Work Text:
The first sign of trouble was the sound—a low groaning wheeze from somewhere deep in the Nemesis's lower decks, like the ship itself was developing a respiratory illness. The second sign was the coolant.
It came in a shimmering wave of cyan liquid, bursting from an overhead pipe with enough force to knock three vehicons off their pedes. They scrambled upright, slipping and sliding as the coolant spread across the corridor in an expanding pool that caught the overhead lights and turned the whole hallway into something resembling a disco.
"Flood!" one vehicon shrieked, his vocalizer pitching up several octaves. "We're flooding!"
"It's not a flood, you idiot," another vehicon snapped, though he was backing away from the liquid with equal alarm. "It's coolant. There's a difference."
"A difference? A difference?! We're going to drown—"
"You can't drown in coolant!"
"Watch me!"
The argument was cut short when another pipe burst, this one lower down, sending a spray of coolant across the corridor at shin-height. Both vehicons yelped and scrambled for higher ground, which in this case meant climbing onto a stack of supply crates and clinging to each other like sparklings in a thunderstorm.
The corridor itself sloped downward toward the engineering bay—a deliberate design feature for drainage that was now working against them spectacularly. Coolant was collecting in the lower sections, pooling knee-deep in the deepest parts while the higher ground near the intersection remained merely ankle-deep. The flow continued, cyan liquid cascading down the incline like an artificial river.
"Someone comm engineering," the first vehicon whimpered. "Please. I have a family."
"You literally don't—"
"I could have a family!"
****
Hook had been having what he would later describe as "the last peaceful moment of my entire solar cycle."
He stood in Workshop Bay Three, reviewing schematics on a datapad while the other Constructicons worked around him. The space was organized, efficient, and—most importantly—dry. Hook appreciated these qualities more than he could adequately express.
"Scrapper," he called without looking up from his datapad. "Status on the support strut reinforcements?"
"Seventy percent complete," Scrapper replied from somewhere behind a stack of materials. "Should be finished within the mega-cycle."
"Acceptable." Hook made a notation, then frowned at something on his schematic. "Long Haul, did you recalibrate the—"
He stopped.
The workshop had gone suspiciously quiet.
Hook's optics narrowed. He lowered the datapad and turned around slowly, with the deliberate caution of a mech who had learned that silence among Constructicons usually preceded something either brilliant or catastrophic, with no middle ground.
Long Haul was standing in what could only be described as a "pose"—one arm extended, the other curved overhead, his expression suggesting intense concentration. Mixmaster was doing something with his arms that might have been interpretive. Bonecrusher looked like he was trying to remember something complicated. Scavenger was actually consulting a datapad, his optics flicking between the screen and his own limbs like he was following instructions.
Scrapper stood in the center, servos on hips, surveying the others with the critical eye of someone evaluating a construction project.
Hook stared.
"What," he said very carefully, "are you doing?"
"Team building," Scrapper replied without missing a beat.
"That tells me nothing."
"Physical coordination exercises," Long Haul added, still holding his pose. "For... unity."
"Unity," Hook repeated flatly.
"Synchronization protocols," Mixmaster offered, spinning slightly. "Improves combiner efficiency by—"
"I don't want to know," Hook interrupted, holding up one servo. "I genuinely do not want to know. Just—" He gestured vaguely at the schematics scattered across the workbenches. "Just finish the actual work. The work we're actually supposed to be doing. The construction work."
"This is work," Scrapper protested. "Team cohesion is essential for—"
Hook's comm system crackled to life.
"Engineering! We need engineering in section seven-delta immediately! There's—oh, Primus—it's everywhere! The coolant is everywhere!"
Hook closed his optics. Opened them. The universe, predictably, had not improved.
"This conversation isn't over," he told Scrapper.
"Looking forward to it," Scrapper replied with the confidence of someone who absolutely was not looking forward to it.
Hook grabbed his tools and stormed out of the workshop, leaving the Constructicons to their... whatever that was. He had bigger problems now.
****
Hook arrived at the flooded section seven breems after the initial call, and his expression suggested he was seriously reconsidering his life choices.
The Constructicon surveyed the flooded corridor with the air of a mech who had Seen Too Much and was not going to see any less anytime soon. The sloped corridor created varying depths of coolant—ankle-deep near the higher intersection where he stood, deepening to shin-height in the middle sections, and collecting knee-deep at the bottom of the slope. There appeared to be at least four separate breach points, each one gushing liquid with cheerful abandon.
"Who," Hook said slowly, his optics narrowing to dangerous slits, "authorized modifications to the coolant system?"
The vehicons exchanged glances from their refuge atop the supply crates.
"No one?" the braver of the two ventured.
"Then why," Hook roared, startling both vehicons so badly that one of them nearly fell off the crates, "is there a rupture in a pipe that was functioning perfectly well yesterday?!"
