Of Encryptions, Viruses and Sparks

Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy is currently scrubbing away at the mess on his floor, trying to get all that soda off the ground after leaving it there for weeks without touching it. He's never going to do that again, that's for sure! He's also in a fairly decent mood, after seeing Glit, but something's still... Oh! That's right, his other friend. He should check up on the Stunticon. Hopefully those optics aren't malfunctioning. ::....Dead End?::
Dead End:	:: Yes? :: Answers almost promptly, sounding perhaps a bit curt as he was interrupted in his reading, which he had started doing a lot more than usual ever since he got his optics back and working properly.
Pepsi Convoy:	::Forgive me if I'm bothering you. I was simply wondering how you were doing - I've been a bit busy and haven't had time to ask.:: His voice is nice and light, and Dead End can probably hear him scrubbing away over the comm, too.
Dead End:	A faint sigh as he puts the datapad away, everyone seemed intent on bothering him while he was reading these days. :: It does not matter. I am -- well. :: Does indeed hear those scrubbing noises, but for better or worse he ignores them.
Pepsi Convoy:	::Good! I was hoping for as much. It isn't as though I don't trust Glit - quite the opposite, really - but I couldn't help but think that I should double-check and make sure you were all right.:: He did, however, hear that sigh - which is probably the only reason why he isn't getting up to go see the other himself.
Dead End:	:: Yes, Glit is... knowledgeable in his field. :: He knows this from experience, not only the jaw and optics, but the aftermath of the incident he had had with Breakdown as well. With some belatedness- :: How are you? ::
Pepsi Convoy:	::I'm fairly well, I'd think. I spoke with Glit about my expiration date, and he believes there might be something to be done about it.:: He adds, with a chuckle- ::You might not have to destroy me after all.::
Dead End:	:: Very well. :: Stares blandly down at his datapad, seeing the text written but not reading it. :: You are not,... expiring as soon as you thought, then? ::
Pepsi Convoy:	::Perhaps not. Glit is, as you said, knowledgeable. We had a... minor setback, when he tried to look into some encrypted files left in my processors, but he still seems certain he'll be able to help.::
Pepsi Convoy:	Not sounding... hopeful, exactly - just mild, all mild
Dead End:	:: I see. :: Quieter than his normal tone. :: That is fortunate. :: And gone is the oddness.
Pepsi Convoy:	Smiles now, ceasing his labor for the moment. ::It is, if Glit is correct. Tenacious medic, really - even after I threw him into a wall he still wanted to help.::
Dead End:	:: He has patience with those he repairs. :: Most medics did. There were always those who became exasperated with his beliefs, though, but Decepticons wasn't known for great patience in the first place. :: Into a wall? :: Faintly curious. From what he knew, Convoy wasn't one to be easily riled up.
Pepsi Convoy:	::Ah... yes.:: Sounding mixed abashed and... something more melancholy ::He attempted to infiltrate one of the encrypted files on my processors, but apparently...:: Dryly ::It didn't like that.::
Dead End:	:: It did not like it. :: Some files had their own defense systems, but throwing the mech prying into them into a wall sounded a bit extreme - especially when the mech they were sealed in was Convoy, the peaceful one. :: Did you manage to hack them? ::
Pepsi Convoy:	::No, not at the present. They're still in here.:: Taps the side of his helm, even if Dead End can't see the motion. ::Glit is looking in to getting a professional on them, however.:: A pause ::I didn't have much of a choice in what I did to Glit, regarding the files. I suspect the one who built me might have given it such an extreme defense mechanism.::
Dead End:	:: It is logical. Valuable information must be protected, even if the cost is high. :: And the importance of destroying information that vital when in enemies' hands.
Pepsi Convoy:	::Though it's only caused me to become even more concerned with... It's strange to think of them.::
Dead End:	:: You do not know what is encrypted? ::
Pepsi Convoy:	::I have my suspicions, but we're not sure. I wasn't even aware that I had them, until Glit found them.::
Dead End:	:: And no one else has discovered them before? It would seem they are well hidden if that is the case. ::
Pepsi Convoy:	::Mm. Though, in my defense, I hadn't thought to let anyone in my head to look for anything. I thought I knew what was in my head.:: Wryly ::And then I threw Glit into a wall. I'm rather certain there's some secret in there.::
Dead End:	:: It may need someone less...careful than a medic to crack the code. Some mechs do not have the will to break through the encryption. ::
Pepsi Convoy:	::It most likely doesn't help that Glit is... well, rather small. Comparatively. It's a bit easier to throw him than someone else.:: A pause, and then, curiously: ::Would you have any recommendations, then?:: Since Dead End is always getting fucked up, right?
Dead End:	:: It has its advantages. :: Being small, that is. :: It would be easier to recommend if I knew just how the files were encrypted. :: And he wouldn't really mind looking at them himself, either.
Pepsi Convoy:	::Well, it's rather difficult for me to explain them - I've not much of a mind for things like this.:: Another pause, like he's making up his mind ::I doubt Glit would be sorely upset if I allowed you to look at them, if it could help you.::
Dead End:	:: Very well. Where would you prefer doing this? :: blandly
Pepsi Convoy:	::It doesn't particularly make a difference to me. I can meet you, if you'd like.:: Yet another pause ::...Though, I must warn you - I'm not precisely able to stop myself if you... try the files yourself. I'd rather not hurt you.::
Dead End:	If anyone is used to getting hurt by other mechs, Dead End would be a top candidate. :: My own quarters, or did you have another location in mind? :: A brief stretch of silence. :: I understand. ::
Pepsi Convoy:	That doesn't mean Convoy wants to be on the list of mechs who've hurt Dead End! ::I can come to you, then. Do you have any particular time, or are you free now?:: Is just now realizing that he might've interrupted Dead End.
Dead End:	There's a first time for everything. :: Now is fine. :: *Was reading, but this might be more interesting that Cybertronian literature.*
Pepsi Convoy:	::All right. I'll be over shortly, then.:: Might be more interesting, but then again, it might be just as dull as anything else. Who knows! Either way, Convoy's interested enough in seeing what, if anything, Dead End can figure from the files, and so he's already leaving his room to make the trek to the other's!
Dead End:	:: Very well. I will be awaiting you. :: Whether anything happens or not is up in the air, but whenever Dead End met up with Convoy things had a tendency to... deviate.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy takes a relatively short amount of time (for him, anyway) getting from his room to Dead End's. Deviate, what do you mean deviate,* everything always goes exactly as planned with these two! In either case, Convoy arrives after a while, knocking nice and polite on the door.*
Dead End:	Waits with good graces (if Dead End even has those), idly skimming through another page or two on his datapad. And you know* what I mean by deviate, if these two were science they'd be the chaos theory! Or just victims of their own twistedness. At the knock the Porsche moves to the door and opens it with a light tap on the keypad, greeting Convoy with a passive face.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Returns Dead End's passive expression with a smile of his own, nodding at the Stunticon. I don't know where you're getting these crazy heretic theories of yours. I think I'm getting a bit better at monitoring where I'm going, at the least. Are you positive you'd like to look into these files?
Dead End:	It's all science, bb. Better get used to it. He gestures for the other to enter his room. I am. Now get in and let the nice Decepticon probe you.
Pepsi Convoy:	Nice Decepticon? Well, at least Convoy thinks that's the case. He enters the room with Dead End's permission, looking about again for lack of much else to do until Dead End decides to get into his head. If you're sure, I won't stop you.
Dead End:	Convoy thinks most mechs are nice, it doesn't count. Closing the door, Dead End follows him into the room, looking at the other with a calm expression. It is as you wish. Are you having doubts?
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's optimistic, that's all. He looks back at Dead End, looking serious now. The last thing I wish to do is hurt you, Dead End. Which is why I want to make sure you honestly want to do this. I have no doubts that you'll know more about this than I would.
Dead End:	You need not concern yourself with my well-being, I will be fine. Opens a small panel on the side of his chestplate, reaching into a subspace compartment and grabbing an interfacing cable, which he plugs into a port newly revealed by the lack of panel. I trust you have something similar? indicates to the port
Pepsi Convoy:	I'm sure, but I do tend to worry. Convoy might not know a lot about how he works but he's good at copying others; he feels around a bit and, after a moment, he slides back a panel himself, smiling brightly. It seems like it, yes.
Dead End:	Good. And with that, he steps forwards, chests ending up inches from each other, and with a glance at Convoy's face he plugs the other end of the cable in, optics dimming slightly as he focuses on the connections to Convoy's systems. He feels around some to get a feel of how extensive Convoy's firewalls are, and to see how and where the mech likes his programs.
Pepsi Convoy:	Thankfully, Glit had been through recently and cleaned, streamlined, and defragged a lot of Convoy's main files - everything's relatively neatly ordered, as though someone relatively lazy had gone on a sudden organizing streak. The only things noticeably out of order are the encrypted files, which float pretty much undetected within Convoy's processors - well. They were* undetected, but now that Convoy knows they're there, he's not about to forget them. It's all rather normal, considering how abnormal Convoy is - except for the fact that he easily takes down his firewalls for the Stunticon. That's probably not normal.*
Dead End:	Is indeed not used to someone lowering their firewalls that quickly, even his fellow Stunticons had the wit to keep some* level of protection up, if only against unwanted viruses. He takes it in stride though, and with the freer reigns given the exploring gets more thorough, but he doesn't waste too much time with it, just enough to get a good sense of the other's systems, and then he turns his attention to what he was plugged in for in the first place - the encrypted files. Despite them being so very secret they aren't that hard to find (even if the messy way Convoy's files are organized makes it automatically harder), and in the first round he just takes a look at the code hiding the contents from view. When he thinks he's got a grip on it, he enters his own command for the files to open, with an extra something to it - courtesy of the encryption.*
Pepsi Convoy:	And those files don't particularly enjoy being commanded* to do anything - again, something in Convoy's processors just clicks together. His optics offline suddenly, and he lashes out with a hand, grabbing for Dead End's throat and looking to get the other Away, which is all those files really care about at this particular moment.*
Dead End:	Gets about a second's warning, which isn't really enough for Dead End to react, not when he's so focused with those files. A hand at his throat, while it's startling he's still been through worse, and he enters another, much more forceful command, intending to override whatever is overriding Convoy.
Pepsi Convoy:	Even more protocol kicks in, and Convoy clenches down on Dead End's throat, forcefully giving Dead End a second sort of warning, it seems - meanwhile, the encryptions change on the files, as though evolving to lock Dead End out even more than before.
