Part 13: Kindred
“Welcome to KO Burger, where every patty’s a knockout,” Sour Sweet found herself repeating for what had to be the hundredth time that day alone. She honestly wanted to just drop dead then and there, at the very most it would relieve her of this monotonous job. Even with the smile forced onto her face, she knew that deep down, she felt like she was strapped into a torture device, being poked, stabbed, and branded by the corporation she served.
How come all the other Shadowbolts get to do all the good shit while I’m stuck here, peddling burgers for twerps and their families?” Sour mentally moaned to herself, handing off another meal to another customer. Two super combos with extra fries, costing $5.59, she vaguely remembered. “Sometimes, I wish they were the ones working these tedious jobs instead; ESPECIALLY Sugarcoat. Smart little bitch… But no, she’s got the brains to go into university and shit, maybe she’ll become some sort of nurse. Oh sure, I’d congratulate her all the same, but I doubt I’d honestly make it so far. Because, let’s face it, who’d hire me for my bedside manner? They’d have to be crazy!”
And Sour Sweet knew a thing or two about crazy. Even before the Friendship Games, she had trouble trusting people. No matter how good they were or how close a friendship she had made with them, she always had voices in her head and alternate realities in her eyes that were a far cry from the one she was in. An inability to see the world for what it really was, coupled with her tendencies to switch emotions at the drop of a hat, cost her more than a few bonds and relationships in her time growing up.
There was a reason the Who song “The Real Me” could either set her off in a fury and make her want to punch everyone in sight, or make her break down in tears of sympathy for the singer, or protagonist of the song.
“Hey, Sour. We need you in the drive-thru real quick,” Her manager came over and patted her on the back. “For some reason, Slick managed to get himself a bit of a stomach bug and it’s playing hell on his work ethic.”
Sour sighed. “I warned him to clean out his fridge, half of that crap’s been tainted as it is,” she mumbled to herself. She really just, for once, wanted a bit of peace and quiet as it was. Maybe after work, she’d go out back and light up a joint with the rest of the boys. About the only time nobody really cared who she was.
“Alright. Fine. I’ve got this.” She walked away from the counter and headed towards the drive thru windows.
The headphones of the drive-thru PA system were just as barren and bleak as the rest of her mental state. Black and chunky, with what looked like the thinnest, least appealing microphone ever to grace the planet, it was yet another bolt on her impounded life. Still, she slipped them on her head, turned to the cameras, and tried to fake that smile again. Try being the keyword, as her cheeks began to hurt from the facade.
A loud rumble filled Sour’s ears as some massive off-roader vehicle (Like Sour could care to remember the name) pulled up, tinted windows and heavily customized rims and all. She had to suppress a groan, looked like the local drug runners had a serious case of the munchies, probably from smoking too much weed. Only reason they’d come to this place, really.
“Welcome to KO Burger, where every patty’s a knockout…” Sour’s voice began to wane, knowing that this wouldn’t be pleasant for her. “Can I take your order please?” she sighed, absentmindedly adjusting her hat that every worker at the joint was supposed to wear. Really, Sunny Flare would probably have a field day at the sheer crimes against fashion this place committed, she thought with a chuckle.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll take two threes and a cola to go. And a bit of you too.” The voice must’ve belonged to a guy from some school, one who couldn’t be bothered to read the whole order and say the numbers to make it fast. Sour let out a little growl. This was far worse than some pack of drug addicts. No, it had to be one of those buffed-up jocks on steroids who thought they could land any girl they wanted. This idiot certainly couldn’t have been from her school, everyone knew to stay far away from her and never make remarks like that, otherwise, they’d find themselves on their asses missing a few teeth. This was then followed by a small chuckle from him as Sour started up again.
“What size are those orders again?” She gritted her teeth, but still tried to stay collected; though it was becoming more and more of a challenge for her to do so. Any normal person would have backed off by this point, but that would require this particular customer to have some semblance of intelligence.
“It's 5 o’clock somewhere and I need to update my resume. Would you put "day drinking" under experience or special abilities?” Sour thought to herself with a look skywards, seemingly praying for some relief. Maybe a lightning bolt striking this guy and his car making it burst aflame. Sadly, no such luck. The sky was as clear as day.
“Who cares about the sizes, just hook me up, fast!” Replied the customer. Music was blaring at an obnoxiously loud volume from the stereo speakers. Rap music at that, something Sour had a particular distaste for. It was where good music went to die. “I have to get back to the gym soon, or I’ll miss my fat-burning class!”