Before anyone could answer—not that they had answers—a whoop of delight echoed down the corridor.
"Water park!"
Skywarp came teleporting around the corner, landing directly in the deepest pool of coolant at the bottom of the slope with enough force to send up a massive splash. He skidded forward through the knee-deep section, arms outstretched like he was surfing, and collided with the far wall with a metallic clang that rang through the entire deck.
"Did you see that?" Skywarp demanded, picking himself up with a grin that could only be described as maniacal. "That was awesome! Do we have more of these? Can we flood other decks? I volunteer the rec room!"
Hook's optic twitched.
"This," he said with the careful enunciation of someone trying very hard not to commit murder, "is a critical coolant system failure. It is not. A water park."
"Could be both," Skywarp said cheerfully, teleporting to the top of a broken pipe and promptly getting blasted in the face by a jet of coolant. He laughed like it was the best thing that had happened to him in millennia. "See? Fun and functional!"
"It's not functional!" Hook bellowed. "That's the problem!"
Thundercracker appeared at the end of the corridor, moving with considerably less enthusiasm than his trine-mate. He stopped at the edge of the coolant pool and stared at it with the expression of someone confronting their own mortality.
"We're all going to die," he announced.
"It's coolant, TC," Skywarp called, attempting what might generously be called a backstroke through the liquid. "Not acid!"
"Eventually, everything kills you. The coolant is just making the timeline more explicit."
Skywarp paused mid-stroke. "You need a hobby, buddy. A fun hobby. Like this!" He teleported directly above Thundercracker and dropped, splashing coolant everywhere.
Thundercracker stood there, dripping, and gave his trine-mate a look that could have flash-frozen a sun.
"I'm adding you to the list of things that will kill me," he said flatly.
****
The situation deteriorated rapidly from there.
By the time Soundwave arrived—silent and imposing, his cassettes emerging from his chest compartment like soldiers deploying from a transport—the coolant had spread to three adjoining corridors and was threatening to reach the energon storage bay. The sloped main corridor now hosted multiple depth zones: ankle-deep near the intersection where Hook stood, shin-deep in the middle sections, and nearly waist-deep at the bottom where the liquid continued to collect. This was, as Hook had explained at significant volume, Very Bad.
Rumble and Frenzy took one look at the flooded corridors and immediately forgot whatever orders Soundwave might have issued.
"Cannonball!" Rumble shrieked, running full-tilt down the slope and launching himself into the deepest pool at the bottom. The resulting splash drenched four vehicons, two of Hook's tools, and what might have been an unfortunate maintenance droid.
"Oh, you're on!" Frenzy yelled, diving in after his brother.
Within kliks, the two cassettes were engaged in what could only be described as hydraulic warfare in the waist-deep section, hurling cupped servofuls of coolant at each other with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for actual combat.
Laserbeak, by contrast, simply perched on an intact section of pipe and began recording everything with the patient air of an archivist documenting historical events. Which, in a way, this probably was. Future generations of Decepticons would watch this footage and learn valuable lessons about plumbing maintenance.
Or they'd laugh themselves into stasis. Could go either way, really.
Ravage materialized from the shadows like a phantom, padding through the coolant with liquid grace. The mechanical cat stalked along the edge of the flood, optics tracking the movement of the coolant as though it were prey. When a particularly large wave surged past, Ravage pounced on it with deadly precision.
The coolant, being a liquid, did not cooperate with this hunting strategy.
Ravage ended up thoroughly soaked and looking deeply offended about it.
Soundwave stood in the center of the chaos, utterly still except for the slight tilt of his helm as he processed the scene. After a long moment, his visor flickered, and he began recording.
"Soundwave," Hook said, his voice strained. "With all due respect. Help."
Soundwave's visor flickered again. Then he played back audio—Skywarp's voice, cheerfully announcing "Best day ever!"—and turned to survey his cassettes.
Rumble was attempting to surf on his back, propelling himself with his pile-drivers. Frenzy was trying to create a whirlpool by spinning in circles. Laserbeak was cataloging structural failures with methodical precision. Ravage was trying to bite a stream of coolant, growling at it when her jaws closed on empty liquid.
After a long moment, Soundwave's shoulders moved in what might have been a sigh.
Then he resumed recording.
Hook made a sound like a dying turbofox.
****
The next arrival made everything exponentially worse.
"Out of the way! Medical emergency! Coming through!"
Knock Out came skidding around the corner on his alt-mode wheels, transformed mid-slide, and came to a halt at the very edge of the coolant pool. He stared at the flooded corridor with the expression of someone who had just witnessed a crime against nature.
"Absolutely not," the medic announced. "No. I refuse. I just buffed these panels. Do you know how long that takes? Mega-cycles. This is a crime against aesthetics."
"It's a crime against engineering," Hook snarled, wrestling with a pipe valve that was doing its best impression of a fire hose. "Do you see what's happening here?"
