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The meeting was interminable.
Brainstorm knew it would be, but after the fourth hour of listening to Prowl drone on about everything from resource management to improper use of the Exit Rooms, he began to understand the notion of 'unending' in a way he had never considered before. It was frightening. And fascinating. I wonder if you could turn this into a sweet firearm somehow. Like a perpetual boredom ray that crushed the target in a wave of monotony tinged with despair.
It was his own fault, really. The meeting might have been over by now if he hadn’t interrupted Prowl at every turn. Asking for pointless clarification. Demanding to know the reasons for every little decision. The distractions, combined with Brainstorm squeaking his chair and fidgeting, were clearly driving Prowl to the brink of genuine annoyance.
Just as planned.
Brainstorm glanced around the room and wondered what dull thoughts occupied the minds of his colleagues. The Ethics Committee was there, with Trailbreaker nodding at all the wrong moments, Animus making stuff up, and Xaaron spouting his pompous platitudes whenever there was a lull in the conversation. There were other important Kimia scientists in attendance as well. Important being a generous descriptor, if one were to include Ironfist and Perceptor.
Noticeably absent was Chromedome, but that wasn’t surprising. Earlier he had confided that Prowl’s visit to Kimia had caused some tension between him and Rewind. No doubt he bailed on the meeting in hopes of placating his Conjunx. An action he’d regret later, when he heard about Brainstorm’s epic triumph.
Brainstorm tapped his fingers on his briefcase. His optics skipped over Perceptor. That is such a stupid shade of red. Way too flashy for his pedantic personality. He tapped his fingers faster.
"Brainstorm. Stop that.”
Behind the mask, a lethal smile lit up Brainstorm's face. About time. Prowl had reached irritated. From here it wasn't too far to exasperated, then frustrated, then flipped out.
Time to kick this up a notch.
Brainstorm shot out of his seat. He swept his arm across Prowl’s meticulously organized desk, shoving aside datapads and knocking over a cube of energon. “Have we reached my item on the agenda yet?” He spread out a flexible holo-generator and turned it on.
A three dimensional schematic of Brainstorm’s latest scatter blaster popped up uncomfortably close. The proximity and speed with which it appeared caused a small static shock to zap Prowl’s helm.
“Ah…Brainsto-“
“Why can’t I get a real answer on this?” asked Brainstorm. “This weapon is a breakthrough in scattershot technology and it’s not being taken seriously.”
“That weapon,” said Xaaron, “is a violation of every known rule of intergalactic warfare.”
“Rules of warfare. Right. Did the Decepticons get that rulebook?” Brainstorm hovered near Prowl’s audiodial, making sure to vent some of the exhaust from his engine right into the tactician’s face. “You don’t really believe that rules of warfare slag? Do you, Prowl?”
Palpable vexation crackled through Prowl’s EM field. “Brainstorm, I need you to-“
“Just look at it!” Brainstorm slung one arm around Prowl and held him tight. Tight enough to scratch his finish. “That’s more than weapon, that’s a work of art. And I can make it in fuchsia, aquamarine..” He crowded Prowl further. “Maybe black and white?”
Prowl put up a hand. “Step back. Now.”
“Yeah. Sure. Sorry.” Brainstorm took the tiniest of steps, still close enough to brush Prowl with his wing.
He could practically taste the other mech’s irritation. It was time to raise the stakes, employ a little ‘divide and conquer’. Prowl would be epically, existentially slagged off if he lost control of the room. Brainstorm just needed the right catalyst.
“This is ridiculous,” said Animus. “We gave you an answer on that weapon months ago. It was, and remains, a resounding no.”
Thank you, Animus, you weak-minded moron. “Are you done?” asked Brainstorm. “Some of us have unmentionable miracles to perform."
"Your Unmentionables are half the reason we have these meetings," said Animus. He gestured to Prowl. "See what I mean, sir? The Ethics Committee has their hands full dealing with him. It's a real time waster and I think-"
"You're thinking now?" said Brainstorm. "That's new."
