literature

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

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Literature Text

Tempest wasn't the sort to go to Maccadam's Oil House the night before a huge test the next solar cycle.

However, one of her classmates, who was also her best friend, had convinced the promising medical student to go to the rowdy place.

The red and white med student shyly stepped into the loud bar. The main floor was full of tables and chairs for patrons. Tempest lowered the sensitivity on her wings as she entered the famous establishment.

She hailed a waiter-femme and mentioned the name of her friend. "Pyre said that I could have her usual spot," Tempest explained. The femme had to shout her clarification once again as a popular song came on over the speakers. The beat thundered against her chassis.

Soon, Tempest was led to a table that bordered the Decepticon side of the bar. "This is Pyre's table?" The red and white femme's wings flicked up in surprise. Pyre was well known in the Autobot Academy for her vehemence against the Decepticons. She even went as far as to vandalize the remains of a former Decepticon stronghold that was in Polyhex.

"Yup it is! And she told the whole crew that whatever you buy, it's on her!" she handed Tempy a menu. "Just holler for me and then we'll have it shaken or stirred, however you like!" She soon scooted away on her wheeled pedes, picking up leftover plates and trays from other tables.

Tempest wasn't that surprised in what the waitress said.  Pyre had credits to burn; her Sire was one of the richest philanthropists in Iacon. Tempy on the other servo, ha, she had to live on dry energon noodles and a meal plan that went with her full scholarship for the whole year. And for that Tempy thanked Primus, considering the other options of how to pay for it all.

"Well, I guess I can start off with something that isn't high-grade." As she looked over the menu, she noticed two Autobots gesturing to a Decepticon that sat all by himself.

The Decepticon sat in a table nestled in the far corner of the bar. He was slightly bigger than the average Autobot mech. That was small for a Decepticon. His orange optics were full of regret on his somber, pale face. He nursed an untouched cube of energon in his servos.

To her alarm, the two young Autobots swaggered up to the Decepticon.

"Hey Decepti-punk," said one with a malicious grin. "You haven't been getting any, have you?" The Decepticon's digits tightened around the cube, but he said nothing.

"Aw, what's the matter big guy?" the other mech plopped down into the seat across from the brooding Decepticon. "Too scared to talk to us? Because the Autobots kicked the Decepti-pints to the next solar system in the war?"

Tempest watched, forgetting that she was there to have a drink. Others in Maccadam's were starting to take notice of the two hecklers ganging up on the Decepticon. The other Cybertronians bearing the purple insignia didn't take heed.

"Before you two were even protoformed," the seated Decepticon rumbled, "I had witnessed countless mechs like you fall like cyber-flies in battle. How dare you say that to a Cybertronian that is trying to find peace after all these centuries!"

Tempest screamed as the Autobots flung themselves at the veteran. Several mechs and femmes, Autobot and Decepticon alike, ran in to break up the scuffle.

"Stop it! All of you!"

"Go away!"

"Quit it! This isn't right-!"

"Get off of him you Auto-brats!"

BANG BANG BANG!

The crowd dispersed as three Autotroopers shot their rifles into the air. One light bulb was shattered from a bullet, and the glass rained down on Tempest. She ducked for cover under her table.

To her shock, two of the Autotroopers grabbed the Decepticon and dragged him out. The third congratulated the two aggressors and followed his teammates out the door.

"You can't do that!" Tempest looked up to see a large Decepticon, whose helm nearly hit a hanging lamp, ran after the Autotroopers. He's suddenly clapped into stasis-cuffs.

"Does anyone else have an opposition to Autotrooper business?!" one of the white mechs hollered.

No one said a thing.

Satisfied, the trio of Autotroopers left the building. Soon, the Autobots went back to their conversations, as if nothing happened. The Decepticons on the other servo, were somber, sharing an expression of empathy.

Tempest felt like she wanted to purge her tanks.

Unsteadily, she sat back into her seat. She looked at the table, seeing all the glass scattered upon it. The medical student exhaled sharply and got up.

