Dominant Solarflare
Featuring Arcee and Blaster

“Sectors Five through Eight clear …”

“Visibility on the eastern seaboard is 10 miles. A low fog will be rolling in overnight, with temperatures plunging to 40° Fahrenheit …”

“And the Red Sox sweep the Yankees with an impressive 15-6 win. What a day in Boston …”

“Two Decepticons spotted leaving New York Harbor. Will trail. Confirm, Solarflare?”

“Confirmed, and noted, Prowl.”

“Campbell’s soup is mm-mm-good …”

“Blasted commercials …”

“Excuse me.” A pause. “I said, excuse me.” Arcee frowned, looking down at the slight grey femme perched over the console, a thin black wire running from her jaw right into the computer.

Perturbed, she reached down and jerked the cable.

That was a mistake. Screaming bloody murder, Solarflare shot backwards, sparks flying from her lower jaw and the console. Stunned, Arcee looked around as an alarm began blaring. A few seconds later, Blaster came rushing into the tower room; he took one look at the situation and slammed his fist against a panel set in the wall. Immediately, the alarm died.

On the floor, Solarflare was writhing in obvious pain. “Zzz-ho-zzw d-d-dare yzz-ou,” she spluttered, talons digging deep into the annoying orange tile of the tower. Her body contorted as another electrical shock wound through it.

Horrified, Arcee stepped back, hand at mouth. “W-what’d I do?” she asked Blaster.

The other communications officer knelt at Solarflare’s side, but did not touch her. He looked up at the pink femme. “You pulled her cord out.”

“Yes, but –”

Moaning, Flare rolled up, talons still stuck tight to the tiles. “N-never. EVER. Do that again! You could’ve fried my cortex!”

Arcee was definitely confused. “But – how? All I wanted was her attention!”

Brow ridge low, the grey femme stared defiantly at the pink Autobot. “There’s a buzzer for that!” Coughing, she hacked, spitting out a golden spark. “Oh, slag.”

“Well, I didn’t know!”

“It’s on the fraggin’ wall!” With a quivering talon-tip, Solarflare pointed behind her, right next to her workstation; sure enough, there was a large sign that outlined the procedure for disturbing her while working:

Step 1: (Arcee mouthed) Hit buzzer.
Step 2: Engage shoulder if buzzer does not work.
Step 3: Shake harder.
Step 4: Blow up console (scribbled in black magic marker)

“Flare,” Blaster said, gently rolling up her cord, “I think you should see First Aid. I’ll take over from here.”

Shooting the pink femme a murderous glance, Solarflare staggered to her feet, wings askew. “Notes are on my desk,” she coughed before trudging out the door.