Animus gaped at him. "You're unbelievable. Your attitude is a major issue at this facility and your complete disregard for the rules has endangered everyone on multiple occasions."
"Your attitude could use a little work, buddy," said Trailbreaker with a hearty smile. "No offense."
Brainstorm pointed to Xaaron. "That's what he said about you. The last time you showed up for a shift wearing eau d'engex."
Trailbreaker's smile faltered. He looked at Xaaron. "Really?"
"I said no such thing!" said Xaaron.
Within moments the three members of the Ethics Committee were bickering, hurling accusations, and trying to talk over each other. They ignored Prowl’s calls for order, helpless against Brainstorm’s ability to wind them up.
Brainstorm snuck back to his chair. He crossed his arms behind his head and fixed Prowl with a look that he hoped conveyed how hard life was when you were surrounded by simpletons.
Prowl's jaw clenched. His frown deepened.
As did Perceptor's, Brainstorm couldn't help but notice. Oh yeah, he's bored out of his mind too. I'm doing us both a favor.
Prowl slammed his hand on the desk. "Enough! This is a gross violation of protocol. Going forward, Kimia will need a clear, ten point plan in order to operate at the highest level."
Brainstorm leaned forward in his seat to stare at Prowl in earnest. "Is Ironhide gonna give us the plan?"
"Ironhide? Is the plan to shoot guns wildly?"
"Can it be?" said Brainstorm. "I mean, no. It's just that Ironhide is such a good strategist."
Prowl's doorwings twitched. "Brainstorm…"
"You know, because Optimus is always listening to him."
"Brainstorm, I know what you're doing right now." Prowl's vocalizer took on an even steelier edge, if such a thing were possible. "And I don't like it."
"Him and Hot Rod," said Brainstorm, undeterred. He hugged the briefcase to his chest. "Or Grimlock."
"Grimlock!?!"
A dark undercurrent ran through the room. The Ethics Committee assumed their usual scandalized expressions. Other scientists murmured to each other and edged away. Perceptor’s lips were pressed together so hard, it almost looked like he didn't have any. He shook his head minutely at Brainstorm, one optic ridge furrowing.
Something hot and charged fluttered through Brainstorm's circuits. Oh look, he's trying to warn me. That's cute. He's probably scared to death that Prowl's gonna kick me off Kimia. Nothing to aspire to if I'm gone.
Prowl wouldn't kick him off. Not when he was about to make a myriad of breakthroughs with some very interesting technology. He was too valuable. Prowl would remove himself first.
Brainstorm was counting on it.
Drawing his energy field in as close as he could, he tried for a combination of neutral and innocent. "Hey, no offense. I'm kinda surprised you’re even here. Considering that Chromedome can't do any autopsies or injections for you."
Prowl's fingers inched towards the edge of the table.
"He promised Rewind he'd stop injecting. But you knew that, right?"
Icy blue optics shuttered. Prowl gritted his teeth. He stared at Brainstorm with a quiet, biting fury. His hands tightened visibly.
"You might not get ahold of him anyway," said Brainstorm. "He has the next few days off. I think he plans to spend them holed up with Rewind. It's their anniversary." Brainstorm chuckled and shook his head. "Those two. They're disgusting. Heh, you know what Chromedome told me?" He set his vocalizer to the dreamiest tone in his programming. "He told me that he's never been happier."
For such a rigid mech, Prowl certainly could move fast when he wanted to.
The table didn’t stand a chance. It went sailing over the shocked scientists, spinning on its horizontal axis until it smacked against the wall with a spectacular crash.
Brainstorm admired the scuff it left. I really, really am a genius.
Prowl stood, seething, fists clenching and unclenching. “This facility is a disgrace.” He then simply uttered “dismissed”, and stormed out of the room.
After a few seconds of bewildered shrugging and staring, everyone got up to leave. Bots grumbled and glared at Brainstorm as they passed.