"Um, wait-" the waitress followed her. "You, don't want anything?" Tempest paused and turned to face her.

"I don't feel like having one." Quickly, Tempest pulled out a credit worth twenty of the single bills.

"I saw you trying to shove off those younglings-no, don't try and give it back to me, it's yours," Tempy insisted when the waitress attempted to return the unorthodox tip.

The flier left Maccadam's, her processor a knot of thoughts. They chased each other relentlessly, replaying the image of the Decepticon getting beaten by the hot headed mechs.

They weren't at war anymore! Why was this still happening? Tempest exhaled loudly, feeling a processor ache coming on.

"Ugh . . ." Tempest jumped as she looked around. The groan sounded again, this time to her right. The femme turned to see that a dark shadow leaned against a dumpster.

"H-help me . . . please," the shake murmured. It was a mech, and Tempest recognized that voice. Tempest knew what she had to do.

"Wait here a bit, I'll be back!" she whispered.

O*O*O

Three things went through her mind as she helped support the Decepticon get back to his home.

One: she hoped the medical supplies magnetized to her back would stay there.

Tempest was very tall for a femme, about half a helm taller than the average mech. The Decepticon she half supported abd helped walk was heavy, even with his slightly shorter stature.

Tempest refused to fix him up on the filthy surface of the alleyway, coated in garbage and Primus knew what else. A bit of bile rose up in the back of her throat. The femme swallowed to keep it down.

Two: Tempest hoped no one she knew saw her move the Decepticon out. The minute one would say 'Decepticon, sympathizer', it was a witch hunt to the end. And most likely one of two things: be cornered and beaten to a pulp, or to the stockades without a trial.

The femme shuddered.

"You ok Missy?" the Decepticon inquired. She nodded, but she was tiring. They had been walking for over a mega-cycle already.

"We can stop soon; my home is just where that crystal tree in the front."

Tempest looked up to see a beautiful specimen of a Crystal Tree. It was as tall as the small home behind it. However, it had a thick trunk, able to wear a belt of ten mini-bots around its circumference. It glowed a rare color to see in crystal trees: periwinkle.

"That is an interesting color," Tempy commented as she helped him to the front door. She could see healthy roots pop out of the ground, glowing. "Did it grow like that, or did you give it something to look that way?"

"Fix me up and I'll tell you Missy," the Decepticon grunted. His face contorted in pain when the leg with a laceration in it bumped against the door.

"Oh right, right-right!" Tempest moved him to the floor of his kitchen. "Easy there, I'll fix you up."

Three: the medic hopeful prayed that no one would notice that she pinched some bandages, needles and wire, antiseptic, and a whole medical kit from the Academy's medical storage room. If she was caught . . .

She could kiss her medical degree goodbye.

O*O*O

It took a while to sterilize every cut and wound on his chassis, but it was done.

"You didn't even scream once!" Tempest said in awe as she put away the bandages and tossed away the energon covered towels.
"Well, in war, especially when you're in enemy territory, you have to be quiet when a medic is fixing you up," the Decepticon murmured ruefully.

"Ooh, right," Tempest said, wincing. "I should shut up now-"

"Actually, I like your voice," he chuckled a bit. "If these walls could talk, they'd be in shock."

Tempest stared at him. " . . . May I ask . . . why?" She discreetly scooted away from him.

"I haven't let anyone in here in over three centuries," the mech explained. He sat up against the floor cabinets behind him. "And I usually don't let in young femmes like you, more so if they're an Autobot." He let out an exhale that sounded like a laugh, but Tempest wasn't so sure.

"Especially since you're a beauty."

Tempest raised her servos in front of her, as if it push him away. "I'm crossing the line at that, sir," she exclaimed, startled.

"Aw, you're blushing!" He guffawed. "That's cute!"

"Stop that!" It didn't help that her wings were tilted up in a vertical angle, and that she was as pink as an energon cube.