"Yes, and I'm very upset about it on a deeply personal level," Knock Out replied, carefully backing away from the edge of the pool. "Some of us take pride in our appearance, Hook. Some of us don't want to look like we went swimming in a sewer."
"It's coolant!"
"Same difference! Do you know what this does to paint? The chemical composition alone—"
"I don't care about your paint!"
"Well, someone has to!"
A new voice joined the chaos, and somehow managed to be even more grating than Knock Out's complaints.
"Sabotage!" Starscream announced, arriving with a dramatic flourish that was somewhat undermined by his obvious reluctance to actually enter the flooded area. "This is clearly Autobot sabotage! They've infiltrated the ship and destroyed our plumbing to—to—" He paused, apparently realizing mid-sentence that destroying plumbing wasn't the most devastating military strategy. "To undermine morale!"
"The only thing undermining morale is your voice," Knock Out muttered.
Starscream's optics narrowed. "I heard that."
"Good. I said it at full volume."
Before Starscream could respond with what was undoubtedly going to be a lengthy tirade, Soundwave's visor flickered to life, projecting a recording onto the coolant-slicked wall. The footage showed several Constructicons moving through a nearby corridor approximately half a mega-cycle before the first pipe burst.
Everyone turned to look at Hook.
"Don't," Hook said immediately. "Don't even—"
"I knew it!" Starscream shrieked, his voice hitting registers that probably violated several laws of physics. "The Constructicons! They sabotaged their own systems! Probably to make me look bad!"
"Why would we sabotage the ship we're living on?" Hook demanded.
"Because you're incompetent!"
Hook's optics flashed dangerously. "I'm going to murder you."
"You see? Threats! More evidence!"
"I will provide an alibi," Knock Out offered, examining his reflection in a relatively clean section of wall. "I'll say he was with me. We were... buffing things."
"That's not how alibis work!"
Soundwave, ignoring the developing argument, projected another recording. This one showed the Constructicons in what appeared to be the cargo bay, and they were...
Everyone leaned closer, squinting at the projection.
"Are they..." Thundercracker began slowly.
"Dancing," Ravage confirmed, shaking coolant off one paw with visible disgust.
They were indeed dancing. Or attempting to. The Constructicons were arranged in some kind of formation, moving through what might charitably be called choreography if one was very generous with the definition. Long Haul appeared to be doing interpretive movements representing... a crane? Maybe? Mixmaster was spinning in circles. Scrapper kept checking a datapad like he was following instructions. Bonecrusher was doing something aggressive with his arms. Scavenger looked confused but committed.
It was synchronized. It was interpretive. It was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the most ridiculous thing any of them had ever seen.
The corridor went completely silent except for the sound of gurgling coolant and Rumble's muffled snickering.
"What," Knock Out said at last, his voice very faint, "am I looking at?"
"Constructicon Team Building Exercise: Interpretive Dance," Soundwave supplied.
"That's worse," Frenzy announced, standing waist-deep in coolant. "That's so much worse than sabotage."
"Can we join?" Skywarp asked eagerly, teleporting next to Soundwave and sending up another splash that drenched three nearby vehicons. "Do they take applications? I've got moves—"
"No," Hook roared, his voice echoing off the walls with enough force to make the vehicons flinch and send ripples across the coolant pools. "You cannot join! There is no joining! We were working and had nothing to do with this plumbing disaster!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Team management protocols," Starscream repeated slowly. "You're telling me that the Constructicons were doing interpretive dance while the ship's plumbing exploded, and you expect me to believe that's a coincidence?"
"Yes!" then “No!”
"Riiiight. Right"
"I don't care what you think! We were three decks away from this leak working!"
"Practicing," Knock Out coughed into his servo.
"I will disassemble you."
"Get in line."
****
The argument might have continued indefinitely if not for the arrival of Breakdown.
The massive Decepticon came barreling around the corner, transformed, and skidded to a halt in a spray of coolant that absolutely drenched everyone within a five-meter radius.
"Knock Out!" Breakdown bellowed, his voice carrying the kind of panic usually reserved for medical emergencies. "I need help! It's urgent! Life or death!"
Knock Out whirled around, his optics wide with alarm. "What? What happened? Are you injured?"
"Worse," Breakdown said grimly, holding up one arm. "I got coolant in my seams. It's going to rust. You have to fix it now before permanent damage—"
"Are you fragging kidding me?!" Hook exploded, throwing his wrench at Breakdown's helm. The tool bounced off harmlessly, but the intent was clear. "We're in the middle of a crisis and you're worried about rust?"
"Rust is a valid concern!" Breakdown protested, looking genuinely offended. "Do you know what oxidation does to internal mechanisms?"
"Do you know what I'm going to do to your internal mechanisms if you don't get out of my way?"