Dead End:	Does not react kindly to that action, warnings telling him about the danger of the pressure put on his neck. It's flirting with painful, distinctly reminding him of his commander, and it's like something snaps* in his mind, and he backs off of the files for long enough to construct several lines of code, solid and strong, capable of punching straight through weaker programming, and sends it in the files' direction, his hands curling up into fists and lifting slightly, but doesn't do anything - yet.*
Pepsi Convoy:	These are hardly weak* files, however, and the code is very nearly absorbed into them - at the same time, Convoy grunts and his grip clamps down around Dead End's neck, squeezing. Thoughts consisting mostly of Don't Touch That running through his head, the occasional, worried feeling of Get Away From Them echoing through from what Convoy can muster under the protocols he's following.*
Dead End:	Engine revs in not-quite alarm, hands clenching hard and twitching, then - this is not Motormaster* - and with that he loosens the restraints he might've had, both hands going to Convoy's sides, probing for a seam and entering the mech's body when they find one, grabbing wires and yanking on them hard enough to sever them. He makes a low sound of pain, as one of Convoy's fingers pushes down on a little cluster of sensors. In a rush he makes new lines, as strong as he can make them, forcefully ramming them into the coding of the encryption, diagnostic warnings going off in rapid succession in his own processors.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's suddenly taking a step forward - never mind severed wires they're not important Get Him Away* - and his fingertips dig down into Dead End's neck, other hand reaching to grab at Dead End's chestplate. It doesn't hold on very tightly but the warning's there - possibly the only thing keeping Convoy from full on tearing into the Stunticon is the mech himself, forcing his body to restrain itself, even under increasing pressure to just let the files handle everything.*
Dead End:	Snatches more wires and tears them out of their port, gritting his dentals together against the data from his neck, spark flaring wildly. You will not* take his spark it's his and don't touch it. More hastily put together commands, almost as strong as the last one hurled against that Primus-condemned files. He is not backing down, you can't beat him just give in.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy feels* what Dead End is thinking - or hears it, or thinks the thought for his own, he's not sure- and in response he wrenches his had back from Dead End's chest, the entire movement feeling far too heavy for his liking, as if he can do much about it at all. It's like a magnetic pull, though, and Convoy forces his hand high to keep it away from Dead End's chest - and he smacks Dead End across the face with the back of his hand, hard.*
Dead End:	It's a surprise, and an unpleasant one at that, Convoy was never the mech Dead End had pegged down for smacking others around. The blow is hard enough to send his upper body reeling to the side, a sharp and short yell of surprise accompanying the force. Rage boils up in him when Convoy still doesn't let his neck go, pain receptors doing their thing with much glee it seems, even more warnings popping up. Annoying little things. Dead End tenses in Convoy's hold, just about ready to lash out vehemently when he relaxes, pulling back from the files and just barely hovers on the edge of the mech's systems, head bowing down as he suppresses all of the feelings and thoughts he has, only bitterness remaining.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's hand immediately loosens its grip as Dead End backs off of the files, optics onlining but remaining dim. It's easier to think, now, without protocols demanding that he take his friend out, and he moves his hand to the Stunticon's shoulder, looking down at him. Dead End.... Please don't do that again, I don't want to hurt you.
Dead End:	Mind blanks completely, much as it tends to do when he's dealing with Motormaster, answering with the most neutral tone imaginable. Yes? Do as you wish with me, I am nothing.
Pepsi Convoy:	No, no, no... His grip tightens slightly on Dead End's shoulder, and he pulls the other close - No, you aren't!** Dead End. Don't...
Dead End:	Lets Convoy drag him closer, face carefully void of emotion. As you wish. I will obey you.
Pepsi Convoy:	Can't help himself- It isn't me!
Dead End:	It does not matter. Straightens up slightly, not in any way challenging.
Pepsi Convoy:	Yes it does! Makes a helpless sound - he doesn't know what to do! Please, Dead End, please don't!**
Dead End:	How? Brief burst of something resembling emotion. As you wish, Pepsi Convoy.**
Pepsi Convoy:	It isn't me, I don't want you to obey me, I want you to think for yourself - you're so good at that, Dead End. His vocalizer is near shorting out, unable to really formulate anything. I want you to be yourself.**
Dead End:	I am... I have no self. Merely an appendage.
Pepsi Convoy:	You are not, Dead End. Quietly You have... your spark - you have that. That's yours, and no one can take it from you, and that means you have power over yourself - you're in control. He's not even quite sure what a spark is,* academically, but he knows he has one, and he knows what it feels like, so...*
Dead End:	I do not control my spark. It is... it belongs to the team. To Motormaster. Why else would he do all those things to it?
Pepsi Convoy:	It belongs to you. You may be part of a team but that doesn't -- that doesn't mean you aren't your own person. You can do -- Dead End.
Dead End:	A team is led, and so is its members. They do not influence the decisions made by their leader.
Pepsi Convoy:	Yes they do -- Dead End, look... There's a very large part of him that knows this is a bad idea,* but he reaches up to run fingertips against Dead End's helm, lowering his voice.* You have all the power here. You're the one connected in to me. I can imagine that you can do whatever you want before I have a chance to stop you.
Dead End:	Power does not work that way. Reaches into Convoy's processors. And if I did reprogram you?
Pepsi Convoy:	Power is to whoever has it. Weakly You have it all. He doesn't address the question - carefully ignoring it, really - because he's not about to give the other any sort of command.**
Dead End:	Sudden hate and vicious rage lashes out in Convoy's systems, shattering a small and mostly insignificant program into pieces. And you would let me.
Pepsi Convoy:	Yelps at the sudden attack, offlining his optics- ...Yes. And that's said with more conviction than he had thought he'd be able to muster.
Dead End:	Because I have power. Another program, nothing but broken lines of code now.
Pepsi Convoy:	Nngh.... His grip tightens slightly, reflexively out of the pain of feeling something inside* his head break-* It's all yours.
Dead End:	...as you wish. A pause, silence before the storm, as he builds up commands, powerful, merciless, utilizing whatever skill he has in the area of hacking, and without warning rams* it into the encryption of the files that has corrupted Convoy.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Screams, his whole body shuddering as his hands grapple for something vital to attack, protocols scrambling to produce something, anything to keep the assailant away - and a file doesn't so much open, as it crumbles, practically falling apart under Dead End's attack. That's not exactly opening the file, Dead End.*
Dead End:	Ignores the scream just like he ignored Breakdown's, constructing another, just as fierce command, but this time he lets the files be in peace, and instead goes for Convoy, the codes made to force him into opening the files himself.
Pepsi Convoy:	A garbled mess of noise escapes Convoy's vocalizer, and he ducks his head down against Dead End's - the file that the command forces him to attack himself shrieks* at him, several less-important bits of code destroying themselves for every moment Convoy holds against the encryption - STOP STOP STOP*
Dead End:	Nothing but uncaringness meets Convoy from the other end, and the Stunticon pushes harder, open it now, it's mine, let me have it. Loathing and rage* follows him when he makes an almost duplicate of the command he gave Convoy, albeit not as strong as the first one, and sends it in the files' direction. Could it resist attacks from two fronts at once?*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I CAN'T - Convoy screams again, dentals biting down against Dead End's helm. Another file is nearly immediately erased but Convoy grabs at one even as another, more important bit of code is destroyed, the file cracks, opening rather easily, even as Convoy nearly collapses against Dead End.*
Dead End:	*Do it. Notes the loss of some of the files, but if they weren't meant to be read he wasn't one to mourn - not that he does anyway, and he cancels the commands. The biting nags at his attention though, a mix between a growl and a grunt showing how much he likes it. A sharp yank at a cable - his hands still haven't left Convoy's sides - quit it. Grabbing the edges of the seams rather than the delicate wiring inside he keeps the mech close to him, supporting him with his own body so that the link won't be broken. Time to look into that file that opened, now.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy makes a soft noise and pulls away, dentals gritting as he onlines his optics to look at Dead End - you got through it, it hurts but you got through it. The file itself isn't something sinister, really, just a lot of protocols on how, exactly, Convoy's supposed to defend the Pepsi Company - but there's something wrong* with it. Parts of it are corrupted and malformed. Congratulations, Dead End, you found the file that changed Pepsi Convoy from being just another Pepsiman into who he is now.*
Dead End:	Reads through the file with a certain amount of interest, and he even contemplates making a copy for later study, to fix up those corruptions to see what the original code was. He prods at another file to see if they will open easier now, still holding Convoy up. Show me more.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy pushes back, physically, just slightly, even as Dead End pries. Need... Let me sit down -- don't want to fall on you...
Dead End:	Does not, on the other hand, back off, but raises the efforts he's putting into it while at the same time sliding his hands out of the seams to wrap them around Convoy, as additional means of holding him up. Show me.
Pepsi Convoy:	Shifts, trying to steady himself, going back in against the encryptions himself. Another minor program disintegrates as he tries to open another file, and he shudders violently, pulling back slightly from it. Nn...
Dead End:	tightens the grip around Convoy's waist, paying close attention to what the mech is doing within his processors, frowning when he retreats. Show me, Convoy.
Pepsi Convoy:	Hhhn. Forces himself to approach one of the files again, ordering it as best he can to open. It snaps out lines of code in response and Convoy grabs at Dead End tightly, crying out as the defense mechanisms start working on disrupting a larger program. It's something Convoy doesn't even know the exact purpose of, except that it's important,* and if it goes... But he keeps pushing anyway - just a little bit more...*
Dead End:	Sees the counteract the protocols does, and reacts by extending his firewalls to Convoy's programs, shielding them somewhat from the corrupting code - without Convoy the files were lost, after all. A brief squeeze of arms, either in comfort or concentration, but most likely it's the latter. You belong to me, now open.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Something clicks and Convoy pushes forward, forcing the file open. As soon as the encryption is separated from the file, it opens without a problem, defenses backing away from Dead End's firewall and the program itself. The file in itself is just a series of chemical makeups - along with blueprints of Convoy himself, though they're practically useless without a medic to look over them.
Dead End:	He looks over the file, having more interest in the blueprint than the chemical compounds, but nevertheless makes a copy of both this file and the one previously opened, putting them in a well protected folder deep in his own systems. Not done just yet, he urges Convoy to keep going, open the next file. With his own firewalls curled around his more important programs his presence in Convoy's mind is probably heavy and solid, just as calm as the mech himself usually is.
Pepsi Convoy:	Instead of moving forward, Convoy pulls back, slowly and almost jerkily, not really paying attention to much at all, other than the strange feeling of having someone else* in his head, someone cool and calm and not distracted as easily as him. It kind of feels nice.* ...No more, Dead End, please.
Dead End:	Doesn't move away, neither physically or mentally, but pauses in his prying. You can do it. It's not as reassuring as it is a plain statement, you can and you will* do it. His arms tighten around the mech again, wary of letting Convoy unplug himself.*
Pepsi Convoy:	No... You can. Quietly- I need to fix what's broken first. Let me rest before we try again. Please?
Dead End:	Then let me do it for you. Pushes up against the files again, preparing another few lines of command code, moving with a calm and precise mind.
Pepsi Convoy:	Please stop.
Dead End:	Stops at that, not just the words or tone but also the mind* of Convoy begging him to stop, and if the mech crashed right in the middle of opening a file it might get corrupted or lost, and while that would happen no matter what Dead End did he - for an inexplicable reason - didn't want it to happen.* Very well. He doesn't let go of Convoy, though, nor make any attempt to get out of his systems.
Pepsi Convoy:	Loosens his grip marginally, letting out a relieved sigh. He's fine with Dead End being there in his head - the other's personality is refreshing enough that it feels good* to have him there. He trusts Dead End utterly, as well, and so he lets the other know that with a stray thought, going almost limp against the Stunticon.*
Dead End:	Doesn't quite know why Convoy is trusting him so, and not after he almost tore his core systeming apart. He does, to a certain degree, understand why it's a good feeling for Convoy to have him there, the files are a mess, though it's fairly obvious someone has been doing some cleanup lately. He grunts softly as the weight of Convoy slumps against him, shifting a bit to better avoid him crashing onto the floor, keeping a firm grip around him. He isn't quite sure why he doesn't just let go, but opts for not dwelling on the thought. If he falls, he'll fall. Idly he starts going through other files saved, skimming over the contents.
Pepsi Convoy:	Lets Dead End do what he wants - he trusts all his friends implicitly, really. He has nothing to hide, either - most of the files are various music formats, saved journal entries from various journals (some of them are half-encrypted, as though Convoy tests his hacking skills as a pastime), and random notes on things like the way the freeway looks at dawn (wide, open, with the most dazzling displays of colors...) or how Pepsi tastes best served cold (on a hot summer's day, really, there's nothing like it). They're not in a particular order, but it's obvious Convoy knows his way around.