"And you could be my grandfather for Primus's sake! That's alarming!"

He wheezed as his chassis shook. The mech failed to hold it in as he laughed some more.

"I mean it sir, stop that!" Childishly she slammed her fists into the tile floor. "Oh Primus this is embarrassing . . ."

"Ok, ok, I'll stop," the mech laughed.

Not thinking, Tempest slapped her servo where his shoulder was wrapped in bandages.

"OUCH! OW, OW-OW-OW!" he howled in pain. "What part of 'I'll stop' don't you understand!?"

"Then why the scrap were you still laughing at me you old coot!"

"All right, all right, I'll stop," the 'Con surrendered. "I'm sorry! Primus, you have an arm!"

Tempest started to pack up her supplies. She was still very pink.

"I didn't get to tell you about how the color went to the crystal tree." The Decepticon grunted as he straightened up.

Tempest stopped, pausing to listen.

"This ground right here, it used to be a disputed border between Autobots of Battalion Epsilon 5 and a Decepticon squad known as 'The Poppers'.

Tempest thought about the history of the conflicts between those two particular teams. The Poppers jointed the Decepticons later on in the war, along with a small group count of three. Yet, they were one of the most successful teams. Not to mention they had a "take no prisoners" motto.

"One of the last battles between The Poppers and that battalion . . . the official records said that no one survived. It was a bomb that one of the teams, no one was sure which one, that was said to have did them in . . ." Tempest said.

"Well, the truth was . . . one from each side survived that day," the mech exhaled quietly. "A femme nicknamed 'Lady Luck' from the Autobots . . . and me."

"You seem proud of that," Tempest said. She sat down beside him, pulling her legs to her chest. "How come you never mentioned your name?"

"I actually forgot what it was after all these centuries," he admitted. "I go by a Backup now."

Tempest nodded in understanding. Cybertronian designations  weren't set from the solar cycle they stepped out of the protoform mold. Most went to Autoboot Camp to gain them. Those that didn't milled about Cybertron, looking for their path in this life-cycle.

Some didn't get their designations until much later in their life-cycle.

"But you still didn't tell me about why the color is like that," Tempest said. She was growing tired. A quick check of her chronometer revealed that she had less than three mega-cycles before her exam.

Scrap. She was royally screwed!

"Some other time then," Backup said. "I can tell you're about to pass out."

Tempest took that as her cue to leave.

By the time she got back home and had a power down,  she had one mega-cycle of recharge. Tempest drank five cups of energon with energy supplements to keep her awake for the long solar cycle ahead . . .



Several solar cycles later . . .

The exams were finally finished. In the dorm rooms, many were partying in their assigned quarters.

Tempest had decided to celebrate by sleeping in.

From the entrance, the small dorm was a standard gun metal gray. Two berths were snug against the lower left and right corners.

The dorm was split down the middle. Each half of the room had the two occupant's respective belongings. Data-pads, holo-scans, and other little trinkets topped the desks that occupied the room.

One of the desks was organized chaos as the other was tidy, each item having its own place. On the half that had the clean desk, Tempest curled up into a tight ball. Her elegant wings stuck out her back, twitching occasionally.

The door beeped as some-bot entered the room. Loud music seeped through for a bit before the sound proof door slid shut. The flier in Autobot medic coloration is suddenly hug/tackled by her roommate.

"Pyre! I'm trying to recharge!" Tempest grumbled. "Take your party to the mechs down the hall!" In a huff, Tempest shoved the femme off of her. She scooted closer to the wall where the berth was up against.

Pyre easily got up and shook the femme's shoulder.

"Pyre, if you value your servos to be attached to those damn wrists-"

"Oh c'mon Tempy, live a little," Pyre chuckled. The Towers femme sat primly on the edge of the former's berth.

Now there was no recharge to be had.

"Primus Pyre, why can't you let me recharge for once?" Tempest whined. The flier groggily sat up to look at her friend.