Breakdown looked at Knock Out pleadingly. The medic sighed, subspaced a detailing cloth, and began wiping down Breakdown's arm while standing on his tiptoes to avoid stepping in the coolant.
"This is why the Autobots are winning," Thundercracker observed. "Because we're like this."
"The Autobots aren't winning," Starscream snapped.
"They're not losing as badly as we're losing to this pipe."
"That's not—that's different—"
Their argument was interrupted by a tremendous splash as Skywarp attempted to demonstrate his "swimming" technique again, which seemed to involve a lot of flailing and very little actual swimming. He crashed into Rumble, who crashed into Frenzy, and both cassettes went under the coolant completely before surfacing with matching expressions of indignation.
"Skywarp!" they chorused.
"That was an accident!" Skywarp protested, teleporting away before they could retaliate. He reappeared on top of a pipe, lost his balance, fell into the coolant with a tremendous splash, and came up laughing.
Thundercracker watched this with the expression of someone whose will to live was actively draining away.
"One solar cycle," he muttered. "I just want one solar cycle where something normal happens."
"Define normal," Hook said grimly, finally managing to get the valve partially closed. The flow from that particular pipe slowed to a trickle, though three others were still gushing cheerfully away.
"Not this. Literally anything that isn't this."
****
Before Hook could make any real progress, a new sound echoed through the corridor—heavy, deliberate footsteps that made the deck plates ring and the remaining coolant ripple in concentric circles.
Everyone froze.
"Oh, slag," Skywarp whispered from his perch.
Megatron rounded the corner like a natural disaster given physical form, and he was dripping with coolant. It ran off his armor in rivulets, pooling around his pedes and making small splashing sounds with each step. He'd clearly waded through the deeper sections to get here. His optics were narrowed to razor-thin slits, and his expression suggested he had just about reached the absolute limit of his patience with the universe in general and his crew specifically.
"Explain," Megatron said, his voice very quiet and very dangerous, "why I have just waded through waist-deep coolant to reach the command deck. Explain why three levels of my ship are currently flooded. And explain—" his voice dropped even lower, "—why Skywarp is surfing."
Every optic turned to Skywarp, who was indeed still attempting to surf on a piece of floating debris.
"It's a water park, Lord Megatron!" Skywarp said with the kind of doomed enthusiasm that suggested he had not read the room even slightly. "Best day ever!"
Megatron's optics flickered.
"Hook," he said with terrible calmness. "Report."
Hook straightened, clearly trying to salvage some professional dignity despite being thoroughly soaked and visibly vibrating with rage. "Lord Megatron. Multiple critical failures in the coolant distribution system have resulted in—"
"It's sabotage!" Starscream interrupted, because of course he did. "The Autobots have clearly—"
"It's not sabotage," Hook snarled.
"The Constructicons were dancing!" Starscream shot back, gesturing dramatically at Soundwave's still-projected footage.
"That's unrelated!"
"Is it? Is it?"
"Lord Megatron," Hook tried again, his voice strained. "If I may—"
"You may not!" Starscream snapped, splashing forward into the coolant despite his obvious reluctance to get wet. "This is clearly a command-level crisis that requires leadership of the highest caliber, and as your second-in-command—"
"Starscream," Megatron said quietly.
The Seeker paused mid-gesture, one finger still pointed dramatically at Hook.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Silence," Megatron continued in that same deadly-calm voice, "before I drown you myself."
Starscream's mouth clicked shut. He took a careful step backward, directly into a deeper section of coolant, and nearly lost his balance. Knock Out snickered. Starscream shot him a venomous glare but wisely said nothing.
Megatron surveyed the flooded corridor with the expression of a mech who had Seen Things and would like very much to Un-See them. Coolant continued to pour from multiple breach points, the vehicons were still clinging to their crates, Rumble and Frenzy were back to splashing each other in the deep end, and Ravage was stalking another puddle with intense focus.
Breakdown was still holding his arm out for Knock Out to inspect.
Skywarp was trying to create a wave by teleporting rapidly across the surface of the deepest coolant pool.
Thundercracker looked like he wanted to file for a transfer to literally anywhere else.
After a very long moment of taking in the absolute chaos that was his crew, Megatron's optics settled on Hook.
"Containment," he ordered. "Status."
Hook's damage assessment was not encouraging.
"The coolant surge is threatening critical systems," Hook announced grimly, consulting a datapad that was somehow still functioning despite being thoroughly soaked. "Specifically, the energon storage bay and the power regulation matrix. If coolant reaches the matrix—"
"It explodes," Megatron finished flatly.
"Technically, it melts through the hull first, then explodes."
"How reassuring."
"We need to shut down half the ship," Hook continued. "Reroute power, seal the damaged sections, and manually repair each breach point. It'll take mega-cycles. Maybe a full solar cycle."