“This jackass… I’ll just give him small ones then since he’s got no respect for taking time to study the damn menu!” Sour turned back towards the people in the kitchen. “Broil! Simmer! I need two small number threes and a cola!” she barked, snapping her fingers impatiently as she did so. “And be quick about it!”
Needless to say, the two kitchen staff leapt to work like they’d been ordered by an angry dictator under their command and hastily prepared the number three orders. The drink wasn’t that much of a hassle, though, as one button push poured it into a KO Burger-branded cup. The rest of the order eventually came through, and was delivered in a bag to Sour’s window. Now, all she needed to do was wait for him to drive up.
“Well, come on, don’t have all day!” Sour snapped, snapping her fingers repeatedly once more as the guy and his offroader slowly drove up to the window. The music was now ringing in her ears, something about a guy wanting to bitch slap his whore. Sour sighed, really nice piece of society she got here. “Seriously, you’re holding up the damn lines here!”
Of course, that was a lie. There really wasn’t any lines, Sour just wished there was. Maybe in that case, it’d give her something to do aside from dealing with this idiot. Even screaming, crying children were better than this particular scenario. Hell, she’d even go with a druggie!
The guy came up, took the bag, and caught a glimpse of Sour’s perfectly crafted face as he did so. He was almost to the point of drooling with how awestruck he was. Actually, he was drooling on second glance, which Sour immediately regretted.
“So… you wanna—“
“If you’re asking me out, NO.” Sour immediately stopped him. “Just take your food and go. Don’t damage the company quota or we’ll all be in trouble for it,” She glared at him with eyes that could kill. “Also, word of advice, if you want to get a date… Shut that music up, having music that says you want to bitch slap someone. Real turn off asshole. You’re the brand of idiot, who gives idiots like you a bad name.” she stated flatly, channeling her inner Sugarcoat.
The tactic worked, as the customer immediately lurched back and drove off in a squeal of tire smoke, letting the line proceed as normal. Sour just decided to pull her hands downward across her face as the next one drove up. Sour had to blink for a second. In front of her, a dark blue Lamborghini of some make. She really didn’t give much crap about Italian supercar models.
Still, there was something about this one that seemed rather… familiar. Then her eyes caught the Decepticon symbol resting on the car’s hood. She wanted to scream, but realized there was probably no point in that. Not like it’d stop the Con from killing her, really.
“Uh… welcome to KO Burger…” She couldn’t even find her words as she spoke to the Con, knowing full well what was about to come next. She could already hear the blaster barrel’s hum warming up in her head. “How can I help you today?”
“What, can’t someone just want to have a talk with the underappreciated workers of the fast-food industry?” the Con asked, keeping his darkened windows up. “I mean, seriously, you guys really don’t get the credit you deserve. So… uh, keep up the good work kid.” he continued, actually sounding rather sincere. No cracks, no threats, just an actual honest-to-god compliment.
“To be totally honest, I’m on the verge of peeing myself…” Sour whispered as she spoke with the Con. “Decepticons terrify me, so much… especially when I can’t do a thing to stop them…”
“Yeah. We aren’t really the peacekeeping type. Completely understandable,” The con said as it drove closer to her. “But between you and me, I’m kinda on my wit’s end about it too. Listen, whenever your shift—I think they call it—ends, can we talk?”
“About what?” Sour asked. “My demise? A ransom for the others?”
“You’ll find out in due time.” He said before driving off. “Enjoy your day, miss. And don’t stop doing what you’re doing.”
As the next customer drove into the drive-thru, Sour’s voice still stayed diminished and cold, like she was in the arctic, fighting against a sheer cold. Her blood froze to the touch, and her heart rate accelerated. A Con wanted to speak with her, and they were never the bearers of any good news.
“Welcome to… KO Burger. Where every patty’s a… knockout.” She sounded almost like that pink-haired, yellow-skinned girl from Canterlot High she met at the Friendship Games. Butterfly, or something like that. “How can I… help you today?”
Time seemed to go by in a blur, and evening fell and Sour found herself out in the burger joint’s parking lot. As she walked to the nearest bus stop, a car, the same one from before pulled in front of her and parts shifted and changed before the Stunticon -Breakdown, if she remembered correctly- stood in front of her. Sour Sweet was thankful the city seemed to be empty this time of night, no cars on the road or anything. She honestly pitied Fowler with the task he’d have if anyone were to capture a photo of her and Breakdown.
