I'm gonna go get tanked.

An' maybe hit some scrap. Anybody need me, send a message before you start lookin'.

Probably not gonna be in the mood to chat, anyways.

So I'm guessin' everybody got themselves back to normal? Nobody runnin' around gluing people to walls no more?

[Because he's fresh out of wall scrapers. Or something.]

Good news is, I got my altmode back.

[He pauses.]

Uh. Bad news is... kinda found out I wasn't affected no more... the hard way.

[Good job, Ironhide, what did you do.]

So uh... hate t'be a bother and everythin', but...

[He holds up a fist, and, quite literally, proceeds to bash it against a wall. Hard. And, given it's Ironhide, something should be damaged. Granted, it's his fist versus a wall, but...]

[Not so much as a single scrape or even a chip appears on Ironhide's hand. He might as well be mashing it into a bucket of water for all the effect it has on him. He doesn't even flinch, either.]

[After a good minute or two of repeatedly punching the wall with what appears to be all his strength, the big soldier subsides.]

I know I'm tough, but... Primus, even for me, this ain't right. I can't transform either. Not even a little bit.

[What is a "little bit" of a transformation, Ironhide.]

Anybody else suddenly got somethin' weird going on?

[Oh hey, it's Ironhide. And the feed is... slightly askew, given that he's holding it in one hand, while the other, off-screen, is occupied.]

[... occupied holding a familiar cop-car robot slung over his shoulder.]

So... uh. Any medics here been seein' Prowl come in lately?

[He sounds remarkably calm about this, even though his expression is scowling, concerned. He shifts the unconscious weight on his shoulder.]

And no, I didn't do nothing. We were havin' a drink and he just... conked out. Don't think he even had half of one.

Where'm I taking him?

[IS THERE A DOCTOR AROUND? Because despite his words, he's actually a little worried right now.]

[Nice to see you Ironhide-- and that's a piece of metal. In your shoulder. What did you do.]

[He doesn't seem too bothered by it, though, even though the storm-tossed debris piece is as long as his arm, wedged into an armor gap.]

Never seen a storm like that around here before... You hearin' me, Power Joe? Hot Rod?

[There's an awkward pause.]

Uh. Leakin'... organic? Guys all right?

Think I got all my parts back in working order here...

[Ironhide, you never even went to the medical bay after the Tarn Battle, you can't say that.]

Which means I got nothing to do anymore. 'Cept keep myself in shape. More or less.

We got anyone here up and running who wants to take a few rounds?

[Wellp. That sure was a fight there. Time for the survivors to report... Ironhide included. He sounds a bit downhearted, despite the fact events turned in the Police Force's favor... Or maybe he's just cranky.]

Now that's how it's done.

Piece'a Decepticon scrap metal should've been put in the melting pit, hnf.

Anyone seen the Junkpile Kid around? Wanna make sure none of that mess flew her way...



[Private to: Power Joe]
Hey, kid. When you come back around, gimme a ping. Want to talk.

So, what? This is how it's always gonna be? Buncha crazies can't get over old scrap running around killing each other? Aren't the big heads around here supposed to be lookin' out for that kind of thing?

I hate Decepticons much as the next Autobot worth their brand, but scrap if I'm gonna go out of my way to rip 'em apart for looking at me wrong.

... Punch 'em. Sure. But no one's gonna die 'cause of a punch.

Point is, this is stupid. When's someone gonna do something permanent about it? 'Cause obviously, just havin' a law enforcement team isn't doing anything.

Pretty damn near close to picking up my gun and doing something myself...

[And probably the only reason he hasn't is because -- well. What Would Optimus Prime Do?]

Been pretty quiet around here, lately. Not complaining any, just saying.

[Because when it gets "too quiet", it usually means something big is going to happen. At least, in his experience.]

Anyone feel like going a few rounds? Hand-to-hand kinda thing... starting to get a little itchy.

[... Also probably a bad sign, in his experience.]

People seein' ghosts, other bots getting straight up murdered out of nowhere or fallin' down on their faces for no reason...

... Enough to make a bot wish he was back punching bugs. And that's sayin' something, or I'm not Ironhide.

[ ... or did he just say ARNHAID who knows ... ]

It's got to be the quiet doin' it. Not enough business to do around here.

Least not for me, anyways. Hn.


[Someone's feeling a little stir-crazy and incapable right now, don't mind him.]

Before I say anything, let me get somethin' out here. I'm not against some good downtime, not by a long shot. Got a decent party out of it and everything.

But... I have to ask.

There anything for a 'bot like me to put his metal into around here? I can only do much standing around before my circuits start punching each other without anything else to take care of.

[It's pretty hard to tell, at first, what this video is even showing. For the most part, it just looks like someone flinging their Link around like a bad Found Footage horror movie. There's flashes of red armor, a lot of angry cursing, and some angry, metallic chattering.]

[Huh, looks like someone's fighting against one of the centipedes and...]

[... Oh. It's Ironhide.]

[For a few split seconds, he's visible, actually riding on the back of one huge centipede monster. Cowboy style. He's stopped cursing, instead looking ridiculously pleased with the entire situation for as long as he's on screen.]

...

[The feed cuts out for a good while after that, before resuming. The body of the centipede is in the background, broken and oozing fluids, while the big red 'bot appears to be dusting himself off. Battered and dented, but seemingly not all that worse for his impromptu adventure.]

Heh.

That all they've got?

Where the scrap...?

[Metal clangs, apparently someone just shoved something -- or someone -- out of their way. And that's when someone just plain bellows:]

Trion!

[The video comes into focus, then, a bulky red 'bot storming around the altar in Alpha Trion's temple, and scattering acolytes in his path.]

Get your rust-covered backside out where I can see you! I'm not playin' this game!

[Something in the bellowing is enough, apparently, to summon out even the reclusive Firstforged from his study -- he can be seen emerging in the corner of the screen. Of course... that doesn't seem to help matters.]

You!

[One. Two. Three determined strides as the Autobot crosses the space, marching straight up to Alpha Trion himself. Is there going to be a shouting match? Is the Haven in for a screaming fest?]

[Nope.]

[Nope, he is drawing back one massive fist... and slamming it straight into Alpha Trion's face, as hard as he possibly can.]

[CLANG]

[He steps back, shaking his fist and snarling:]

That's for bein' a pain in my gears.

[End feed.]