"A solar cycle?!" Starscream screeched, apparently having forgotten the whole "silence" order. "We can't be without power for a solar cycle! What if the Autobots attack? What if—"
"What if we explode?" Hook shot back. "Because that's the alternative, Starscream! We either shut down systems voluntarily or they shut down permanently when the power matrix melts through the hull!"
"There has to be another way," Knock Out said, though he didn't sound particularly confident. He'd finished with Breakdown and was now carefully cleaning his own finish with a chamois. "Some kind of... quick fix? Emergency seal?"
"Quick fixes are how we got here," Hook snarled.
"Actually," one of the vehicons piped up from his crate, "I think it was structural fatigue combined with inadequate maintenance protocols and insufficient pressure valve calibration—"
"Not. Helping."
Skywarp teleported next to Megatron with a grin that suggested Terrible Ideas were incoming.
"Lord Megatron," he said brightly. "What if we just... surfed it out?"
The silence was absolute.
"Surfed," Megatron repeated slowly, "it out."
"Yeah! Like, naturally? We just ride the coolant wave until it goes away! Entropy or whatever TC is always talking about! Eventually everything ends, right? So the flood will end too!"
"That's not how entropy works," Thundercracker said, his voice flat with despair. "That's not how any of this works."
"But it could be—"
"It could not be—"
"Enough," Megatron roared, his voice rattling the walls and causing several overhead panels to shake ominously. A pipe groaned somewhere above them. Everyone looked up nervously.
Megatron waded deeper down the slope into the corridor, coolant rising from knee to thigh-depth as he descended toward the worst of the flooding. He reached the largest breach point—a pipe as thick as a vehicon's chassis that was spewing coolant with enough force to create a small fountain—and stared at it for exactly three kliks.
Then he grabbed it with both servos and pulled.
Metal shrieked. The pipe groaned. Coolant sprayed everywhere, drenching everyone within a ten-meter radius. Megatron's pedes dug into the floor plating, leaving dents, as he forced the ruptured pipe closed through sheer brute strength and absolute refusal to accept that this was a problem requiring anything other than violence.
"Lord Megatron!" Hook yelped, splashing down the slope toward him. "You can't just—that's not how—the pressure—"
Megatron twisted the pipe, the metal screaming in protest, and crushed the breach point until coolant stopped flowing. He held it there, arms trembling slightly from the force required, and turned his helm to glare at Hook.
"Weld," he commanded.
Hook stared. "I—what—now?"
"Now, Hook!"
The Constructicon scrambled for his welding tools, nearly slipping on the coolant-slick floor in his haste. Soundwave was suddenly there beside Megatron, Laserbeak providing additional light while Soundwave's visor flickered with active recording. Hook frantically worked to seal the breach with Megatron still holding the pipe closed by sheer will.
"This is incredible," Breakdown whispered to Knock Out. "Is he just... ignoring physics?"
"He's Megatron," Knock Out whispered back. "Physics is negotiable."
The entire process took four breems. Four breems of Megatron standing perfectly still, holding several tons of metal in a configuration it was never designed for, while Hook welded the breach shut with the kind of precision that suggested he was acutely aware that any mistake would result in his leader getting sprayed directly in the face.
When it was done, Megatron released the pipe slowly, testing the seal. It held.
He moved to the next breach point.
Soundwave continued recording, his visor flickering as Laserbeak swooped closer, capturing footage as Megatron proceeded to manually seal every major breach through a combination of raw strength, absolute determination, and what Hook would later describe as "a fundamental misunderstanding of how engineering works but somehow succeeding anyway."
Rumble and Frenzy stopped splashing each other to watch.
Skywarp stopped teleporting to watch.
Even Starscream stopped complaining to watch.
By the time Megatron finished with the fourth breach, the coolant flow had slowed to a trickle. The corridor was still flooded—ankle-deep near the top of the slope, shin-deep in the middle, knee-deep at the bottom where the liquid had collected—but it wasn't actively flooding anymore, which everyone agreed was an improvement.
Megatron straightened, coolant dripping from every surface of his frame, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction of someone who had just beaten physics into submission.
"Adequate," he announced.
Hook was staring at him with an expression that mixed professional horror with grudging respect.
"That..." Hook began slowly. "That should not have worked."
"And yet," Megatron replied, his tone suggesting the universe had better not argue, "it did."
Soundwave's visor flickered, and suddenly the footage of Megatron forcing the pipes closed was being projected onto every available wall. Multiple angles. Dramatic lighting courtesy of Laserbeak. A perfect demonstration of Decepticon superiority in the form of their leader personally wrestling plumbing into submission.
Starscream looked like he'd just swallowed something acidic.
Skywarp was applauding, splashing coolant everywhere in his enthusiasm.
Rumble and Frenzy immediately began pestering Soundwave for copies of the footage.
"Can you send that to me?" Breakdown asked, leaning over Soundwave's shoulder. "I want to show it to—"
"No one," Knock Out interrupted firmly. "You want to show it to no one. This stays contained."