Dead End:	The way things are lined up are indeed very much like Convoy, it has some kind of order (or at least Dead End assumes, a mech without a sense of where they have their files saved is... unnatural). He reads through the various descriptions impassively, occasionally adding little mental notes of his own (highway - playground, freedom, destruction and speed), perhaps a bit bemused at how open* Convoy is. Absently paying attention to Convoy himself as he keeps hugging him close, he continues his little explorations of the truck's mind, surprisingly gentle in his metaphorical steps.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's hands slide from Dead End's shoulders to wrap around his upper back, tilting his head to rest it more on top of Dead End's. It's so strange to have someone really in his head - but he doesn't mind it at all, finding it almost comforting. It's reassuring, in a way, knowing that someone else can get in there if they need to. It makes things... easier. Nicer, really.
Dead End:	Engine rumbles as Convoy changes the position of his arms, the Stunticon not really used to having mechs this close without the promise of interfacing or punishment in the nearest future. Convoy is easy to read, though, even through the one-way link. Every now and then he opens a program, but is polite enough to close it before moving on, and when he eventually has gone through the directives he had interest in, he settles down, making more command codes for the resisting files, putting proper work into them, along with some extra twists to get the better of the encryption without destroying the files themselves. It's with a quiet air that he works, the feeling leaking over into Convoy's mind.
Pepsi Convoy:	Sighs, offlining his optics and preparing himself for another barrage on the encrypted files. It hurts to even try - to hurt Dead End like he did (some part of him knows* it was more than just his attacking Dead End physically that upset the other so), to not have control of himself... But if Dead End goes in again, he'll try to help. It helps to feel the other's calmness, though. Dead End knows what he's doing, as far as Convoy's concerned.*
Dead End:	Takes it without a rush, the hold on the truck firming up just before he feeds the command line to the encrypted files, mind remaining unstirred. Hacking isn't Dead End's specialty by a long shot, but as the vorns has gone past he's picked up the skill, and one should say he's decent at it, if nothing else. (The fact that he's not afraid to sacrifice other programs to crack them helps too.) He executes the command, open those files.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, engine whining slightly as his grip tightens again - and it does hurt, and the encrypted file does defend itself by lashing out and trying to get Convoy to - Get Him Away* but he forces past it, practically begging the file to give in without destroying him. It does, after a few moments, revealing nothing but more blueprints - though these look more like schematics for a weapon of some type.*
Dead End:	Is still protecting Convoy's vital programming with his firewalls, and just watches impassively as the mech battles against the files. He makes a copy of it and stores it with the other two as he reads over the contents, frowning lightly in thought. Weapon? It didn't look like anything Convoy had on him, as far as he had seen at least, and feeling intrigued, he starts making another command, probably noticeable for Convoy.
Pepsi Convoy:	Looks over the schematics himself, looking - and no doubt giving off vibes of being* - pleased.* ...Need that. He does* feel Dead End preparing for another round, and winces at the thought - not that he's going to move.*
Dead End:	Need that? Is somewhat disturbed in his concentration by Convoy's sudden words, glancing up at him, but sees mostly just his neck since the taller mech is busy leaning his head against Dead End's. He doesn't pause in the code-writing, however, but it does slow down.
Pepsi Convoy:	...Blueprints. They're for my weapon. Smiles slightly- It's been broken. I may be able to fix it, now that I have the designs.
Dead End:	I see. And who are you planning on using your weapon on? Is, perhaps, more interested in that comment that cracking the next file, now.
Pepsi Convoy:	...It's simply nice to have something to defend yourself with. Wouldn't use it on anyone.
Dead End:	Very well. Weapons are made to destroy.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces slightly at that. That's why I can never bring myself to use it. No one deserves to be hurt.**
Dead End:	Continues to make his command. Things built are meant to be broken.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Shifts slightly, smoothing a hand along Dead End's back plating - Not by me. I protect, not destroy.
Dead End:	*Then you will be destroyed as well. Finishes up his coding, he sends it to the still-remaining files without any further delay.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Drags his fingers across Dead End's back as he clenches his hand into a fist - Not if I can help it!* - but instead of attacking the files themselves, something changes in the code, sending it rebounding off into a weak spot in Dead End's firewall.*
Dead End:	Engine revs in surprise - It's not up to you* - hands clenching against the metal of Convoy's armor as his firewall takes the hit, slowly getting broken down by the corrupted code, much like a mole going through layers of dirt. He's loathe to let that enter his own systems, and the previous calm is replaced by a flurry of mental activity as he makes a counter-code to shut it down, uncertain of just how the code has been corrupted*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy tightens his own grip on Dead End, letting something very nearly like a growl escape his vocalizer as he throws his own firewalls back up, effectively shoving Dead End's back a bit. I won't let this get you.* The corrupted code attacks Convoy's firewall in the same way it had been Dead End's, but all Convoy's expecting to do is give the other time to fix it.*
Dead End:	Yells and flinches as Convoy's firewalls slam into his own, small pieces of code breaking from it, but nothing his self-repair systems wouldn't take care of when they had the time. His head thumps forwards onto Convoy's armor as he puts much effort into making that code, the grip on the mech loosening. One command line compiled and he shoves it at the code, watching it closely to see if it has any effect.
Pepsi Convoy:	Pulls Dead End up against him, holding onto him now, instead of the other way around - and he winces as the code digs in through his firewalls. The command Dead End sends out turns the malformed code into metaphorical dust - it was nothing more than a warning. Stop.**
Dead End:	Eyes the remains of the code warily, just how did those files change the coding to this?* It's too scattered now to get a look at how it was corrupted, though, and he turns his attention to the files themselves. He was willing to risk Convoy's programs for the sake of finding out what was in them, but not his own. Unsettled, he leaves them be.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Doesn't let down his own firewall protection, just as worried about that code as Dead End. I'm sorry.** ...What now? His voice is surprisingly steady, if a bit quiet
Dead End:	*Do not concern yourself. He has some trouble returning to his usual state of mind, no doubt easy to pick up on for Convoy. He doesn't know what comes now, and his voice is as quiet as Convoy's.* I am not sure.
Pepsi Convoy:	Takes a moment - feeling an uneasy Dead End is... strange, and a little worrying in itself - before pulling Dead End a bit, moving them both to the berth. He fairly pulls the other down with him as he sits, not caring about much more than the idea of sitting at the moment. I suppose we rest, then, for the time being.
Dead End:	More or less ends up half on Convoy's lap, still chest to chest with him. He dims his optics, processors still deviating from their standard activity level. Rest?** As you wish.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Deserve it. He reaches up, very nearly petting the tire on one of Dead End's shoulders, his own optics dim.* ...Thank you.
Dead End:	*Cannot. The arms around Convoy tighten slightly, almost as if the Stunticon was bracing against him.* You are welcome.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Yes, you can. Convoy's steady, now, and he has no problems holding Dead End up, running his hand against Dead End's tire.* You keep helping me. I'm grateful. Everything will be fine.
Dead End:	Everything is... I see. Stares somewhat dully at Convoy's armor, which is close, the gears in his neck tensing up. ...not fine.**
Pepsi Convoy:	*But it will be. There's no uncertainty there, and Convoy loops his arms around the Stunticon, giving him a firm hug. I promise, I'll do everything in my power to help you.*
Dead End:	*Nothing to help. He doesn't even shift to make it more comfortable, relaxing - going limp? - against the mech. Do not need help.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Not a matter of need. It's a matter of want. Convoy frowns, looking down at the Dead End. What do you want?*
Dead End:	*Do not want. Not need. Doesn't look up to meet Convoy's optics, isn't aware he's looking down at him at all. Nothing.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I'll be here when you do want. You have all the power. He's not exactly sure why he wants to even restate that, knowing what happened last time, but it feels important, like he needs to say it again.*
Dead End:	*All his. There's hate coming through the connection as he enters the topic of his commander; the wish to destroy, even kill. For him.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*No. All yours. Convoy accepts the hate, frowning. All yours.*
Dead End:	*His. Nothing, just his. The emotion builds up, not wild and uncontrolled, but vicious and concentrated. Not his anymore.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*You are your own person. You can take control. If he can, anyone can, Convoy figures - he's working at it, but he's doing it on his own, with his own will. Stronger than me - you can do it.*
Dead End:	*No control. Not his fate, not himself, not his actions - just passing the time till the day his spark goes out. I am...*
Pepsi Convoy:	Quietly Who has been fighting those encryptions? You, or your commander?
Dead End:	They were meant to be opened. A resignation, of sorts, what commander?
Pepsi Convoy:	No, they weren't. Still quiet - I know you're there.** You opened them. You are your own being, capable of your own choices. Everything has been at your will tonight, my friend.
Dead End:	Stretches out, slowly, into Convoy's mind, brushing against an important program - Want to destroy -* not as much calm as he's blank, held up by loathing (and Convoy).* It was not up to me.
Pepsi Convoy:	It was. It is. Shudders, slightly, feeling Dead End there and just... ...You have the power to do so.**
Dead End:	Letting the spoken words go without a reply, he does the equivalent of curling a fist around the program, giving it a squeeze. Would you stop me?**
Pepsi Convoy:	Groans quietly, wincing, but... I'm not strong enough to do so.**
Dead End:	Tightens the grip, optics still dim. You will expire.**
Pepsi Convoy:	....Someday, yes.
Dead End:	*And if that someday is today? Harder.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Nn... ...Then at least it's you, and not them.
Dead End:	You... Lessens the hold, lifting his forehead away from Convoy's armor to look up at him.
Pepsi Convoy:	Still looking down at Dead End with dimmed optics - he gives the other a quiet smile. Everything I feel is genuine.* It's not even a statement relating only to this - it's a full on, honest comment. Convoy believes everything he says, thinks, and feels.*
Dead End:	Meets the smile with a blank stare, not comprehending* Convoy. He grabs the program again, firmly but not as painfully as before, feeling at a loss for words, emotions, life, understanding. Why are you like this?*
Pepsi Convoy:	It's still a strange feeling, having someone holding onto you inside your own head, and he shudders slightly at the idea, though he doesn't stop smiling. I'm afraid I don't know. But that changes nothing.**
Dead End:	It's hard to miss the tremor going through Convoy's body when they are so close, and for a lack of a better description he gives the program a light caress, a softness that is rarely associated with the Stunticon Dead End. You are a mystery to me, Pepsi Convoy.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Laughs, very quietly, smile widening just slightly. I'm a bit of a mystery to myself.**
Dead End:	Mysteries are meant to be broken. And with that he turns the caress into a vice-like grip, still looking at him. Will you break for me?