Being a two-wheeler, Pyre had her wheels in her pedes. The femme that sat before Tempest was one of the most beautiful femmes she had ever met. Before she donned the school uniform, Pyre had the shade of green that would make an emerald jealous. Her protoform was a dark blue that bordered black. Her optics were pale purple pools, a marvel to gaze at. Mechs and femmes alike went absolutely crazy for them. 

It wasn't an oddity for Tempest to occasionally walk in on her roommate's . . . um, 'activities' with another student.

That accent also had help in fantastic hook ups that Tempest never asked to know about, but Pyre rattled away anyway. She seemed happy to divulge juicy details to whoever was within audio receptor range.

"So, what are your plans once you graduate?" Pyre asked as she popped a little energon gummy into her mouth.

"I'll tell you when you let. Me. Recharge!" Tempest promptly used her pede to knock Pyre off the berth. The Towers femme fell to the floor with a satisfying yelp and THUNK!

Tempest couldn't help but smile and settle back into recharge.

O*O*O

As Tempest walked out of her dorm, she spots a mech curled up on the floor of the hall.

The poor thing looked dirty and grubby. She winced at the sight of dents in the shape of servos on his hips, thighs, and upper arms. 

Oh Primus, not again.

The mech was a regular at the mech's dorm parties down the hall. Sadly, it wasn't all fun and games. The recharging Cybertron recently lost his femme-sire, and he wasn't doing too well. To cope . . . he berth hopped.

Tempest first met him a few months ago, after she saw him stumbling out from the dorm down the hall. The femme patched him up and they made small talk.

Tempy never learned his name until a few weeks ago, after the first set of dents that made it nigh impossible for him to walk.

"Firestone?" Tempy whispered. She squatted down beside him. Gently, she touched his shoulder.

The flinch was expected, as well as him kicking her in the stomach.

"Oof!"

"Tempezt?" Firestone shakily sat up. "Oh goodnezz, I'm zo sorry!"

"No no! I'm good," she waved it off. She got up and bent down to help the mech up.

Firestone was a mech that was mostly black, gray, and red. His rouge optics looked exhausted at the moment.

"Did they hurt you again?" Tempest whispered as she led him to the wash racks. She swiped her student ID over the reader and nudged him in there.

As the mech cleaned himself up, Tempest seated herself on a small stool near the sinks. She repeated her question.

"Yeah, they were gentle this time," Firestone said. Tempest looked at the floor of the stall he was in. Copious amounts of dust and Primus knew what else went down the drain.

"Those dents in you mean they went easy on you?" Tempest replied, incredulous. "Firestone, they're-"

"I know what they're doing, ok!" Firestone poked his neck out to look at her. Tears steamed down his optics. "J-juzt ztop talking! It consensual!"

"Ok, I'll stop," Tempest whispered. "But you need to know you don't need them to fill the void in your spark. I know you're hurting from your Carrier's off lining and all-"

"ZHUT IT!"

Tempest quickly did so, sighing quietly.



A week before graduation . . .

Tempest sighed in content as she drank some energon outside her favorite café. It was early in the solar cycle; Autobots were slowly getting up to start the day. The flier sat on an outdoor seat, facing toward the door.

She recently came here right after a visit to Backup. The mech was glad for the company. Much to Tempest's chagrin, Backup didn't tell the story of how the Crystal Tree in his front yard was periwinkle.

The medical student looked up in the libraries about Cybertronian botany. Nothing came up about that particular coloration of how it could have happened.

The Crystal Trees of Praxus had a wondrous array of colors that anyone could imagine. However, periwinkle didn't come up in the data banks.

That frustrated Tempest to no end and decided to give up, ending up at Kooky Mixes Café.

As she blew on her steaming cup of energon tea, a shadow draped over her.

"Tempest?"

The femme turned and looked up to see an Autotrooper stand before her. She noticed he had a servo on the stasis-cuffs attached to his hip.

