sorts of things. But eventually he'd get bored of something and would have to find another subject to delve into for another few months.

Riku-Tomi sighed, scowling to himself and ignoring the way his parents tried to flutter themselves into his life again. He was stuck in that horrid limbo of needing to find a new passion again. Theoretical math was fun and all, but after a while he needed something more substantial than things that potentially didn't exist. His amber eyes hovered over a subject that he'd looked at an passed over several times in the past. But his other interests had exhausted himself and if he'd always paused on it before, why not just look into it now? After all, the worst that could happen is he'd get bored of it in a few weeks and be back to looking things up again. Riku-Tomi flicked open the file, immersing himself in the the complex world of helos...

~*~*~*~

Twin Twist - age challenge: 9 ---

Armando was ecstatic. Keyword being 'was'. He had been chosen to play Saint Joseph in his Sunday school's Christmas Nativity play. Armando thought it was the bestest thing ever and so did his parents and all his brothers and sisters. Then his oldest sister, Mercedes, told him, "Why are you so happy about it? Don't you feel sorry for Joseph?" Armando, being the child he was, was confused. "Sorry? What for?" "He was told by God's angels to marry a woman and accept a baby that wasn't even his. And then he gets told to go here and do that and all of it isn't his choice, he's just told to." She shook her head, probably at the fact she didn't expect her little brother to get it. "It's just really sad." But Armando did get it. Sort of. At least maybe he got it. And he did think it was really sad. Because Joseph really didn't do much except for what he was told. He didn't perform any miracles, he didn't save any souls, he wasn't even martyred like other saints. All he did was help protect Mary and Jesus. Which, when he thought about it, was an important job, but it also made Armando sad for Mary, too. Because she was told she had to have a baby, no one asked her if she wanted one. And then she had to watch her only son grow up, knowing he'd die and she and Joseph never had the big, happy family that Armando adored and he didn't think how anyone could be happy with that kind of life. It was sad. It was incredibly sad. Even if they were told by God's angels that that's what they had to do, they really didn't get to do what they wanted with their lives. Armando didn't even like when his parents made him eat spinach, even though they said it was to make him big and strong. How would he take it if God told him to do something he didn't understand or want, just telling him it's for the good of everyone in some far-off future? He moped about the house for days after, thinking about this and how sad and hard Joseph and Mary's life must have been. They must have been incredibly strong people, he thought, to have been able to live that kind of life. And maybe what was important was that not only was that sad, but they still made the best of their lives as they could. They still helped raise Jesus to be the savior, Joseph still protected Mary's virginity as best he could and Mary was still pious even after the Ascension. They were still happy and loving, even knowing what was going to happen.

Armando made up his mind. He was going to play Saint Joseph and make him the strongest, most loving, protective father he possibly could.

~*~*~*~

Twin Twist - age challenge: 18

poor guy- his girlfriends knew he was gay before he did ---

Zoe had tucked herself almost forcibly under Armando's arm. Personally, Armando didn't care either way except for the fact that she was frowning while trying not to look as if she were frowning at him. He could already see the distant argument coming at him, forming behind her eyes and the sharp tension of her shoulders against his side. And it would be the same argument they'd had before, that Armando always got from the girls he dated. He wasn't attentive enough, he wasn't romantic, he didn't treat them as if they were special. Personally, Armando didn't know what they wanted from him. He was as dutiful a boyfriend as any others he saw, if not moreso. If he didn't see them, he called them daily, he gave them little gifts on a whim, he made elaborate plans for them on special occasions. He was chivalrous and polite, just as he'd always been taught. He respected the girls he dated and rather enjoyed the time he spent with them. He was happy sharing his time with them, so he didn't know what it was he was failing at. Suddenly zoe sat up, giving Armando a serious look. "Kiss me," she demanded. Confused, he did as he was told. That didn't satisfy her. "Kiss me like you mean it." He kissed her again and she just looked even more frustrated for it. "What's with you?" "What do you mean?" "I mean, what's wrong? Am I not interesting? Do you even care?" Armando didn't think he could've been more confused if he tried. "About you? Of course I do!" "Then why don't you ever touch me?" Zoe pulled back, not so much angry as she was just venting. "You never do! The only time we ever kiss is when I start it, you never hold me like I'm your girlfriend- We've been dating for a month, Armando, and we haven't even had sex yet and-" Zoe cut herself off, dropping her head into a palm and just seething to herself. Hesitantly Armando reached out. His fingertips brushed against her hair and Zoe moved away from them. "Don't," she said. "I just... it feels like we're going no where and you don't want to commit to this for whatever reason." "So you're dumping me," Armando said flatly. Dumping him just like all the others did. "Yes."