Pepsi Convoy:	Yelps, offlining his optics suddenly - no no no no -* before he gathers his thoughts, onlining his optics again to stare back at Dead End with a quiet sort of determination. ...If you want it, how could I stop it? You have the power. He tenses, mentally, before sighing and lowering his head to bring their foreheads together. It would be better a friend do it than an enemy.*
Dead End:	Abruptly pulls away from Convoy's programs, like the lines of code making it real were agony to hold on to. You are too unconditional.* Says it harshly, it's a bad thing you can't be trusting it's not possible. He braces his hands against the berth, tilting head up to give Convoy a hard kiss, the softness shown earlier non-existing.*
Pepsi Convoy:	But Convoy's living proof that it's possible to trust, and he's surprised when Dead End kisses him - but he relaxes his posture and meets the kiss as he always does, returning it with sincere kindness. Maybe so. But I'm happy as I am.**
Dead End:	*Happy as you are. Not good enough, disappointing, always leaving something to be desired. Deserving punishment. Unwanted. The kiss turns crushing, anger surfacing in his processors. How dared Convoy be happy with himself?*
Pepsi Convoy:	Grunts as the kiss turns harsher, pushing back against Dead End's mouth with his own and refusing to be angry. Not unwanted. Fine the way you are.* He keeps running his hand along Dead End's wheel, gently - there's nothing rushing Convoy.*
Dead End:	Almost shoves himself against Convoy, kiss never getting lighter as he grips the berth's edge. Do not want, is not wanted, it will not be fine.* Engine growls while he feels the hand on his tire; the registered feeling a nudge at his consciousness.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Isn't one for passion, really - definitely not in the way Dead End is - but he give it his best, looping the arm not caressing the tire around Dead End, pulling him up and holding him against his chest. It will be fine, you'll be okay, I'm here and I want to help you.**
Dead End:	At those...thoughts, not words, he lashes out into Convoy's mind, taking a painfully strong hold on one of the most vital programs he can find, body going taut. Do not need help.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Makes a soft noise, his own body tensing. ...Yes, you do.* It's a gut reaction kind of thought - not even what he would say if he were given the chance to think about it privately, but it's there now, so he sighs. You do. I want to help.*
Dead End:	Clenches the lines of code hard, digging metaphorical fingers into it. Anger is long gone and its stand-in is rage, but it's not as directed towards Convoy as one might think. Be quiet. Do not need.**
Pepsi Convoy:	*Let me help you. Convoy's not paying attention to the fact that his engine is whining and the fact that his head hurts - all he cares about is Dead End's wellbeing. You're my friend. Let me help you as you've helped me.*
Dead End:	*Nothing to help, there is nothing. Isn't giving Convoy any leeway, fingers gripping the berth hard enough to make the internal components protest. I am nothing, need nothing deserve nothing cannot have...*
Pepsi Convoy:	*You have me. Convoy tightens his grip slightly, holding on to Dead End. You have me, you have brothers - friends - you have me, you deserve to be happy.*
Dead End:	*There is no happy. The hold is so hard it's starting to break off lines of coding, kiss a standstill as his entire body tenses up, shivering lightly from the energy waiting to be let loose. Only pain and hate.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Makes a keening noise, error warnings popping up all around him - There's me. I'm here, I'm happy, I'm glad you're here please let me help you.**
Dead End:	Motor makes a tormented sound, all that power being poured into it with no way to go, the potential energy building up rapidly. ...do not need help, be quiet leave unwanted.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Suddenly pushes into the kiss that had been all but abandoned, gently but insistently - then let me do what you do want me to do, want to help you you're my friend.**
Dead End:	Slowly, so slowly it's hard to notice at first he lets go, a somewhat resigned annoyance coming from his mind. Do not need. Am not broken.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Not broken. Convoy agrees instinctively, keeping himself in the kiss and onlining his optics to look at Dead End. Not broken, but if you want I'm here nonetheless.*
Dead End:	Not broken, do not need repair. Help. Unfreezes enough to respond to the kiss, not by a far cry with as much feeling as before. Want you, need you?**
Pepsi Convoy:	*I'm here for you. He relaxes his grip, just slightly, enough to move his hand up against Dead End's neck - he doesn't mind the lack of feeling, really - he's just glad the other's responding at all. Not going unless you ask me to.*
Dead End:	*Do not want, nor need. Not my -- right. Body uncoils gradually under the touch, but the sounds from his engine doesn't go away, just quiet down some.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*...I'm giving you the right. You have the right to me, at the very least. Convoy keeps his touches gentle, not liking the sounds Dead End's engine is making but unable to really stop it. You are free with me.*
Dead End:	*You are not the one able to give me, only him.. no one. Leans against the mech, not offering any visible reaction to the insistent touches. ...there is no freedom for Dead End.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*You are the one in control. Continues massaging, really, Dead End's neck, keeping his optics on him. You are in control here, Dead End. You have the freedom to do as you will.*
Dead End:	Isn't looking at Convoy, not really, even though his optics are locked onto his face. Stop talking.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Something comes over him at the order - the blatant order, the might not be a friend, might just be using me* - he offlines his optics and nods very slightly, keeping his hand smoothing over the metal of Dead End's neck. Alright.*
Dead End:	A brief chaos breaks out in his mind and by extension Convoy's, going quiet as sudden as it had gone mad. There are no friends.* And, in turn, he deepens the kiss, nothing more betraying what he feels or thinks.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy keeps his mind as blank as possible, really - trying not to even think is strangely easy with Dead End in his head. As Dead End deepens the kiss, he meets it with equal force, fingers pressing down against wiring and holding Dead End close. One stray thought, though, comes through - Hope there are.**
Dead End:	*Hope is wrong. Quiet, like a thought that are silently admitted to yourself. Easing up the tight hold he has on the berth the Stunticon puts his hands just behind Convoy's hip joints, fingers slowly moving over a seam.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Maybe. But I still believe in it. It's strange for Convoy, every time people touch him - it feels strangely good but in a vague sort of way, like the sensors are dulled. Still, he gets it - he's very tactile - and so he goes along with it, feeling along fuel lines in Dead End's neck and the treads of his tire.*
Dead End:	*Foolish. The lack of actual intent to hurt may be startling to some, but Dead End has calmed down - closed off - from his earlier upset mind, though it's still different from how he was when he first entered Convoy's head. His engine, however, hasn't changed its tune, but it doesn't seem like the sports car cares as he drags fingertips over the armored edges.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Maybe. Don't hide from me, Dead End. Because it is different, and Convoy doesn't like the idea of Dead End not... being himself for his sake. He pulls his hand from Dead End's wheel and drops it to the Stunticon's waist, petting the metal there quietly and pushing up more, into the kiss. You're your own person.*
Dead End:	I do not hide, Pepsi Convoy. It doesn't warp back, however, neither does it shift into something else. Hands in Convoy's seams tighten their hold, was* he his own person? In a way, he was two, but the other only lived when all five Stunticons bonded and combined into Menasor; a turmoil of all their minds melted together. Dead End, on the other hand, existed when Menasor did not, always feeling the presence of Menasor - his combiner team.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Feels Dead End's grip tighten, and he sighs, quietly, pulling back from the kiss to look at Dead End fully. You never need to worry around me. I like you for who you are, my friend.
Dead End:	Optics flicker for a moment as he returns the look, and after a pause he gives the truck a little gift of his own; the extreme feelings of hate, fear, power, the desire to destroy, everything that comes with combining into Menasor. He might be his own person, but he's also his gestalt, and everything that comes with it.
Pepsi Convoy:	Looks surprised, maybe, for a brief instant, before his expression twists into one of pain, hands digging in where they are and optics locked on Dead End. He makes a low noise, optics flickering, and then forcefully relaxes himself, smoothing his hands over metal. It hurts you?**
Dead End:	*Hurts? It was just Menasor, like he had always been - almost always been. Confusion runs across his face quickly before disappearing. It is normal.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Normalcy can still hurt. Convoy continues stroking the metal beneath his fingers, looking at Dead End quietly. His feelings hurt the semi, but he's not about to pull away because of it. I like you for who you are.*
Dead End:	It is what we are. Tilting his chin slightly upwards, he looks straight into Convoy's optics, his own not as bright as usual. He isn't one to care about hurting others, except for when he's wanting to do so, but this mech was... different. It is what I am.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Then I'll accept it. The thought is quiet itself, but Convoy has no problem smiling at Dead End through the pain. I don't mind.*
Dead End:	It was what they used* to be, at least, before Motormaster had decided that Menasor was no more, that buzz in his spark a lie. A small branch of hurt, all those years were always meant to be nothing? Very well.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Still means something. Convoy takes the initiative, leaning forward and kissing Dead End again. You're still you.*
Dead End:	*I can still feel him. Always there, even though he's no more. It's more like a background noise than anything clear and dominant, but nevertheless it's there. He presses against the truck, hard enough to push him back slightly on the berth. I am not.*
Pepsi Convoy:	I can feel you. Does that mean I am you?
Dead End:	Will you still feel me when I am gone?
Pepsi Convoy:	*I know I'll still care. He finally relents against Dead End's pressure, shifting to pull them both actually on to the berth, holding the Stunticon close.*
Dead End:	But I will still be gone. He looks at Convoy, at the same time moving his consciousness further into the mech's mind, lazily so. And they will feel me missing as well.**
Pepsi Convoy:	They will also feel you. Even if you're gone, people will still remember you.
Dead End:	*And they will suffer for it. Changes the positions of his legs a bit, removing some of the uncomfortable angle that his sensors kept bothering him about, engine quiet and still sounding a bit off, but much more like a normal motor.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I won't suffer for remembering you. Convoy runs his hand from Dead End's neck down to his back, repeating the motion over and over again.*
Dead End:	*You are not a part of the gestalt. You cannot understand. Is more or less leaning his entire upper torso weight against Convoy at the moment, fingers still moving inside those seams.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Maybe not. But you're here, now, and that is what I do understand. Convoy lowers himself so he's more or less laying with the Stunticon on top of him, giving him more of a hug than a caress. And I'm here for you.*
Dead End:	*Then you understand little. Not mocking, per say, just calmly. He doesn't react much to the change in positions, merely adjusts himself to the new situation. I am here.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I suppose not. Convoy chuckles quietly, running his hand along Dead End's back in a comforting kind of pet. But I try. True concern seeps into his thoughts, Are you all right?*
Dead End:	You do not mind. He lets his fingers travel further into the seam, gathering wiring between them. I am fine.* Are you?*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I don't mind not knowing everything. Sensors alert him to Dead End's wandering touches, and he grunts softly, shifting under the Stunticon slightly - and coincidentally making the seam easier to access. I'll be fine, yes.*
Dead End:	*You are still too new. The Stunticon isn't adverse to capturing the opportunity, and he feels little rush in doing so. Almost lazily, he stretches his fingers out to lightly snag wires and cables, mind going back to one of the directives in specific - one containing the most comments on things. Very well.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I'll learn. Convoy lets the Stunticon wander freely in his head, not worried in the slightest - at least, not for himself. His own hand slips up Dead End's back, fingers again brushing at the back of his neck.*
Dead End:	*You will. There's still some puzzlement over the openness to his mind, Dead End not being quite so willing himself to let mechs search his systems with no restraints. Looking down at Convoy, impassively, he starts making long and complicated lines of code.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Someday. Convoy sighs and tilts his head, seeing Dead End's up to something, but trusting him too much to really mind.*
Dead End:	*Yes. He continues making it, hands slowing down as he works on line after line.*
Pepsi Convoy:	A small bit of uncertainty enters his mind at Dead End's actions, but quite frankly, if Dead End decides to go after those encrypted files again now,* he'll be... okay with it.*
Dead End:	Notes the change but it doesn't affect him or the pace he's going at. After looking over what he's written of the code so far he nods very faintly with satisfaction, and transfers the file to Convoy's systems. Here.* It's a heavily encrypted and solid folder, which should be easy enough for Convoy to open, but still too complex to keep other mechs out.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Accepts the file with no small bit of confusion. What's...?**
Dead End:	*It is a folder to store files in. Convoy wasn't good at encrypting, which was painfully obvious when he went around in the different folders and programs.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy blinks, optics focusing on Dead End's face for a long moment, before he leans up and kisses the other gently. He gets it, just by looking at the encryptions on the folder, what it's exactly for. Thank you.**
Dead End:	That he's put in a couple of twists in the encryption remains silent, Convoy doesn't have to know that. The Porsche watches the other with disinterest as Convoy studies it. Use it.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Not like Convoy's going to notice, anyway, right? He looks the folder over for a moment longer, before looking back to Dead End, fully. I will, I promise.**
Dead End:	That is the logic Dead End is using indeed. Looking back at him the Stunticon nears the encrypted files Convoy has again, but doesn't have a command prepared.