"Um, yes? What can I help you with?" Tempest asked. She was alarmed. Why would-?

"You best come with me to Fortress Maximus," he said curtly.

Tempest inhaled sharply. She quickly finished up her tea and followed the mech. The medic student had a sinking feeling of what this was about.

O*O*O

Hours later . . .

"And how does the jury find the defendant?"

"We the members of this jury find her guilty of assisting a Decepticon!"

"Now young one, you can either choose time in the stockades or have your name pulled from the list from your graduation-"

"What! How-are you insinuating I'm a traitor!?" Tempest exclaimed. She cried out when Warpath gripped her shoulders tighter, leaving a dent.

"I suggest that you shush up, or else-BOOM!!!" Warpath shouted. "You'll end up in the stockades-POW!"

Tempest hung her helm, failing to hold back tears from leaking from her optics.



Two hours later . . .

"GET OUT OF HERE!"

Tempest screamed as she was physically thrown out of her apartment. She ducked as several of her belongings, holograms, data-pads, and several unopened cubes of energon were thrown at her.

"No! Please, I don't have a place to-"

"GET THE FRAG OUT OF HERE!" the irate landlord screamed at her. When he started throwing shards of glass, leftover from him breaking a window, she took an arm full of whatever was in reach and ran.

Her neighbors had seen her get marched back to her apartment by Autotroopers. Her red and white paint job was stripped, leaving her original light and dark blue bared to the world.

What was worse was having her Autobot symbol forcefully removed. It left a deep indent on her right wing.

As she ran away, sobbing, five mechs noticed. Their optics narrowed in contempt.

They started to follow.



Two days later . . .

"I dunno if we're going to find her,"  Duelray said. The large femme trailed behind her shorter twin as they searched the alleyways. "We have been at thiz for two dayz: it'z hard enough to azk around, and then no one zayz anything-"

"Pleaze, Duel," Firestone pleaded quietly. "Zhe helped me. I want to help her. And I ask Pyre-zhe don't give a damn anymore."

The medical student had turned down her 'best friend' when Tempest went to her for help.

"I don't help Decepticon lovers. I sent her on her way, and that was that."

That made Firestone worry substantially. Tempest wasn't well rounded in fighting and defense.

"Ok, but if we don't find her zoon, tonight you're on your own brother. I have to-"

They froze.

"Duel, did you hear-"

A pitiful sound moaned in agony. The sound punched into his spark, recognizing that tone.

"There!" Firestone dashed in the direction where the sound came from. The brother-sister duo came upon an area of trash bags piled up upon each other. They pulled on the bags, tossing them aside.

"Tempy? Tempezt?" Firestone whispered. When he and his sister moved away the bags, Duel stepped back in alarm.

"Oh Primuz," Duel gasped, covering her mouth.

Energon was everywhere: on Tempest's legs, arms, back-

Tempest's wings . . . they were grotesquely mangled, cut and torn. There were . . . holes the size of a retro-rat in the once beautiful appendages.

Duelray gagged and dashed to a nearby receptacle, heaving her recent meal.

"Duel, help me . . ." Firestone quickly patched up what he could with his small medical kit.

Duel barely held down the bile rising up in her throat as she helped carry her to a nearby clinic.

Five shadows watched them from behind a building. As soon as the siblings were inside, they were gone like ghosts.

One sent a confirmation comm. to an anonymous benefactor. Several hundred credits were wired into each of their accounts.
This is Tempest's background story, sans the Brother My Brother background. (At the library so I can finally post this! :w00t:)

The concept is the same, but the main differences are of Firestone and Duel, who belong to :icongshepherd17:, and Pyre, who belongs to me.

OCs Duelray and Firestone belong to :icongshepherd17:

All other non-canon characters, aka Tempest, Pyre and Backup, belong to :iconsounddrive:: me.

PS: Yes, the title is a reference to a song in a musical called 'Wicked'.
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Ribbon-San's avatar
Sequel, please!