He felt the frustration welling up in himself, just couldn't understand why he couldn't seem to be good enough. He couldn't find anything else to say except for, "Fine."

~*~*~*~

Twin Twist - age challenge: 26 ---

Things had gone awkward again. Not awkward like Twin Twist had thought they'd be when they first got together (or, for that matter, when he'd finally decided to accept the fact that he was gay and not just desperate). But no. A year later and things finally got weird. He tried to put it out of his mind, tried to not focus on his fumbling or the way his teammates gave him odd looks. He avoided being alone with Springer whenever he could (because the idea of another 'talk', as helpful as the previous one had been, made his stomache knot) and, most of all, he kept as far away from Topspin as possible. Which was difficult. It forced Twin Twist to realize how small Xantium actually was. That, in turn, forced him to be in at least eye sight of Topspin at least several times a day which made Twin Twist all sorts of paranoid. What was he suppose to do? Was he supposed to do anything? Would it make things better if he did do something or worse? Would Topspin be upset either way? It was all so confusing and the Spaniard was all sorts of lost. It wasn't until Whirl (which was both surprising and not, really) finally snapped at not just Twin Twist, but Topspin as well. "You're either doing something special for your damned anniversary or not and if you don't decide soon, I'm going to find some violent and messy way to end the both of you in your sleep!" In shock, Twin Twist reflexively looked to Topspin, only to find the Colonial looking back at him in confusion. "You mean..." "You were..." "I didn't- I mean, I never-" "I didn't know if you wanted-" They stared at each other for a moment. Then they started laughing. "Wow," Topspin shook his head, "I feel really kinda stupid right now." "You're not the only one."

Whirl just continued to glare at them. "I'm serious. Say what you're doing now, or I will kill you."

~*~*~*~

Sandstorm - age challenge: 15

Yím = Smokescreen, Kom = Sandstorm ---

Yím played on with his customary smile, watching with part curiosity, part concern as Kom handled the cards as he never had before. The other boy's expression was drawn tight in the same subtle way his hands shook and eyes winced with each mistake. His fingers fumbled at the deck, cards were miscounted, patterns overlooked. Were Yím anyone else he would have taken full advantage of Kom's distraction. Were Kom anyone else, Yím would have done so. Instead he gave Kom just enough wins to make the spectators think their games were just as close as always. Just enough to keep from upsetting Kom's master. Afterwards, when the guests had grown bored of watching the two play, Yím watched the way Kom stood stiffly, his hands kept carefully away from his body. Yím already knew, but he asked anyway. "He took you, didn't he?" Though the guests preferred to speak in more influential languages, there were still many that knew Asenian and in the 3rd colony, Thai was a far less understood language. "Yes." Personally, Yím was shocked that Kom had managed to get by for so long as a virgin. He held that thought back and, instead, asked, "Did he hurt you?" "No." Yím watched him silently. Kom looked at nothing. Almost like a whisper Kom breathed, "I need to get out of here." Silence stretched between them. "Come with me."

Looking out into the crowd of greedy and opulent, Yím said, "Okay."

~*~*~*~

Sandstorm - age challenge: 20

Smokescreen = Tian, Sandstorm = Virote (them and their constantly changing their names...) ---

The both of them had stayed out without warning before so the first night Tian didn't return, Virote hadn't thought anything of it. When the third night turned into the fourth morning, Virote became disquieted. When that became the a week, Virote had already been quietly fishing for the other man's whereabouts.