Pepsi Convoy:	Tenses nonetheless, slightly, looking at the files themselves for a long moment. ...I don't know if I want to know.**
Dead End:	*You are not the one opening them. A simple line, fed straight to the files.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Grits his dentals, wincing and clenching his hand down against the back of Dead End's neck as defense protocols kick in once more. The other hand immediately slides to the wire connecting them, tensing around it near Dead End's port.
Dead End:	When he notices what Convoy - the files - are trying to do, he slides his hand out of the seam to grip Convoy's wrist firmly, using his weight to push it against the berth. Don't disconnect them just yet, no. More commands, still simple, easy to destroy if they should become corrupted.
Pepsi Convoy:	All he can think is that he should be getting Dead End away* - whether that's for Dead End's protection or the files', he doesn't know - but he tries to keep from twisting around too much. Dead End's the only thing holding him down, really. One of the files cracks, finally, and Convoy gasps slightly in relief, relaxing slightly in Dead End's grip.*
Dead End:	Feels most of the movements Convoy makes, seeing as he's lying on top of him, even if he has lifted some of his weight off of the semi to pin his wrist down. He opens the file and studies it, more chemical makeupery. As he did with the others, he copies and saves the contents in his own systems; his interest lays in hacking the next file, not chemistry.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces in anticipation of more encryption-enforced pain, but - nothing comes. He frowns, the lack of pain almost more hurtful. He's so distracted by the lack of reaction from the files that he doesn't notice the file getting sent right back at the attacking “program.”
Dead End:	Dead End looks over to Convoy when the mech gets distracted, so far he hadn't done that while the Stunticon was in his mind, in turn taking his attention off of the file getting saved. Unfortunately for both involved, the attacker of the files is Dead End, and he isn't aware of the malevolency hidden in lines of code until a warning pops up. Frowning, he reads it, cursing loudly (mentally and out loud) in Cybertronian when a virus become more obvious, already well in their way of corrupting the files in the folder he saved them in, spreading into his other files and programs rapidly.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy yelps at the swearing, staring at Dead End in confusion. What?
Dead End:	Doesn't answer, too busy trying to contain and kill the virus, but it changes too often and too quickly for him to achieve much success, the copies of the encrypted files already ruined and malformed beyond saving, the whole folder made useless. He knows most of the things in that section of his mainframe are encrypted and important, and the virus just moves too damn fast
Pepsi Convoy:	Can feel tension building from inside Dead End, and realizes suddenly that there's probably a very good reason he didn't feel anything - what did it do?!**
Dead End:	Goes utterly still for a brief moment as the changed-again* virus starts to rewrite a program, tensing up and wincing in pain - destroying - unable to really take anything out of harm's way. He yells in anger (and stress) when a folder of great importance to him is ruined, nothing but stray lines and hard code of 59 4f 55 20 57 49 4c 4c 20 44 52 49 4e 4b 20 50 45 50 53 49 20 2f 2f 45 4e 44 20 4c 49 4e 45 0d 0a 59 4f 55 20 57 49 4c 4c 20 4c 49 4b 45 20 50 45 50 53 49 20 2f 2f 45 4e 44 20 4c 49 4e 45 0d 0a 59 4f 55 20 57 49 4c 4c 20 4f 42 45 59 20 50 45 50 53 49 20 2f 2f 45 4e 44 20 4c 49 4e 45*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy sees the code and he knows that code.* Uncharacteristic for him, Convoy himself swears loudly, grabbing at Dead End's shoulders. STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! He works, rather frantically (and not at all expertly), at reworking the mostly-one-way linkup between them so he can help the other - let me help let me help-*
Dead End:	Rips his hand none-too-gently out of Convoy's seam, half-curling into a fist, wires so taut you could snap them in two with next to no pressure. He abandons his deemed-unimportant files to themselves, coding and re-coding, entering commands and does what he can to stop the bad file. It morphs and branches and evades his attempts, and he screams as the virus starts working - ruining* - one of his more vital programs, pain unfamiliar and too close.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Abandons all other pretense of thought, focusing solely on reworking the connection. Convoy's mind is otherwise a panicked mess, but he forces the connection to work the other way now, work for me,* targeting the area the file is attacking and throwing firewalls up to pad (protect) the files that are being attacked. Dead End!*
Dead End:	Senses Convoy and lets him in without too much trouble, his firewalls useless as the corrupted code has already entered - been invited.* The virus seems to skip over the files covered by Convoy's firewall, leaving the programs to shatter other, unprotected - visible - ones. The Stunticon's optics dim as processing power is not only used elsewhere, but also taken away, a foot thumping down hard on the berth in an almost-kick. Pepsi--*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Dead End Dead End Dead End - Convoy swears, using his own antivirus protections on Dead End - practically networking himself with the Stunticon. I won't let it hurt you please stop stop stop stop -*
Dead End:	As the virus attacks a very vital part of his core systems, Dead End lets out a horrifying shriek of pain, one fist slamming onto the berth and the other spasming. It stops and moves to a directive full of recordings and other audio when Convoy blankets the sports car's systems with his own, the mech himself letting out a weak sound and slumping against the semi.
Pepsi Convoy:	*DEAD END. Convoy moans desperately, sliding his hands along the other's back and neck as his antivirus goes to work trying to delete and purge the virus in question from the Stunticon's system, the semi letting his mind fall into a jumbled mess of panic now that his programs are helping the Stunticon - he reaches down and grabs Dead End's hand, holding tightly. Please talk to me please!*
Dead End:	Anguish and chaos - broken bits of lines, scattered bytes of data everywhere, that code* standing out in firm contrast against the programs that are so very Dead End. Few of the idiosyncrasies that make up the Stunticon is present, if any at all; self-repair systems kicking in and taking over. Hands remain stiff, it's clear from the mental connection that he's still alive, but Dead End is suppressed as essential bits of data is restored, or rebuilt, all unnecessary processes turned off.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Firmly ignores the code from the virus, letting his antivirus take care of any of that - he's not sure what* happened, but he drags his fingers gently along Dead End's back and forcefully calming himself down, moving in further into the Stunticon's head and bringing all the calm, peaceful feeling he can muster. It's all right. I'm sorry.*
Dead End:	Is eerily quiet for some time, both in mind and body. He returns gradually as the repair's progress improve, joints letting up on the pressure on their internals. Slowly he surveils the damage done, a sense of - regret?* as he notes the total destruction of a certain pair of folders. No matter. It is gone now. Both the files and most of the virus.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Continues moving his hands along Dead End's back, keeping calm. He frowns at the damage done. I know. ...What was it?* Whether he means the virus or the files - well, he means both, but he won't pry too much.*
Dead End:	Dead End keeps feeling a bit subdued, both him and his programs going over what's been irreplaceably lost and what can be restored, and what remains overwritten and undeletable - the hex from the Trojan proving to be difficult to remove, if it can be at all. Corrupted data. Virus.* He doesn't have much intent about telling what was in those files; buried deep as they was they had been intimately personal for quite some time.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*...I'm sorry. It bears repeating, in Convoy's opinion, and he frowns. No copies?*
Dead End:	No. He's a bit imbalanced by just how easily the virus had hacked those, considering the all the precautions he had taken to make sure they stayed intact. A faint, very faint, sadness.
Pepsi Convoy:	...This is my fault. He says it quietly, hands stilling, and offlines his optics. I shouldn't have... Shouldn't have what,* he doesn't know exactly, so he trails off.*
Dead End:	It's a somewhat strange feeling of having Convoy in his mind. He'd had other mechs there before, not often, but enough to make it a slightly familiar feeling. Those minds had been sharp, though, organized and dangerous, while Convoy's was not. It was almost like a sparkling getting to know something better, and in a way it was.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's not getting kicked out, and until then, he's content to keep calm and quietly overlook what the virus from the encrypted files has done. He's still, though - almost tense, not really sure why* Dead End isn't forcing him out to cancel the connection that resulted in this.*
Dead End:	There is a possibility Dead End has become used to having Convoy there, the semi is a relatively easy mech to have in his min, perhaps because of his simplemindedness - not that Dead End has that many negative thoughts on that subject. Taking a general view of his directories, he sighs in resignation. Do not worry.
Pepsi Convoy:	I can't help it. His voice is slightly weak, and he tilts his head a bit, looking at Dead End with unhidden worry. I hurt you, and I didn't mean to.
Dead End:	Deletes a folder full of corrupted, and unrepairable files, optics onlining, but working with reduced power, and Dead End looks at Convoy, impassively. Then it was you who attacked me.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, looking at Dead End quietly. ...I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. I'm sorry. I should have been paying attention. His voice grows quiet as he speaks, barely audible by the end.
Dead End:	Doubts Convoy knows how to make a Trojan with that kind of complexity, and after having spent some time inside his head he also doubted Convoy would do it on purpose. He's a bit mellow, after the havoc wreaked on him, and not as much cold uncaringness as disinterest reflects in his tone. I see.
Pepsi Convoy:	Now he's not even sure what he should be doing, and he pulls back, slightly, both physically and mentally (though he can't move much, really) - a hand slides and lightly touches the cord connecting them - Should I go?**
Dead End:	*If you wish. The Stunticon is being truly indifferent, regarding a new piece of coding with idle interest. More of that meaningless manifesto-like lines. Slowly, his head sinks down to lean against Convoy's chassis, rumbles from his motor almost lazy.*
Pepsi Convoy:	...That's contradictory. Convoy doesn't want* to leave, and... He leans back more into the berth, raising his hand from the plug to the back of Dead End's helm, offlining his optics. I don't want to.*
Dead End:	*Then don't. Leaves most of the nitpicking of files up to his diagnostic systems, he himself just relaxing against the semi.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy relaxes against the berth - goes limp, maybe, tired as he suddenly feels - and he lies there in silence with the Stunticon for a while, humming small random sets of notes to help him focus and mentally relax. It's a sort of stress-reliever, really.
Dead End:	Is almost too* calm and relaxed, half-listening to Convoy and half-idling, optics shining with mute colors. He had heard - seen? - most of the songs before, when he was going through Convoy's folders, so none of them have that new quality to them.*
Pepsi Convoy:	There's no such thing as too* calm for Convoy after that attack, and he figures that Dead End will do something to alert him to any problems. Until then, he just keeps humming, quietly, moving his hands only slightly against the Stunticon.*
Dead End:	Dead End is rapidly falling into a state of inactivity while he lies on top of Convoy, even his self-repair and diagnostic going dormant, only the slightest of scans still operative.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy does* notice that, and while he can't trigger self-repairs, he can keep his antivirus checking and double-checking Dead End's processors, sighing and giving the Stunticon a squeeze. I'm sorry.*
Dead End:	Nothing comes back to Convoy as a response, engine so quiet it can barely be heard. Something's up, and it may not be all good.
Pepsi Convoy:	*...Dead End? Convoy shifts, onlining his optics and looking at the Stunticon, frowning. He puts his hand on the other's shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.*
Dead End:	No reaction, though his body moves easily enough with the shake.
Pepsi Convoy:	...Dead End. Convoy pushes himself up on an elbow, gripping the other's shoulder and giving him another nudge. This isn't right-
Dead End:	A hand slides down to rest against the berth in a slightly awkward angle, systems still not responding.