“Glad you decided to come.” Breakdown knelt before her, his violet optics looking directly into Sour’s indigo orbs. “Now, I think it’s high time you and I have a chat. Guess you’d say a talk between two kindred spirits.”
Sour Sweet forced back a barking laugh. “K-Kindred spirits?” she asked, with more than a hint of nervousness, noting the rather large sword strapped to Breakdown’s waist. “No offense intended, but I don’t go shooting up humans, or running them down just because I feel like it.
Breakdown had the decency to wince at that, he supposed he had that one coming. “Right, you’re that Indigo girl’s friend…” he murmured to himself.
“Well, friend being an operative word. Half the time, I’m wanting to punch her in the face,” Sour sighed.
“Sounds like me and most of the other Cons on the ship half the time, really,” Breakdown chuckled bitterly. “Heh, you know why they call me Breakdown right? Not just because I'm a Stunticon, oh no.”
Sour Sweet considered her curiosity peaked, and quirked an eyebrow.
“Best excuse I have for my behavior,” Breakdown continued. “Well, I’m paranoid. You think I’m been given my codename as a joke? Okay, maybe I was, probably by Primus finally gaining a sense of humor, but the thing is… I’d honestly rather be off by myself than with the rest of my team, my Conjunx Endura excluded of course.”
“Conjunx Endura?” Sour asked, eyebrow still raised.
“Basically the Cybertronian version of a spouse, really. Some prefer the term Sparkmate, a holdover from Sentinel Prime’s day. Semantics, really. Suppose you’d probably want to know about the lineage of Primes, but to be honest, your Autobot partners could probably give you a lecture on that better than I could. And we’re getting off topic, and I’m starting to ramble anyhow,” Breakdown laughed nervously before he cleared his throat, or whatever the Cybertronian version was anyways. In a way, Sour was reminded of Twilight with Breakdown, the bot seemed somewhat shy really, and not exactly the open type.
“If I may ask, who’s-”
“My spouse?” Breakdown finished for her. “Knockout. Yeah, that one. Vain, and a bit on the pushy side when you’re interrupting his work, but by Primus I love him. Anyways, been pushing to be transferred to the Scout division for a while now, least that way I could be alone with my thoughts. Sports cars, tend to attract a lot of attention on your planet as I’ve found so switched out paint jobs as well. White is quite the eye-catching color. Least with blue, I can sorta blend in a bit better. Everyone’s just looking at me, back when I had my original paint job. Doesn’t help my paranoia any, as you’d expect. Back on Cybertron, and here as well, just wanted to clear the battlefield if only for my own peace of mind.”
“Well, ever thought about changing alt modes?” Sour suggested, leaning on a planter, and lightning up a cigarette. “I mean, think about it, something big and bulky like a Humvee… Sure, they’d still look at you, but everyone would be screaming, get out of the way in fear of you running them down.”
“That’s an idea... “ Breakdown mused, before he remembered who exactly was giving him this advice. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be an ally to the Autobots? Why are you even giving me the time of day, and not running off in fear?”
“Like you said before, kindred spirits right?” Sour shrugged, breathing out a bit of smoke. “Sure you or some other ‘Con looked up my Yatter feed. So, you know what I’m like. Been diagnosed with a lot of things, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia. I’m basically a shrink’s wet dream,” she stated flatly. “I try, and by God, I try to work through it but sometimes…”
“It’s too much?” Breakdown asked, in a soft and understanding tone.
“Yeah… Pills aren’t much help, and certainly, people shitting on me for my condition and saying I need to be locked up don’t help the issue much. Take, for example, Canterlot High’s local juvie hall poster girl to be, Gilda Gruff. Built like a mountain, and with a temper to match. She’s always been in and out of detention for one reason or another, both her and Lightning Dust. So, one day she decided to grow the balls and mouth off to me. Called me quite a few things, and let’s just say if I hadn’t realized what I was doing at the last moment, would have been the last mistake either of us ever made,” Sour sighed to herself, tossing the cigarette aside. “You know what I told her? Even as I was beating her to a pulp, bruised and bloody?” Sour asked, even as her fists clenched at the sheer thought of Gilda’s smashed in face. “I told her that I wish she’d die, nobody would miss her, not even her family. She was just a delinquent without a home. And the thing is, when those words were in my head I didn't think I meant them; but when they left my mouth, I realized that I did. If the world thinks you're a monster, what does it matter? The world is wrong. But when you start to think of yourself as a monster…” Sour trailed off, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah, know that feeling all too well,” Breakdown mused. “Personally, there’s been times I want to say fuck the world, and end it all. Just shove a sword through my spark. But you know why I haven’t?”