It wasn't strange for people to suddenly go missing in the misnamed Suwannaphum. That didn't mean Virote liked business associates to do so without his knowing anything, especially when they were essentially his partner in the game. Of course, he wasn't the only one looking for Tian. Others needed his information lines, his market intelligence. Some had arguments and debts they wanted to deal with. Others still had far less... 'health conscious' motivations. But all of them, like Virote, did not know where he went. For a time, Virote was in a near-panic. He'd wake up in the morning after a restless sleep, find Tian still hadn't returned and his day would be jumbled in his mind. He couldn't think what to do, he couldn't focus on what was before him- he couldn't stop wanting to know what had happened to Tian, if he was okay or even alive- One day he woke up and realized how stupid and weak he was being. It had been three weeks. Tian was dead and if he wasn't, then obviously he'd abandoned Virote. Whatever kind of relationship they'd built up over the years, whatever ease Virote had felt knowing there was someone with vested interest in keeping him alive and safe had not, in the end, meant anything to Tian. And if that were the case, it meant just as little to Virote. He woke up that day, angry at the missing man, angry at his own weakness and at the world for being witness to it. Virote ended the week with a new reputation on the street. That of a cold and ruthless operator.

~*~*~*~

Sandstorm - age challenge: 23

IDS visor - information data streaming visor, Săang is a nickname Smokescreen calls Sandstorm --- Almost six months of training and the uniform still felt strange against his skin and somehow the second glances he kept getting from Security Force personnel made him feel more self-conscious than the looks he got on the street, but Kiet- Sandstorm now -kept up his usual air of utter confidence. He was finally set to be officially attached to his unit and was off to meet the two officers he'd be under the command of. All things considered, Sandstorm was still understandably not happy with the way his year had been going and or with his commanding officer already. "Săang!" He froze, unable to stop his eyes widening behind the red IDS visor he was given. Without his meaning to prompt it, the visor identified the approaching man as 'Smokescreen', but Sandstorm could still recognize the face, still remembered the name no matter how often he cursed both in the far reaches of his mind. "Săang," Smokescreen approached cautiously with a smile on his face. It was bright enough to fool those around them, but it was obvious that he made no attempts to fool Sandstorm that he wasn't nervous. "I'm glad to see you again. You're looking good." "I have no business with you," he replied icily. Smokescreen's false smile fell. "Săang-" "You have no right to call me that. We have no business together." "Please," he stepped forward, "let me explain why-" An iron grip fisted at Smokescreen's blouse, dragging the man to the side. In the wake of his back slamming against a wall a stunned hush silenced the hall.

"I have no interest in the past or in your excuses," Sandstorm seethed. "This conversation and all future conversations are finished." He dropped his grip, spinning on his heel to continue his trek with white knuckled fists. He did his best to ignore the blatant stares and the fierce burn of betrayal he had thought he'd left behind.

~*~*~*~

Sandstorm - age challenge: 25 ---

Of all the things he was expecting when he was told to meet up with the others in the chow hall, everyone shouting out, "SURPRISE!" at him was at the very bottom of that list. "What the- what's going on?" Sandstorm spluttered as he was suddenly bombarded with balloons and confetti and a shiny party hat. "It's a birthday party," Topspin said, acosting the sniper with said party hat, "so happy birthday!" Shoving the corpsman off him (though wisely keeping the hat on, judging by the stink eyes he got whenever his hand wandered too close to it) Sandstorm retorted with, "I've been here for almost two years and you're only now getting to my birthday?" Though, in all honesty, the fact people even bothered to notice his birthday (a date he put down in his file for the mere fact that he needed one rather than for any actual accuracy) threw him off balance. "Yeah, well last year you were still mostly in training and, thus, not a real Wrecker," Ti told him, bodily guiding Sandstorm to 'the seat of honor'. "Plus you were kind of an ass." "And now that you're a fullfledge Wrecker and not as big an ass, you get to have an utterly humiliating birthday party!" Springer pointed a remote to one of the cameras set up around the room and everyone crowded around Sandstorm for a quick, cheesey photo. "So," he said as the other Wreckers grinned impatiently, "how about you get that cake passed around?"

Sandstorm looked up at his CO blankly. Then to the rest of his team just as blankly. He shook his head, trying not to laugh. "I don't think I'll ever understand you guys."