Pepsi Convoy:	Dead End. Panic starts to rise again, but Convoy pushes it away, actually looking* at the other. The thought of fetching a medic briefly crosses his mind, but he doesn't think Dead End would be particularly pleased with that.*
Dead End:	Would indeed not be happy with having a medic prying* around in his processors, which was about as private as you got. A program starts running, but it seems to be more routine than actual activity, and it's slow and laggy, despite no other programs running.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Unsure as to what he should do, he sits up, pulling Dead End into his lap once more - half hoping that jostling him will snap him out of it. Wake up, Dead End...**
Dead End:	Nothing. The lone program still runs, silent and almost echoing in the usually active mind.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy frowns, shaking Dead End again. Random bits of song float through his head (and perhaps, by extension, Dead End's), as they tend to do when he's trying to stay calm, though he wouldn't be able to place them at the moment, too focused on the Stunticon.
Dead End:	The words and music drift around back to Convoy in Dead End's mind, unchanged and unchanging. The lonely process continues, unheeding of Convoy's presence.
Pepsi Convoy:	Unable to keep himself from growing at least slightly worried, Convoy pulls back his firewalls and anti-virus, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction - anything, really - from the Stunticon. Dead End...?
Dead End:	The program speeds up as the foreign software retreats, but there still isn't any real reaction from the Decepticon. The change in pace increases steadily until it stops, which triggers another program to start up, this one bigger and claiming more power.
Pepsi Convoy:	...Programs are good, at least, right? That's the only thing keeping Convoy from panicking, really, and so he instead hums a bit more, watching both Dead End's body and processors, noting every change he might see.
Dead End:	It really would depend on the program, one should think. This program however starts taking pieces of files and deleting them, activity level rising but there is still no sign of a conscious Dead End in there.
Pepsi Convoy:	*That isn't right. Convoy immediately pushes his firewalls back, protecting files as best he can. DEAD END.*
Dead End:	The program isn't too hindered by the firewall, going through backdoors and continuing what it did in the beginning, though it's slowed down by it.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's not sure at this point what* that thing is, but if it's using backdoor programs to do what it wants - he throws caution to the wind and goes digging, looking for the source and you bet he's going to turn the thing off at the root. Dead End, give me something!*
Dead End:	There is nothing there to give anything, program still working with an even pace, file after file going. So far it's only gone for the less important files, but as it reaches the end of the line of folders it's currently working on it moves onto Dead End's memory banks.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy swears again, and at this point? He's fed up with it. It can't be important* if it's destroying important files. Convoy's engine revs slightly as he basically takes hold of the program with his firewall, looking to purge the thing directly from Dead End.*
Dead End:	The corrupt program jumps over to Convoy's firewall instead, and without stopping it starts eating away at the coding there, slowing down considerably as the sheer amount of data that is the firewall makes it harder to delete.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, optics narrowing. No. Convoy can't get the file to delete itself on Dead End's processors - so he starts up a transfer. If he can't take it out on the Stunticon, then he'll do it himself.**
Dead End:	It transfers easily, only made to destroy every file it can get its hold on. Once in the semi's systems, it moves away from the firewall and to the folders of music, which disappear at a faster rate than the firewall, but still slower than in Dead End's mind. It won't take it too long to go to the next folder and start deleting those files, though.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's engine sputters at that, and he immediately goes to deleting the program - nasty little thing, really, but when set up in a surprisingly sturdy (and luckily badly-organized) mind? It stands a good chance of not surviving this encounter. Convoy's systems find the program easily, and it only takes it a scant few moments to purge it from his system - even though it got most of his music, that's all replaceable.
Dead End:	Dead End still isn't moving, or thinking, and his optics go offline completely as his systems reboot, connection cut off without warning or sympathy. It takes a long, painfully long time to start up again, scan after scan being run, the things too ruined dumped, or contained. He does come online eventually, optics coming back online and with them the connection between the two mechs.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy takes the reboot time to double-check his own systems, checking for any traces of the virus or the program that spawned it - but there's nothing. When he sees Dead End's optics come back on, he immediately tests the connection, making sure nothing is on either side for the other to be infected with. Dead End...?**
Dead End:	*Yes? He tilts his head slightly to look up at Convoy, a bit puzzled at the tentative tone the semi uses.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Are you all right? There's definite worry there, and he looks utterly concerned for the other, giving him a slight squeeze.*
Dead End:	*I must have fallen into recharge. I apologize. Doesn't sound entirely convinced by this himself, but it's the explanation that fits the best so he goes with it.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*...Check your systems. Everything is there? He'll tell Dead End what happened - but it's better to check, first. If nothing serious is damaged, it won't be too difficult to fix.*
Dead End:	*Yes. An underlying question, why so concerned with his systems?*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Are you certain? Convoy looks relieved, even though he's double-checking. ...It attacked you again.*
Dead End:	Yes. He checks his programs and folders himself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary - not even when he looks over a file containing nothing but hex. It?**
Pepsi Convoy:	The virus. Are you certain you're all right?
Dead End:	You already took care of it. Why would I not be 'all right'?
Pepsi Convoy:	*...I thought I might not have gotten to you in time. He frowns, looking at Dead End critically. If anything hurts, tell me. At any time.*
Dead End:	I am fine. Something is feeling slightly off, though, but he can't pinpoint it exactly. Maybe it was just the feeling up waking up with Convoy's worried mind there being what is throwing him off. As you wish.**
Pepsi Convoy:	*You worried me. Convoy retreats, slightly hesitantly, back, letting Dead End have his head more to himself again.*
Dead End:	Appreciates the extra headspace he gets from Convoy stepping back, it makes it feel more normal. A rising sense of uncertainty, though, as he runs a through check. Wasn't there a folder missing? Scan comes through ok, but he isn't quite reassured.
Pepsi Convoy:	I'm worried about this, Dead End. Frowning, looking at the encrypted files again. They shouldn't be able to do that...?
Dead End:	To create a virus? It is not that hard. Dead End could do it, given enough time.
Pepsi Convoy:	They're just files. Almost annoyedly- It worries me.
Dead End:	They have not done it before. At least he hadn't detected anything like that in Convoy's systems when he had been checking it out.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Glit shouldn't have found them. The thought isn't even given any attention - just something Convoy lets through in his negligence.*
Dead End:	Who would you rather have find th-them?
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy frowns, suddenly. Dead End?**
Dead End:	Yes, Convoy? Sounds a bit annoyed, what was with this new habit of saying his name?
Pepsi Convoy:	*....Nothing. The stutter worries him slightly, but he pushes it aside. ...I don't think they were meant to be found.*
Dead End:	*Then they should have been hidden better. Definitely sounds annoyed now.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*They... I hurt you. Quietly enough to not raise any real attention to the idea, the statement just... there.*
Dead End:	I am used to pain.
Pepsi Convoy:	I don't want to cause you pain. I want you safe.
Dead End:	Safe from hurt?
Pepsi Convoy:	Safe from pain. I don't want you to hurt.
Dead End:	How will you keep me safe? You cannot lock me in. In.
Pepsi Convoy:	Shakes his head, frowning slightly at Dead End - Never lock you up. Call me and I'll come to help you. He refrains from mentioning the repeat... something's wrong.
Dead End:	And if I do not call you? You will fail in your goal.
Pepsi Convoy:	...Why wouldn't you call?
Dead End:	Pauses. There was Stunticon business, but they weren't of any concern anymore. No Stunticons... I am not sure.**
Pepsi Convoy:	*No matter who hurts you. Convoy shifts to lock optics with Dead End, face openly betraying how honest he's being. No matter who or what. I will defend you.*
Dead End:	He looks back at him, impassively, but his mind betrays some emotion; irritation, confusion, doubt. No matter who hurts you.**
Pepsi Convoy:	You're my friend. I won't let anyone hurt you.
Dead End:	Friend? Interfacing, with whoever had captured his optic, or had caught him, gestalt... not the same. He frowns. And if you could not stop it?* He slides a hand up the semi's side, dragging fingers over the metal. And if you could not stop it?*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I will find a way. He pauses, looking at Dead End - he doesn't think he should bring it up, but...*
Dead End:	*As you wish. Any glitches in his speech go by undetected by himself, and he leans forwards, upper body lying heavily against Convoy's.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*...Don't you want to be happy? The constant "as you wish"s make Convoy think of someone being ordered to do something - and he doesn't want to order anyone to do anything, ever.*
Dead End:	*What I want do not matter-er. Convoy might not be so far from the truth, it was a handy phrase to use with higher command, they liked obediency, not creative thinking in the ways of chain of command.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*It's the one thing that matters most. Quietly, he adds, You're glitching.*
Dead End:	*For you. He narrows his optics slightly, still close to the mech. You are imagining it.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*You've been glitching. I just want to make sure it isn't affecting you adversely. Still quiet. And yes. For me, all I want is what you want.*
Dead End:	I am fine. My scans do not pick anything up. Regards the other, pulling back a bit. And I want nothing.
Pepsi Convoy:	*...Then I won't push. It could go for either statement, and he lets the other pull back, watching him with light concern in his optics.*
Dead End:	Good. He doesn't have much leverage to move around, but he manages to, if not sit up, straighten up some. You do not need to look at me like th-that.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Forgive me. Convoy looks away, frowning slightly in thought, though nothing comes through the connection.*
Dead End:	You are forgiven. He looks at the very simply coded file again. Pepsi? He discovers that deleting it would require several, complicated passwords and overrides, and lets it be; if it was that well protected again deletion it was probably something important.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy sighs, idly smoothing his hands along Dead End's back - he realizes he's been holding the other's hand for the last few minutes, and so he squeeze's the hand in his briefly, before loosening his grip.
Dead End:	Some of the mellowness from before lingers, and as his mind calms down in the silence, he lays down against Convoy, optics dimming. He wasn't tired, or in need of recharge, just... Do you need to res-rest?**
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy takes the initiative to lay back down fully against the berth, moving his hand from Dead End's hand to his back, running his fingers idly along a seam lower on his chassis. ...I don't know.* He doesn't feel tired in any way that rest will fix, but he'd hate to keep Dead End up.*
Dead End:	Braces his hands against the berth, using it as leverage to keep himself off of the semi when he lays down. It is a yes or no question-ion, Convoy.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Frowns up at Dead End, optics dimming slightly. ...I think I want to stay up. I want to keep an eye on you.**
Dead End:	*As you wish. Doesn't lower himself to rest against Convoy, though, instead he just looks at him, face and mind neutral.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*...Don't do what I want if you don't want it. He's starting to really dislike that phrase.*
Dead End:	Ver-very well. Well. Gets the sense of don'tlikethat from Convoy, but not the entire reason why, and a wheel twitches in irritation.
Pepsi Convoy:	...Perhaps we should comm Glit.
Dead End:	*Why? Leans forwards a bit, in turn making him hover over the other, the blank expression not making it entirely friendly.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Is getting that sort of impression, but he doesn't back down. You're still glitching. I'm worried.**
Dead End:	You are mistaken. You may worry about something else. The Stunticon gets a slightly hard edge in his tone. He is not glitching.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Perhaps you just need rest yourself, but I am not mistaken. Convoy, actually pushing an issue? It seems to be so - he's clearly worried, now, because it should be something Dead End can see.*
Dead End:	Narrows optics and leans down, just a bit closer. And what do you intend to do while I recharge?* Isn't quite hostile yet, but he's certainly getting there.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Meets the Stunticon's optics levelly, opting to answer out loud, quietly. Watch over you.
Dead End:	I can take care of myself, Convoy. Engine noises turns into a quiet growl; he was no Breakdown but he wasn't too fond of mechs watching him sleep, nonetheless.
Pepsi Convoy:	Maybe, but it worries me you can't see the glitches. His hand continues moving along that seam, tracing it with fingertips almost idly.
Dead End:	Perhaps that is an indication that I am not glitching-ing. Breaks kicks in and wheels go still, almost tense in a way.
Pepsi Convoy:	You don't hear it? His hand keeps moving - he figures it's reassuring, really.