"But it's so cool—"
"Breakdown. Please."
****
Cleanup took another three mega-cycles, which Hook insisted on supervising personally because, as he put it, "I don't trust any of you not to make it worse."
This was probably fair.
The vehicons were finally coaxed down from their crates, though they kept glancing nervously at the sealed pipes like the coolant might come back at any moment. Hook set them to work with mops and drainage pumps, though the pumps kept clogging with debris that no one wanted to examine too closely.
Knock Out spent the entire time complaining about the coolant smell, which he claimed was "permeating my finish at a molecular level." He made everyone within earshot aware of this fact approximately every four cycles.
Starscream attempted to write a report that somehow credited him with the crisis resolution. Soundwave immediately projected the actual footage of Megatron doing all the work, so that plan collapsed faster than the original pipes. Starscream retreated to a dry corner to sulk, stepping in coolant puddles every three steps because he refused to watch where he was going.
Skywarp mourned the loss of his "water park" for approximately six breems, which Thundercracker timed specifically so he could use it as evidence in his ongoing "Skywarp Has No Concept Of Appropriate Disaster Response" argument.
"It was fun while it lasted," Skywarp protested, wringing coolant out of his wing joints.
"It was a crisis."
"Crisis, party, same thing."
"It's not the same thing—"
"Both involve a lot of people gathered in one place—"
"I hate you so much right now."
Rumble and Frenzy, meanwhile, had compiled a highlight reel of the chaos. The footage included: Skywarp's spectacular collision with the wall, Ravage's offended expression after getting soaked, Starscream nearly falling over, Breakdown's panic about rust, and of course, Megatron's impressive display of brute-force engineering.
Hook tried to confiscate it.
Soundwave provided additional copies to everyone who asked.
Breakdown was already showing his copy to a group of vehicons, providing enthusiastic commentary about Megatron's "technique" and "raw power application."
Ravage, in what appeared to be an act of calculated revenge for earlier indignities, deliberately shook coolant off onto Starscream's pedes every time the Seeker walked past. When Starscream protested, the mechanical cat simply stared at him until the Seeker backed away slowly, muttering about "undignified attack animals."
The third time it happened, Knock Out didn't even try to hide his laughter.
By the time order was restored—or at least, what passed for order on a ship full of Decepticons—everyone was exhausted, irritable, and thoroughly soaked.
The coolant had finally been drained from the corridors, leaving behind a faint cyan sheen on every surface that was going to take deca-cycles to fully clean. Maintenance droids beeped mournfully as they scrubbed at the stains, their efforts largely ineffective.
Hook stood in the center of what had been the primary flood zone, surveying the damage. Dents in the floor from where Megatron had braced himself. Scorch marks from welding. The faint smell of overheated metal and coolant that would probably linger for an orn.
Megatron stood nearby, arms crossed, also surveying the damage with an expression that was difficult to read. After a long moment, Hook approached carefully.
"Lord Megatron," Hook began. "I wanted to thank you. That solution was unorthodox, but undeniably effective. Without your intervention, we would have lost critical systems."
Megatron grunted. "It was merely practical."
"It was impressive," Hook corrected, then hesitated. "Though I would recommend against making it standard protocol. The structural stress could have caused additional failures if—"
"Is noted," Megatron interrupted. "See that it doesn't happen again."
"Of course, my lord. I'll implement additional monitoring protocols and pressure safety checks across all coolant systems. This type of cascading failure should be prevented in the future."
"See that it is."
Hook retreated, leaving Megatron alone in the corridor—or as alone as one could be with Soundwave silently standing nearby, Laserbeak perched on his shoulder, still recording everything with methodical precision.
Starscream slunk past, still wringing coolant from his wings and muttering something that might have been "brute force isn't leadership" but was too quiet to definitively parse. Megatron let him go. He was too tired to deal with Starscream's nonsense right now. There would be time for that later. There was always time for that later.
Knock Out followed, now complaining about needing a full detail. "Three layers of wax, minimum. Maybe four. Do you know what coolant does to a finish? Do you?"
"No," Thundercracker said flatly, trudging past with his wings drooping, "and I don't want to."
"Well, let me tell you—"
Their voices faded down the corridor toward the med-bay, where Knock Out would undoubtedly spend the next mega-cycle obsessively buffing out imaginary damage.
Breakdown passed by shortly after, still fretting about his seams. "Do you think any got into my transformation cogs? That could cause grinding. Or worse, squeaking. I can't be squeaking during combat—"
His voice faded as he hurried after Knock Out, still listing potential mechanical complications in excruciating detail.
Skywarp teleported next to Megatron one last time, grinning despite the thorough soaking he'd received.
"That was pretty cool, boss," he said. "The pipe thing. Very dramatic. Very you."
Megatron glanced at him. "You do realize this was a crisis."