~*~*~*~

Sandstorm - age challenge: 45 ---

He really couldn't run anymore (that is, not to the extent they were supposed to) and extended periods in the kneeling or sitting position was basically out of the question. So when the platoon was told they had three days to stalk and shoot him, they all kind of boggled. Sure he wasn't that old, but with all the wounds he'd sustained during his time with the Wreckers, there was no way he'd be able to stand up to the combined talents of five young and eager sniper teams. Each pair parachuted into the wilderness, prepared their camouflage then began to track and kill their target. By the afternoon on the third day two teams were done in by traps, one spotter by a headshot (his partner eventually tracked down and also shot in the head), another pair shot in the back and the last team was fooled by a decoy and ended up being beaten into submission. Sandstorm returned with all ten sniper-hopefuls, all the while explaining where each of them went wrong and what he had done right. At their frustrated expressions, though, he stopped the lot of them and shook his head, muttering about his getting soft in his old age. "Lemme tell you something else that'll keep you alive as long on the field as I was. Sniping and stalking is an old skill and I know you've always been taught that, except for the most necessary equipment," Sandstorm indicated to their weaponry, armor and visors, "you want to be as low tech as possible. "That being said," he stepped up to the nearest sniper, crouching down to view her uniform from the knees below. Eventually he plucked a tiny tracking transmitter from where it had clung between her trousers and her boots, "laying out little traps like these where you know someone that's after you is going to go through isn't cheating, it's thinking smarter than the other guy." Ten jaws dropped. Then everyone started checking their legs for more transmitters. Sandstorm chuckled, starting off again. "Creativity and adaptation," he said over his shoulder, "is why the strong survive."

~*~*~*~

Scoop - age challenge: 7

is it obvious yet that I don't know how to write kids? ---

They'd been doing this for so long it almost became second nature. Shelby would have found it shocking that his heart stopped racing when the nights got this bad if he hadn't found it relieving. His hands no longer shook as he locked the door and he didn't have to hush the twins as he padded the inside of the little tub with bath towels. He helped them in, one by one, then handed them Elena so he could climb in with them. One day they were going to be too big to all sit in there together. Shelby didn't know what they'd do when that happened. Instead, he activated a bookfile and set it on his lap. He still couldn't read all that well on his own, but he told the stories the pictures made and the twins just liked hearing him over the screaming of their parents outside the bathroom. Elena fussed, but Olivier let her quietly suck on a finger. "An' the king of the lake came out an' showed the man two axes. One was gold an' the other was silver an' both was very shiny an' rich looking. An' the king said, 'You want these axes?' an' the man said no. 'Cuz he wanted the one he lost."

He had Sebastien under one arm and Olivier and Elena under the other, the glowing pictures in his lap. There, with his little brothers and sister, with an imaginary world and that dank little room, they could believe everything was okay.

~*~*~*~

Scoop - age challenge: 17

Scoop's real name is Shelby, but by the age of 13 he decided he preferred his middle name Timon or just Tim. Only his family still calls him Shelby. ---

"Seb, Ollie- time to get up."

Two heads burrowed under their blankets, simultaneously going, "Nrrgh." "Not 'rrgh'. 'Good morning'." Tim gave them both a little shake. "Up. Breakfast is on the table and your lunches are by your bags." "Mrah," Sebastien smacked his lips, stretching out like a cat. Blinking blearily at his older brother he asked, "Shelby? How was work?" "Back breaking, as usual," Tim smiled and stepped toward the door knowing the twins could get themselves ready from there. "But it pays so no complaints." Waking up Elena was a different affair. After Tim gave her a little shake, she rolled over and put her arms around his neck, refusing to let go. "Oof, Elly," he laughed, making her giggle right back. With an exaggerated sigh, he lifted her from the bed. "You're getting too big to do this." "'S why I gotta do it as much as I can now." "I'm also sticky and disgusting." "And you smell bad," she wrinkled her nose but didn't let go until Tim had put her feet to the ground again. "Did Mom and Dad leave already?" "Dad left almost an hour ago and Mom's about to head out. Hurry to the table and you should be able to have breakfast with her." "You coming, Shelby?" He ruffled Elena's hair. "Sorry, Elly. I'm exhausted- it was a hellish night. I'm gonna shower and crash." With a peck on the forehead he told her, "I'll pick you up from school, okay?" "Okay," she said quietly. Then she gave him a quick, tight hug. "Thanks, Shelby." Amused and surprised by the sudden display of affection, Tim merely laughed. "Hey, anything for you guys."

