audio;

[paintjobs]

I am having a serious crisis, and I need help. Hopefully a network full of heroes can provide some kind of relief to a desperate spark in need.

[ oh, sure, he's heard of things like... explosions, death, political debates, and benefits being cut (that's super annoying, actually), but really, there's just one Most Important matter at hand: ]

I think they've stopped making my favorite kind of hair gel. I can't find it anywhere, and trust me, I've checked every store. Shouldn't there be -- I don't know, warehouses full of it somewhere out there? Isn't that how these things work? It doesn't matter -- I need more of it, pronto! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep looking as good as I do without hair gel?!

There'll be some kind of reward in it for you if you can help me out, I'll figure that out later -- just give me a hand here, someone!

Comments

[paintjobs]

[ he looks about ready to argue it — but pauses. actually. that doesn't sound so bad.

(it totally is a robot mani/pedi.) ]

...I wouldn't say no. But I will point out that while I may look of Earth-origin, I'm assuredly not. My tires are made from sterner stuff than the tires on Earth automobiles.

[smarterthandad]

Yeah, you're Cybertronian.

[She knows this because she's all over the network like a tiny little creeper. Also because he transformed in the driveway.]

Come on, let's go analyze your hair stuff.

[Without waiting for agreement, she turns and heads deeper into the building, where the labs are.]

[paintjobs]

[ Oh good, she's heard, that will make his inevitable bragging much easier. He follows amiably, actually pretty pleased with the way things are going.

But he can't help, as they walk: ] You don't seem like other incredibly young organics. What's different in your programming? Or... genes, whatever.

[smarterthandad]

[Poor Knock Out, destined to be unable to impress the small child.]

I'm an extreme statistical outlier in intelligence. It's genetic on my father's side.

[At the first set of security doors, she taps in a 4-digit code on the pad, and there's a clunk as the lock releases.]

Don't bother memorizing that. I'm going to change it after you leave.

[paintjobs]

[ He'd really only been watching out of habitual nosiness (and the usual Decepticon wariness, of course), but jolts a little at that. Oh. Huh. Well fine. ]

Don't worry; I have a lab of my own, I won't be needing to sneak into yours any time soon.

[smarterthandad]

[It's what Val would do, so she thinks she's being courteous by removing the necessity of paying attention.]

Just saying.

[She leads them through a few more turns and into a well-stocked chemistry lab, so new that some of the equipment still has protective stickers on it or panels taped shut for shipping.]

Okay, let's do this.

[She holds out her hand for the hair gel bottle.]

[paintjobs]

[ He glances around with a suspicious interest and the general Lab Stuff. Really, it looks a lot like his own. Which means, in his case, relatively new and put together by someone else.

His eyes fall on Val again, and with a mistrustful frown, he hands over the empty canister. Empty for usage, though of course there's plenty of samples to be had from it. ]

Knock yourself out. [ He can't not say that without a tiny smirk, it would just be impossible. ]

[smarterthandad]

[Eyeroll. That was a dumb joke and Knock Out should feel dumb.]

Mass spectrometer first, then we'll toss it in the AFM [atomic force microscope] and see if we're looking at any weird nanostructures.

[She starts doing what she said she was going to do, displaying a dexterity and skill that it's fair to call unnerving in a child of her age.

While the microscope is booting up, Val sighs, propping her chin on one hand and ignoring the mass spectrometer data she's holding in the other.]

I hate being stuck with this lousy equipment.