Dead End:	Hear wh-what? Is not* amused, or that patient, almost snapping the question back at the semi.*
Pepsi Convoy:	The stutter. As if he's amused at this!
Dead End:	I think you are confusing me for my t-teammate. Humorlessly spoken.
Pepsi Convoy:	I'm afraid I don't know your brothers well enough to mistake you for them. You don't here it?
Dead End:	No, I do not.
Pepsi Convoy:	Sighs, stilling his hand. I don't know how to prove it to you... Even though he does* - he's just not about to record everything Dead End says.*
Dead End:	Maybe it is not there at all. Honestly cannot find a glitch in his systems, and he doesn't take glitching lightly - it can be fatal, and rude enough to get disciplined for.
Pepsi Convoy:	It is. I know I'm not glitching. Looks put out, tilting his head to look at Dead End from a slightly different angle. ...Talk to me. And there's the recording program booting up.
Dead End:	Annoyed rumble of engine. As you wish. Eyes the mech below him with small optics.
Pepsi Convoy:	Looks back, almost passively. Why do you say that?
Dead End:	Say w-what? His bad mood is starting to stain his voice some, but the build-up of irritation in his mind ought to be clear enough.
Pepsi Convoy:	That would be enough but - now he wants to know. "As you wish." You say it often. Quieter, now.
Dead End:	It is a useful phrase. Thinks that is explanation enough, really.
Pepsi Convoy:	Useful for what? Frowning, now - that's not an explanation, for Convoy. That's... something slightly worrying in itself.
Dead End:	Your commanders do not wish to bother-er themselves with anything but your obedience to them. They do not en-enjoy questions. Maybe some sharp subtlety in that last sentence.
Pepsi Convoy:	I am not your commander. Firmly. I am your friend. And then Convoy plays back what he's recorded, skips and all.
Dead End:	Just stares at Convoy as he hears himself talk back at him, motor giving a low rev. His own systems* told him he wasn't glitching, and according to this recording he did. Not to mention that the semi had recorded him in the first place.* It is easy to manipulate a sound recording.
Pepsi Convoy:	Gives Dead End a hurt* look.* Do you honestly believe I would do that?
Dead End:	Really didn't, Convoy just didn't seem like the type to figure out something like that on his own. Nevertheless, you never knew. And why would you not?
Pepsi Convoy:	Because I'm your friend, and I don't aim to deceive friends. I am not that kind of person.
Dead End:	Shifts, putting his legs under him to straddle the other, pulling back to straighten up, doubt starting to enter his mind. Was* he glitching?* I see.
Pepsi Convoy:	Watches Dead End shift, before looking up at the ceiling. ...If you learn nothing else of me, just know that I don't hurt my friends. I only want to help.
Dead End:	And therefore you want a medic to pry around in my systems? And that was what would happen, Dead End knew, none too happy about the thought.
Pepsi Convoy:	Only Glit. Only if you allowed it. Glances back at Dead End briefly, before tilting his head to the side, starting at the wall. Only if you were hurt.
Dead End:	I would not allow it. Stated, the lesser mechs in his mind the better. He doesn't look away from Convoy's face, gaze cool and calculating.
Pepsi Convoy:	Then at least now you know what I hear. I want you to be aware.
Dead End:	Very well. You have s-succeeded.
Pepsi Convoy:	Nods and goes silent, still looking at the wall blankly. He's not even sure what* to say, now.*
Dead End:	Without warning he moves his hand to the cord connecting them and unplugs it, Convoy disappearing instantly even as after-images of the semi remain. He gives Convoy a look, but offers no reason why.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, looking back at Dead End with his optics still dimmed. He had assumed Dead End was getting tired of him and his thoughts, though, so he doesn't ask any questions.
Dead End:	Leans down, hand letting go of the cable to hold Convoy's face straight, and kisses him, not roughly, not gently, somewhere in between.
Pepsi Convoy:	Blinks, optics widening slightly as he's kissed, tensing. He finally responds after a moment of confusion - why wasn't he getting kicked out? - and slides both of his hands up, pulling the Stunticon closer slightly as he returns the kiss with some small measure of hesitance.
Dead End:	Is insistent, not really taking a no for an answer. The feeling of something strange* in his mind, just out of his reach nags at him, fingers making their way down to Convoy's chest, dragging over the edges of his armor, he was not glitching and Convoy had been wrong, what if he was and he couldn't notice it -- he hardens - deepens - the kiss, unwilling to think about all those things.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Slowly builds to the same intensity as Dead End, feeling less and less uncertain as the other's hands start to wander. He slides one hand back down to that seam he had been tracing earlier, taking note that Dead End tended to go for his own seams, and brushes his fingers along it again.
Dead End:	Shifts into the touch slightly, more to encourage than subconsciously doing it, his own fingers giving Convoy's seams a firm stroke, hooking onto the edges and pulling lightly, wanting them to slide open for him. All the while he doesn't let up the kiss, motor rumbling loudly.
Pepsi Convoy:	Leans upwards into the kiss, giving back as much as he can, and his fingers slip into the seam after a moment, tips running along the wiring underneath. He twitches at the Stunticon's grip, not pulling away or moving closer.
Dead End:	Makes a low, approving sound, difficult to hear if one isn't open for it. He tugs again, putting more force behind it this time, but still not enough to be painful.
Pepsi Convoy:	He hears that, faintly, and so he digs his fingers in a bit deeper, shifting slightly away from Dead End's hands, unused to the sensation.
Dead End:	Convoy's hands are doing good things for his sensory grid, but his aren't about to let the other get away, following the movement and repeats the insisting pull. Open up for me, Convoy.
Pepsi Convoy:	His hands tense, fingers tightening slightly around the wiring they had been stroking - he can't read Dead End's thoughts right now, though he feels as though it would be much easier if that were the case.
Dead End:	Isn't a example of patience right now, and resorts to using more force. With impatience comes irritation, and he presses down harder into the kiss, open.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, pulling back more, optics locking onto Dead End's. He's getting the feeling that he's missing something important - something he should be getting, really - and so he opens a comm-line to the Stunticon. ::What do you want me to do?:: His tone is almost* concerned, but there's a strange tone to it that isn't quite normal for the semi.*
Dead End:	The hands are not letting go, though they don't put more pressure behind them. Dead End is a bit thrown off by the sudden comm, but takes it in stride. :: Open. :: It's not ordering, per say, but it's certainly demanding, not expecting a negative answer in response.
Pepsi Convoy:	::Why...?:: Though, he's more curious as to just finding out; even as he asks, he's sending out commands to retract his chestplate - he knows the command only because he's cleaned inside his chassis once or twice.
Dead End:	:: I want you t-to. :: Tugs again, satisfied when he feels Convoy's armor starting to open ever so slightly. Engine noises reflects his impatience as they go too slowly, he's used to more immediate reactions.
Pepsi Convoy:	That's reason enough for Convoy, really, and he fully retracts the armor - ::Did this happen when I met you?:: Curious, because he doesn't remember* any of that part, at all.*
Dead End:	Hands don't hesitate to move inside Convoy's chest, just taking a brief pause to find out the general setup of things before they move to the semi's spark chamber, brushing fingertips over it as his engine revs. :: Yes. ::
Pepsi Convoy:	His own engine comes to life suddenly, purring lowly. He twitches, making a soft noise into the kiss - he hadn't expected sensors to go off, not there and not like that.**
Dead End:	Smirks faintly, fingers splaying out across the surface of the casing, dragging them over the surface. He's a bit surprised by how easy it is to make the mech react this time, but writes it off as Convoy being moody with his interfacing.
Pepsi Convoy:	Is wondering himself, really, because he's simply not used to this sort of feeling - for other mechs, it'd no doubt be dulled down, but for him, it feels... nice.* He shifts, slightly, moving more towards Dead End's hands, digging his own hand in deeper and stroking a thick bunching of wires.*
Dead End:	Isn't adverse to giving the other's spark more attention, his chassis leaning heavily against Convoy's as his hands continue the touches, alternating in pressure and movements, a pleased grunt as Convoy wakes sensors up. It's still considerably lighter than what he's used to when it comes to interfacing, but it feels good nonetheless.
Pepsi Convoy:	Slides his unoccupied hand down and around to the side of Dead End's chestplate, looking to enter a seam there as well. He makes another quiet sort of noise, pulling slightly at Dead End to bring him better into his grip.
Dead End:	Shifts, digging his fingertips into Convoy's spark chamber and dragging them towards himself, engine changing gears and bringing the volume up.
Pepsi Convoy:	His intakes hiss and he finds himself arching slightly more into Dead End's touch, fingers slipping deeper. His hand at the Stunticon's back is grabbing at wiring, giving slow, almost hesitant tugs - the other is only barely pulling at the armor of his chest, more a gut reaction than anything.
Dead End:	Groans and leans against Convoy's hand on his back, pulling away from it to make the other tug him harder whether he wants it or not. It chases another groan from him, this one a slightly different pitch as data come pouring into his systems. His own hands curls around Convoy's spark and squeezes hard.
Pepsi Convoy:	Breaks the kiss with a low moan, optics dimming to near-offline, pulling at wiring and armor with less care than he'd be likely to admit to.
Dead End:	Another groan, armor plates shifting and sliding open, pressing lips down against Convoy's, grip on the semi's spark casing turning vice-like, pushing himself down against the bigger mech.
Pepsi Convoy:	His intakes speed up as his engine rumbles lowly; he dazedly responds to the kiss, bending up towards Dead End with a low sound in his vocalizer, mixed pleading and anxiety - this is strange and it feels so good, in a way he didn't think* about...*
Dead End:	Dead End's motor mirrors the sound Convoy's is making, tightening his grip even more, harsh and showing just how lacking in sympathy the Stunticon really is. demanding* attention back.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*The hand Convoy had kept by Dead End's chest slowly slides over, cautiously feeling along now-bare internals for the Stunticon's own spark chamber. His fingertips hit the smooth metal after a moment, and he runs them lightly along the casing, rubbing them along the edges in specific, even as he winces against the Stunticon's hold.
Dead End:	A sharp sound, intakes speeding up as Convoy touches his casing, so much softer than what's normal, and he waits for the mech to roughen up, biting at his lower lip. He lowers his upper body some, unable to really keep it up for much longer.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Unsure of exactly what he's doing, he continues to stroke the edges of the casing, slightly firmer but still definitely on the soft side. He pulls Dead End close, though, easy enough that he won't be forced to anything, but the invitation to lay on him is there."
Dead End:	Pulls back to give Convoy a look, before sinking down against him, sparks slowly getting closer, and Dead End's flare under Convoy's hands, the increased energy probably noticeable.
Pepsi Convoy:	Pauses for a moment, feeling the chamber warm under his hand, and then he mimics Dead End's earlier movements, dragging his fingers across the wide plane of the top of the chamber.
Dead End:	Given the almost extreme sensitivity of the spark casing it really is no wonder when Dead End moans, the touch still so gentle* in stark contrast from how other mechs always are. The kiss turns bruising - had they been capable of sustaining those, thumbs scraping along almost imperceptible seams.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Not one for harsh touches, really - Convoy repeats the motion, processors still trying to grasp exactly what's* going on. But Dead End seems to want whatever it is he's doing, so he continues, returning the kiss with almost equal intensity but with more gentleness than the Stunticon.*
Dead End:	Had they still been connected via the cord, Convoy might've been enlightened, but since they aren't he'll just have to find it out the hard way. He tugs at Convoy's spark chamber, fingers still trying to pry the casing open.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, hands clenching down slightly on wires and Dead End's casing, optics widening and locking on to Dead End's. There's an internal warning going off that he doesn't quite understand, but he trusts Dead End too much to worry about it.