~*~*~*~

Roadbuster - age challenge: 21 ---

Someone plopped down next to him so suddenly, Aadil couldn't help but jumping in his seat. "What's this?" Asked his lieutenant, "Our newly promoted corporal skipped out on the bar-hopping event being held in his honor?" Aadil looked down, telling himself Lt Nasser was joking, he wasn't being judgmental. "I felt it best if I didn't go, sir." "Well, not everyone is a fan of loud and crowded places." To Aadil's surprise, the lieutenant held out a bottle of beer, another resting on his knee. "But you can still have one, right?" "Alcohol is against my religion, sir," he protested, hoping he wasn't coming off a flustered as he was feeling. "Pfft. Wasn't I the one to remind you when Eid al-Adha was happening?" Lt Nasser grinned brightly, "When a Jew knows your religion better than you do, you're not religious." He held out the beer again. "Try it. If the taste doesn't suit you, I won't press anymore." Glad to have at least an out, Aadil took the bottle in his hand. He copied the officer's movement in twisting off the cap. "Sir, aren't you worried about accusations of fraternization?" Stretching his legs out, Lt Nasser sighed with a small smile. "Maybe. But right now it looks like one of my corporals is in need of more than just someone in his command to talk to." He indicated to Aadil with the neck of his bottle. "Looks like something's bothering you and you may need a buddy to talk to." Aadil's lips pulled into a thin line. "Am I wrong?" "No, sir. I just... I don't know how to talk to people." "So you didn't go with the others because you knew you'd feel too out of place. And, knowing some of the boys that went, they'd lug you around in an attempt to keep you socializing and you'd have no idea what to do with all those people around." Aadil gave a shudder that he didn't even notice. "It's a frightening scenario..." Lt Nasser watched him quietly. "Drink," he prodded. Aadil did as he was prompted. Then choked and shoved the bottle back at the officer. "That," he gasped, trying not to gag, "is foul!" The other man couldn't help laughing, bottles clinking together against his chest, "So alcohol is a bit of an acquired taste..." "You had the patience to acquire this?" "I am part Italian. I've been drinking wine since I was eight. Which, unfortunately, is an even more difficult to pick up around here than beer."

Aadil made another face, going up to get himself something to wash the taste out, "I don't think I'll ever drink again."

~*~*~*~

Topspin - ouch ---

"See, we have a nice system here," Topspin told Wheeljack gleefully as he reset the bones in Twin Twist's hand, "Twist defends your honor and I fix his broken hand- works out perfectly!"

~*~*~*~

anyone - stop whining, it's just a ____ ---

Broadside was rather impressed at how fast Sandstorm and Xantium disappeared over the horizon, but Springer looked a cross between annoyed and a little hurt as he lowered the octopus the two of them had caught, "Man- what's their problem?"

~*~*~*~

Springer, Prowl - "Aww, you shouldn't have." ---

Prowl sat rigidly, as if he thought making a move would cause the thing to blow up in his face- which just made Springer sigh raggedly and say, "It's a cupcake, it's not poisoned, it's not laced with laxatives, or uppers, or anything that doesn't belong in food- it's a goddamn cupcake and this is the reason why I don't do nice things for you."

~*~*~*~

Prowl, random Wrecker - laugh or cry ---

Springer handed the report to Roadbuster who looked it over and assured Springer that he did, indeed, read it correctly which caused Springer to tell Prowl, "Either you owed us your soul and we didn't know it or we now owe you our collective souls and, frankly, I don't know which option I prefer."

~*~*~*~

"It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye." ---

Topspin rolled his eyes with a 'pffft!', "Then you just get a bionic eye inserted and you're better than new!"

~*~*~*~

"Want to go for a spin baby?" ---

He dragged his way to where the other Wreckers were groaning in various stages of recovery and flopped on the floor, trying not to be sick (again). Xantium bounced eagerly out of the Centrifuge and raised her hands into the air, "Winner and still champion!"

~*~*~*~

low walnut table ---

Springer looked around in awe. "This is your folks' house? It's amazing!" Roadbuster just shrugged, strolling through the double doors like it was nothing. "My father does well. I'll show you were you can put your stuff down." "Huh? Oh yeah- sure." Springer half stumbled after his friend, too busy being awed by the open archways, streaming sunlight and marble flooring. "Low walnut table." "Huh- ow!" Roadbuster paused to give the other man a pointed look. "Maybe you should be paying more attention." Springer hopped on one foot, rubbing at his shin. "You have a walnut table? Made from actual walnut?" With a half sigh, half laugh, Roadbuster could only shake his head at Springer's priorities.