randomplaces | TFA 'verse. Detroit. New femme in town.

"Now what the slag's that all about?" Ratchet's exasperation was clear as the sound of blaster fire came from up ahead and around the corner.

"Want me to go see?" offered Bandit, drawing ahead a little.

"NO! I don't feel like patching anyone up right now!" The ambulance stopped and transformed into the elderly medic, who scowled at the red and white dump truck darkly.

Bandit didn't protest, instead only followed his lead and waited for directions.

Ratchet glared a little more, but then flinched as the sound of a rush of flame was followed by a deep-voiced shout of pain. "Lockdown...."

"Wow... sounds like somebody really doesn't like him." Bandit's yellow optics were wide with surprise.

The medi-bot didn't answer her, instead peeking his head around the corner and then dropping his jaw with shock. "What the slag...?"

It was indeed Lockdown. A Lockdown frantically beating out flames that coated his person as he tried to dodge the fresh flow that came from the nozzle of a large flamethrower that was held in the hands of a slender femme in an optic boggling colour scheme of pale purple and pink with yellow.

As Ratchet watched the mercenary jumped back and transformed, then roared away in abject retreat.

The femme watched him go, then flipped her flamethrower onto her back and turned away, pulling something small out of storage as she did so.

"How do you like it, Daddy?" she said, her voice quietly amused. And then she vanished with the swish and slight flash of a PINpoint.

"Dude... she just totally owned Lockdown," said Bandit, blinking.

"Slagging pit," growled Ratchet, turning away. "Now the Decepticons have PINpoints."

Then he paused in the act of transforming. "...Daddy?"