“Jerk,” whispered Animus.
“Liar,” Brainstorm whispered back. He rose and followed Perceptor into the hallway.
“That was ill-advised,” said Perceptor. “Antagonizing Prowl will not yield a positive result for any of us.”
Brainstorm’s spark chamber seized with that uncomfortable, tight feeling that he hated. “I’m sorry. I thought we were a science station. I thought we were here to win the war at the singular point where imagination meets erudition. But apparently you wanna fill out forms all day long.”
Perceptor opened and closed his mouth, each action accompanied by the sound of his vocalizer struggling to engage. “Why must you…I don’t…” He rubbed his helm and huffed.
A reaction! Brainstorm’s horizontal stabilizers cycled on and off. He shuffled his pedes. “I made a laser lancer,” he blurted out.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Wanna know how it works?”
“No,” said Perceptor with a frown. He turned and walked away.
Professional jealousy, thought Brainstorm. So petty.
Later that day, Brainstorm loitered in an empty stairwell in Kimia’s storage wing. He stood there for twenty minutes, during which time he thought up three new weapons that could revolutionize warfare, until he heard a door swish open behind him.
Rewind peeked his head through. “Are we alone?”
“Yeah. Took you long enough.”
“Sorry. We can’t all just make up our schedule like you seem to.”
“Did Prowl leave?”
“Yup,” said Rewind. “His shortest visit ever to Kimia. Nice job.”
“I am the best.” Brainstorm extended a hand. “You got what you wanted. Now gimme.”
“Deal’s a deal.” Rewind pressed a data disc into the outstretched palm.
The taste of excited hydrocarbons flooded Brainstorm’s throat. He held up the disc, appreciating how it reflected Kimia’s poor artificial lighting. “This is the real thing, right?”
“Three hours of Perceptor working on projects,” said Rewind, gesturing wide like he was trying to describe an exciting film. “Not sure why you want this.”
“I wanna know what he’s been researching,” said Brainstorm. “I think he stole one of my magma grenade ideas.”
“Uh huh. You’re gonna be bored then. I’ve watched it. It’s basically him and Highbrow working in silence, followed by a thrilling discussion about favorite colors.”
Brainstorm’s motor stalled. “Perceptor has a favorite color? I don’t believe you.”
“Watch for yourself. I think he mentions which flavor of energon taffy he likes the best too.”
The disc snapped in Brainstorm’s hand. “He…he likes things? Perceptor doesn’t like things.”
“Thought that might happen.” Rewind handed him another disc. “And come on, everybody likes things.”
A paranoid shiver wracked Brainstorm’s frame. His reputation would be ruined if anyone found out about this. Mechs would totally think he wanted the disc so he could copy Perceptor’s work. “You’re not recording me right now, are you? You’d better not be.”
“No,” said Rewind. “I was gonna but…it’s just too sad.”
“Whatever. You don’t tell Perceptor, and I won’t tell Chromedome.”
“Chromedome already knows.”
“What? He found out I offered to annoy Prowl off of Kimia for you in exchange for…this? How?”
“I told him.”
Brainstorm cocked his head. “Why?”
“It’s called being honest with the person you care about.”
“You don’t say,” said Brainstorm. He wondered if there were any other useful tidbits of information on the disc. Scientific tidbits, of course. Not gossipy trash about candy or colors or anything that would hint at an actual personality behind that cold, sexy exterior.
Stupid. Stupid exterior.
“You should try it sometime,” said Rewind. “The honesty thing.”
Brainstorm ran his finger along the edge of the disc. “Uh huh.”
“Umm…why don’t you copy that to your personal storage before you break it again?”
“Yeah.” Brainstorm stuffed the disc in his subspace, lost in thought. “Later, Rewind.”
He didn’t hear Rewind’s response, or remember to attend his next meeting with Ironfist. Instead he walked, in a trance, straight to his quarters, where he remained unavailable for the rest of the evening.
The End