"Yeah, but like, a fun crisis! Better than sitting around being bored! Plus you got to punch plumbing into submission. That's gotta count for something."
"Skywarp."
"Yes, Lord Megatron?"
"If you ever refer to a shipboard emergency as 'fun' again," Megatron said quietly, "I will assign you to waste reclamation duty for a deca-cycle."
Skywarp's optics widened. "That's... that's not a thing we have."
"I'll create it. Specifically for you."
The Seeker teleported away very quickly, appearing at the end of the corridor where Thundercracker was waiting with an expression that clearly communicated "I told you so."
Soundwave approached, his visor flickering with what might have been amusement. His cassettes had finally calmed down—Rumble and Frenzy were now riding on Soundwave's shoulders, still damp but satisfied. Ravage padded alongside, shaking one paw periodically with obvious distaste. Laserbeak maintained his position, his recording equipment still active.
Soundwave played back audio—Megatron's earlier command: "Weld. Now."—followed by the sound of shrieking metal.
Megatron's optics narrowed. "You're archiving all of this."
It wasn't a question.
Soundwave's visor flickered. Text scrolled across it: "Historical documentation. Educational value: high."
"Educational," Megatron repeated flatly.
"Demonstration of leadership. Problem-solving under pressure. Physical capability exceeding engineering specifications."
"You mean 'evidence of the crew's complete inability to handle basic maintenance without supervision.'"
Soundwave's visor flickered again, and he played back a compilation: Skywarp yelling "water park," Starscream screeching about sabotage, Breakdown panicking about rust, the Constructicons' interpretive dance, and finally, Megatron forcing the pipe closed with brute strength.
The message was clear: yes, the crew was a disaster. But they were Megatron's disaster, and somehow, it worked.
Megatron watched the playback in silence, then released a ventilation cycle that might have been a sigh.
"Distribute it to the crew," he said finally. "Let them see what their incompetence costs."
"Acknowledged."
Soundwave's visor displayed a new message: "Footage popularity: predicted high. Morale impact: positive."
"Positive?" Megatron questioned.
"Crew appreciates: competent leadership. Visible problem resolution. Physical demonstration of capability."
Megatron considered this. It was true that his crew responded better to action than words. And if watching him physically subdue the ship's plumbing improved morale and reduced future complaints...
"Fine," he said. "But no additional commentary."
Soundwave's visor flickered with what was definitely amusement. Text appeared: "Rumble and Frenzy: already added commentary. Distributed six cycles ago."
Megatron's optics narrowed dangerously. "What."
Soundwave played audio—Rumble's voice providing enthusiastic narration: "And here we see the mighty Megatron in his natural habitat, absolutely destroying some pipes! Look at that form! Perfect mechanical domination! The pipes never stood a chance!"
Followed by Frenzy: "This is what happens when you mess with Decepticon plumbing! Boom! Crushed! Physics don't exist when you're this strong!"
Megatron stared at Soundwave.
Soundwave stared back, utterly unrepentant.
After a long moment, Megatron turned and walked away, his footsteps still squelching slightly from residual coolant. Behind him, he could hear Rumble and Frenzy giggling, the sound echoing off the corridor walls.
"Worth it," Frenzy whispered.
"Totally worth it," Rumble agreed.
Soundwave's shoulders moved in what was definitely a silent laugh.
****
In the med-bay, Knock Out had finally finished his post-disaster detailing routine. His finish gleamed under the lights, every panel buffed to perfection, every seam sealed and polished.
Breakdown sat on a medical berth, still fretting.
"Are you sure there's no coolant in my transformation cogs?" he asked for the seventh time in the past mega-cycle.
"I'm sure," Knock Out replied, putting away his buffing equipment with exaggerated care. "I checked. Twice. Your cogs are fine. Your seams are fine. Everything is fine."
"But what if—"
"Breakdown, dear. You're fine. I promise. On my reputation as the best medic in the Decepticon ranks."
"You're the only medic in the Decepticon ranks."
"Which makes me the best by default!" Knock Out grinned. "Now stop worrying. The coolant incident is over. We survived. The ship survived. And most importantly, my finish survived, which was honestly the primary concern."
"I feel like there should have been other primary concerns."
"Maybe for you."
Breakdown shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're terrible."
"I'm efficient. There's a difference."
****
In the rec room, a group of vehicons had gathered around a monitor, watching Soundwave's footage for what had to be the dozenth time. Their shifts were over, energon rations distributed, and they had nothing better to do than relive the chaos.
"I still can't believe Megatron just... grabbed the pipe," one vehicon said, his voice full of awe. "Like it was nothing."
"Did you see how the metal bent? That shouldn't be possible. That's not how tensile strength works."
"Pretty sure Megatron doesn't care about tensile strength."
"Megatron doesn't care about anything except results."
"That's why he's Megatron."