“W-Why?” Sour asked, her voice trembling as she struggled to fight back tears.
“Because, every time I even consider the notion, I remember I’ve got friends -Offbeat and slightly strange as they are- to keep me here. I mean, I’m considering their feelings. Not to mention Knockout’s. I mean, what’d he think if I just decided to end it all, eh?” Breakdown asked.
“Friends…” Sour breathed, thinking back.
“Personally, I think this movie is highly unrealistic. No one, not even someone after getting ripped apart by a chainsaw would spurt that much blood and gore,”
“Ah, Trixie sees the problem… You would be rather over-sized for this task, wouldn’t you? Now, I assume it’s as simple as cut the red wire? That’s how it always is in the movies, isn’t it?”
“Seriously, you were like: “This ends here!” and he was like “Never!”
“A berserk serum for machines. How perplexing… Usually, those kinds of things have been developed for humans only. How one has been made for machines, I’ll never know. Have you got a computer screen that shows her vitals?”
“Oh, I more than think. We have to tell Prowl and the rest, we might just know the location of the Decepticon base!”
“Yeah, I got you there,” Sour admitted. “I mean sure, they drive me up the walls at times, but let’s face it, if they didn’t, it’d be all normal and frankly rather boring right?” she remarked, with a small laugh, which Breakdown could only return.
“Normal? What’s normal?” the Stunticon asked before giving her a smile. “Hey, if you ever want to talk, and I mean just about anything or you need someone to yell at… Well, just call me,” he said, before transforming and driving off into the night.
Sour then found her little gauntlets receiving the data for Breakdown’s personal comm channel. She then found herself saying two words she’d never thought she’d utter in a million lifetimes.
“Thanks… Breakdown."
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Disfunction junction, what's Chrystal Preps problem? It seems almost all of their kids need deep psychological help. Hopefully by being friends with the Autobots will be able to help the main cast.
You know your job sucks when a DECEPTICON is saying you are underappreciated.
Jokes aside, this chapter was masterfully handled in my honest opinion. You did a phenomenal job of humanizing Breakdown. I hope he fares better than his Prime counterpart. No Con deserves to go out like that.
9023309
Well, when you have Principal Cinch, aka someone who is like a black hole that sucks out all the joy of a room (I swear, she and Neighsay are probably related in some way.) and pretty much pushes kids beyond what should be required as your headmistress, it's not entirely surprising a lot of the Crystal Prep kids turned out rather messed up.
Still, it's pretty telling how badly screwed up Sour Sweet (Granted, a bit of this was before CPA though I doubt Cinch helped) is when she bonds with Breakdown of all Cybertronians.
9023355
Considering Breakdown's changed his color to blue, and Sour half-jokingly suggested he should change his alt mode to an offroad vehicle, (Add in his close relationship with Knockout) you can probably guess where his character's going in some format. But I will tell you this, even if I do kill him, it'll be handled much better than Airachnid just ripping him to shreds.
9023589
I didn't even mean being ripped apart by Airachnid. I meant what happened to him afterwards.
9023604
Just pretty much forgot about, and turned into a Mech suit by Silas and his men? (Not to mention the whole zombie-con thing...) I see what you mean.
8979606
Please tell me more about Airwolf.
9023825
Okay, basic synopsis, and I borrow this from Wikipedia mind you:
The actual heilcopter used for filming. upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/a4/Airwolf_side.jpg
Apologies for the lengthy comment, but... That should help.
9023355
No you know It sucks when waiters and fast food workers want to give you a tip.... I was a fucking cart pusher. Trust me I dodged cars all day.
Thou have become one with your inner Sugarcoat! *bows*
... She's a smoker.
Anyways, loved the interaction here! Nice to see Breakdown is someone who Sour can talk to.
9024975
Here's a fun little thing.
This quote originally came from Megatron of all Cybertronians in the IDW comics on this quote below in reflection.
Because in the final analysis, I would happily wade across a river of corpses, chest-deep in rust and grease and engine oil, just to crush the spark of the last Autobot standing. And I would not do so simply as a means to an end. No. I'd do it, Prime, because it would give me pleasure.
Megatron to Optimus Prime, "Chaos Theory Part 1"
Aww... really enjoyed the insight into Sour Sweet here.