They watched in reverent silence as the footage replayed—Megatron seizing the pipe, forcing it closed, holding it steady while Hook welded. The sheer, undeniable physical power on display.
"I'm glad he's on our side," another vehicon muttered.
"You and me both."
"Can you imagine if the Autobots had someone like that? We'd be fragged."
"The Autobots do have someone like that. Optimus Prime."
The group fell silent, contemplating this uncomfortable truth.
"Yeah, but... Optimus Prime would probably try to reason with the pipe first."
"'Please, pipe, consider not rupturing. We can work this out through diplomatic channels.'"
The vehicons snickered.
"Okay, that's fair. Megatron's approach is more efficient."
"More violent."
"Same thing, really."
They continued watching, providing their own commentary as Skywarp teleported enthusiastically through the coolant, as Ravage stalked puddles, as Starscream shrieked about sabotage.
"You think we'll have another crisis like this?" one vehicon asked.
"Probably. Crisis is our natural state."
"True. At least it's never boring."
"I'd take boring over flooded corridors."
"You say that, but—"
Their debate continued into the late shift, voices echoing through the rec room, laughter punctuating the arguments.
On the monitor, the footage looped endlessly, a permanent record of the day the Nemesis's plumbing tried to mutiny and lost.
****
In the lower decks, the Constructicons had finally finished their work shift and gathered back in Workshop Bay Three. The space was exactly as Hook had left it—organized, efficient, and blessedly free of coolant.
Scrapper consulted his datapad, then looked up at the others with determination.
"Alright," he announced. "From the top. And remember—synchronization is key."
Long Haul groaned, his entire frame sagging. "Can we go back to just building things? Please? I'm begging you."
"Team cohesion, Long Haul! Team. Cohesion. The dance builds trust and improves our combiner efficiency."
"Our combiner efficiency was fine!"
"It could be better."
Mixmaster spun experimentally. "I don't think my spinning is quite right. Should I spin faster or slower?"
"More expressively," Scrapper corrected.
"How do you spin expressively?"
"With feeling!"
Bonecrusher cracked his knuckles. "Can I just punch something instead? That's pretty expressive."
"That defeats the purpose of synchronized physical harmony!"
"A purpose of suffering," Long Haul muttered.
Scavenger, still consulting his datapad, looked up with concern. "It says here the next move involves 'graceful elevation.' What does that even mean?"
"It means we lift our arms with grace," Scrapper explained, demonstrating.
The others stared at him.
"You do realize we're construction vehicles, right?" Long Haul said slowly. "Grace isn't exactly our specialty. We demolish things. We build things. We don't... gracefully elevate."
"Not with that attitude!"
"I hate this," Bonecrusher announced. "I hate this more than I've ever hated anything, and I once had to spend three mega-cycles removing organic bird nests from my treads."
"That's the spirit!" Scrapper said, apparently mishearing the complaint as encouragement. "Now, from the top! And—one, two, three—"
The Constructicons resumed their practice, their movements slightly more coordinated than before but still fundamentally absurd. Long Haul moved like he was operating construction equipment. Mixmaster spun with more enthusiasm than grace. Bonecrusher's "graceful elevation" looked more like aggressive posturing. Scavenger kept checking his datapad mid-move.
And Scrapper supervised it all with the dedicated intensity of someone absolutely committed to a terrible idea.
Somewhere in the ventilation system, a maintenance drone recorded the entire thing.
By morning, the footage would be circulating throughout the ship.
The Constructicons would never live it down.
****
Two solar cycles later, section seven-delta was finally, blessedly dry.
The corridor gleamed under the overhead lights, all traces of cyan coolant scrubbed away by an army of increasingly resentful maintenance droids. New monitoring equipment had been installed. Additional pressure valves gleamed like trophies on the walls. Hook had implemented all forty-seven of his new safety protocols, plus twelve more he'd thought of during the cleanup process.
Everything was perfect.
A single vehicon walked patrol through the pristine corridor, his steps echoing off the clean walls. This was what normal looked like. This was what peace felt like.
Then, from somewhere deep in the ship, came a sound: a low groaning wheeze, like metal under stress.
The vehicon stopped.
Looked up at the pipes.
A second vehicon rounded the corner, saw his companion's expression, and immediately understood.
"Did you—"
"Nope."
"But I heard—"
"You heard nothing. We heard nothing. We're reporting nothing."
"But what if it's—"
"What if nothing. Our shift ends in half a mega-cycle. This is Future Shift's problem."
They walked away very quickly, deliberately not looking at the pipes, their footsteps quickening with each step.
Above them, a pressure valve hissed.
The pipes groaned again, louder this time.
Somewhere in the distance, Hook's voice echoed through the ship: "Not again!"
A moment later, Skywarp's delighted whoop: "Water park part two!"
The Nemesis sailed on through space, carrying its crew of disasters toward whatever fresh chaos awaited them.
It was, after all, just another solar cycle.