Dead End:	Groans into the kiss, dim optics looking back at Convoy. He pulls a hand away and puts it on the berth, using it to shift around to allow the sparks to meet, pausing momentarily with the kiss.
Pepsi Convoy:	His spark isn't reacting nearly as strongly as Dead End's, hand sliding from the chamber and gently stroking the wires nearby instead. It's as though his sensors just aren't* reacting with his spark, though it's clear that it definitely feels good for the mech himself.*
Dead End:	Again he pulls at the tiny cracks, though it's difficult to get a good enough grip on them to be very efficient. :: O-open up, Convoy-voy. :: Despite the glitches he still sounds like he's giving an order, hand still on the casing giving a weird little twitch.
Pepsi Convoy:	Wasn't even really sure he could* open his casing until Dead End asks him to - it opens almost without him noticing. His spark isn't flaring or pulsing brightly, really - looking relatively normal and... calm. Just like him, though he's giving Dead End a curious look.*
Dead End:	Hesitates, uncharacteristically enough, staring down at the semi. His face betrays nothing, but he tenses up, hand freezing in the middle of its movement. Obey you. You.* Not him. Broken, not broken. En. He shudders, and as he breaks out of it he opens his own spark chamber and slumps down onto Convoy, bringing the two sparks into contact.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Moves his hand from Dead End's chest to his back, even as the other drops onto him. His spark doesn't quite react,* really - it flares tendrils of energy lightly reaching out for the other's spark, all very calm. Even so, Convoy has a strange, unreadable expression on his face, optics dimmed and hand sliding gently along the back of Dead End's helm and neck.*
Dead End:	Winces as Convoy's spark brushes against his own, but doesn't move away. His is a bright thing of turmoil, hate and hurt and all that is Dead End, so very, very different from Convoy's calmness. He'd yanked his hand away just before falling down onto the other, crawling up Convoy's side.
Pepsi Convoy:	His optics never completely offline, though they nearly look like it; his spark is acting more of it's own accord than with any of his own will involved as it reaches out to Dead End's, bringing with it feelings of peace, calm, and a quiet sort of pleasure - not intense, physical pleasure, but a mental one. Still, all the feelings are a bit dulled, as though there were something between his spark and everything else.
Dead End:	His spark flinches away, breaking optic contact to thunk his head down against Convoy's armor. It's as if he doesn't want* Convoy's peaceful feelings, but do want it, not Convoy, his own. A murkiness surfaces, shoving Convoy's spark, not away but around, vorns upon vorns of abuse rearing its ugly head, twisted and malformed.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Stills for a moment, confusion rising up in his spark at the feeling - it's foreign* to him, unusual, and it doesn't feel good. Tendrils of energy calmly push back, stroking at whatever feeling is pushing it around, trying to soothe it away so the other can be happy.*
Dead End:	Whatever it is, it doesn't react that well to Convoy's attempt to comfort, striking back with an undercurrent of leave me alone.* It's less vicious than it was with Breakdown's spark, however, more of a warning than an actual attack. The mech offlines his optics, wincing as his air intakes speed up their process.*
Pepsi Convoy:	His hand resumes it's movements, running along the back of Dead End's neck in slow, repetitive motions, even as he twitches at the feelings. Convoy's spark does retreat a bit - it's listening to the Stunticon's feelings, more than Convoy himself. It's all right.**
Dead End:	At that, his spark does* attack, curling up around Convoy's and clenching as best it can, not at all subdued by the other pulling back. It's a part of Dead End that always is suppressed, ignored, but the Stunticon has had more and more trouble keeping it down ever since Motormaster's announcement.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, grunting quietly and tensing briefly. His spark exudes nothing but happiness of all shades, tangling up against Dead End's spark but not really reacting. It's all right, I'm here. I'll help.**
Dead End:	Doesn't pause in its attack, or back off, but it turns almost tentative in its feelings. It turns in on itself before opening up again - help don't need not broken hurts* - explosive rage swirling just below that part of his spark, ready to crush and destroy everything it meets, not directly threatening, but still present, a silent warning in Dead End's mind.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Pulls Dead End physically closer, making a small noise of almost-discontent. His spark feels almost anxious, let me help, I don't want you to hurt, and though it doesn't quite approach the other's spark, it doesn't pull away, either.
Dead End:	Jerks as Convoy hugs him close, hands bracing against the berth in a tense way, spark flaring up in a brief and hyperactive moment, tearing itself away from Convoy's spark and curling around it again, the Stunticon's mind blank as his spark acts on impulse alone, the calm and rational* that is Dead End put away for now. Can't help.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Continues holding the Stunticon, ignoring the other's movements for the sake of keeping the other close. His spark reaches out to Dead End's, not hesitant - just not pushing. Let me try?**
Dead End:	His spark pulls sharply away from Convoy's, either unwilling or too tentative to let the other close. He seems torn between lying against the semi's spark and keeping it at a distance, didn't need help or want it, hurt* and I am fine in a delicate mix.*
Pepsi Convoy:	His own spark pushes closer again, exuding warmth and caring, still dulled slightly but no less true-to-form. I'm right here.* Convoy's patient, now that he realizes that this is just another type of cable connection, and he's willing to do whatever he can for Dead End.*
Dead End:	Moves away again, faltering slightly. Both Dead End and his spark twitches, the latter twisting and curling up into a tense little thing, apprehension obvious, as is the other intense and negative feelings that crowd his emotional state.
Pepsi Convoy:	His spark reaches out for the Stunticon's, all concern and happiness and patience, and the mech himself tilts his head to look down at the Stunticon himself. He pauses for a moment, and then recalls a good memory - flying down the freeway in the early morning, listening to good music (which he can't recall right now, the file destroyed), and feeling free.* His spark pulls from the memory, passing along the emotions to Dead End, letting him feel them almost as if they were his own.*
Dead End:	Dead End, his optics offline, doesn't notice Convoy looking at him, or the shift of the mech beneath him, too caught up in the strong emotions coming from his spark, trying to fight it, push them back down. His spark remains defensive, but it inches closer slowly, one big messy knot of a spark.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Let it out. It's all he really wants to say, continuing to release his own emotions through the connection of their sparks. I'm here for you.*
Dead End:	*No. Spark halts, a few faint tendrils reaching out to Convoy.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*I won't hurt you. Tendrils from his own spark meet the one's from Dead End's spark, curling around them gently. You're my friend. Good and bad.*
Dead End:	Before Dead End has time to think or feel his spark moves closer, not to cower or be embraced, but blanketing Convoy's spark, stretching all around it.
Pepsi Convoy:	Takes it in a stride, fingers sliding along cables in Dead End's neck as his spark reaches outward, caressing the energy that's enveloping it.
Dead End:	Body shudders as the semi's spark touch his own, hold firming up on the spark.
Pepsi Convoy:	Makes a comforting sound, rubbing the fuel lines in Dead End's neck. Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you.**
Dead End:	Spark clenches around Convoy's, a harsh and tight grip. Do not.
Pepsi Convoy:	Grimaces, hands tightening slightly as the grip on his spark tightens. His spark simply reaches back into the other's, bringing the feeling of relaxing outside on a sunny day, without problems or cares - I'm your friend.**
Dead End:	Is like an iron clamp around the other's spark, not as much rejecting as not registering the feelings the semi projects to him. Are no friends.**
Pepsi Convoy:	Grunts softly, still stroking the Stunticon's neck. There's me.**
Dead End:	*You were not there. Something snaps, and he forces every ounce of pain he's ever felt from Motormaster through millions of years into Convoy's spark, along with loathing so clear and sharp it's almost tangible, and cold, hard fear.*
Pepsi Convoy:	His body seizes up, mouth opening in a silent yell - he's never* felt hate this strong, or such fear, it hurts and it's frightening and he doesn't like it - ...His spark surges, pushing back into the pain and hate and fear with warm, calm caring, such worry, I'm here now I'll never let him hurt you stay here you're so cold let me help, the feeling of freedom, of finding out he wasn't free, of finding that he still could fight back, always fight back, can't control us-*
Dead End:	What can only be described as a mental shriek erupts from the Stunticon's spark, transferring into an out-loud scream, pain and so much hurt* and the sheer twisting effect it has had on his very being, icy and unable to bend around the reason why - must obey be good never good enough unwanted favorite - leave me alone*
Pepsi Convoy:	Luckily for Convoy, there's still some sort of almost sheen* over his spark, keeping it from being twisted itself by Dead End's. It hurts no less, though - pain is the one thing that isn't dulled for him. Convoy grits his dentals and reaches down with one hand, grabbing Dead End's hand and giving it a tight squeeze. Don't obey, obey yourself, please I'm here for you I want you, you're always good enough, never bad, you're fine!*
Dead End:	The hold turns choking, the intensity and consuming quality of emotions bottled up and stretched taut, ready to snap and shatter everything* giving it far more strength than normal, more than what is really healthy, the Porsche's engine making him shake as it runs wild, scream turning haunted. Dead End spasms and he strains to get away, to be left alone, to go back to keeping this away, non-existent. The spark convulses from the force of the emotions pressing it down, not fine ruined why only affection get away hurts*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy moans in pain, offlining his optics and tightening his grip on Dead End, spark recoiling briefly from the other's - I'm here, let it out, it will be okay, fine the way you are don't listen to them.* He onlines his optics, still dimmed, and tilts his head forward, kissing the top of Dead End's helm briefly. Don't hold it in, I'm here, I won't leave you alone with this.*
Dead End:	Truly loses* it, going for that spark that is so carefree, so happy, so untainted, wanting to tear it apart, seeing it as broken and as dead as his own. It's with a ferocious, primal need he rips into it, twisted and cold and break for me. Convoy wanted him to let it out, and he unleashes every single stray feeling onto the semi's spark, such unbelievable pain coursing through him.*
Pepsi Convoy:	His dentals grit and he yells aloud, spark shuddering under the other's attack - I will not break.* His thumb runs over the back of Dead End's hand, even though his entire body is shuddering under the onslaught - his spark fights back, energy twining around all the pain and hate, bleeding warmth into the other's spark. Will not break for you, will stay strong for you, will help you. Promise, please don't hurt anymore I want to help, let me in let me chase it away from you please!*
Dead End:	Staggers away from the emotions Convoy feeds Dead End's spark, the violent rage and desire to ruin* not diminishing, severing the things it can reach with cruel precision, wanting to savage and watch it die - and in its uncontrolled storm of brutalness the need to protect itself dissipates, either that spark shatters, or this one will.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's engine roars to life and he shifts his hand, reaching for Dead End's chin and tilting his head to look at the other - look at me* - even though Dead End has offlined his optics. Each bit of his spark that's separated doesn't die - it just stays separated, rubbing against Dead End's spark and exuding nothing but concern and care, it doesn't need to hurt you.*
Dead End:	The Stunticon wrenches his chin out of Convoy's grip, body unnaturally stiff as his spark continues to attack the other's spark. The level of intensity is extreme, and is tearing Dead End's spark asunder just like his is doing to Convoy's. He yells with agony as his lifesource starts falling apart, not dying but dull in its color, it has always hurt it is what life is
Pepsi Convoy:	His spark pulls back, slowly, returning to its previous state little by little. He moves his hand back to Dead End's face, cupping a cheek and trying to guide him to look- D-Dead... nngh. Dead E-End, look a-at me....
Dead End:	Yanks against the hold Convoy has on him, more of an impulse than actually trying to get away, optics flashing online and staring wildly at the semi, but can't process what he sees properly. His spark isn't letting Convoy's go, following it like a dog gone mad, hostile and needing* to chase an intruder away.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Nn... I'm h-here. Looks the other straight in the optics, expression pained but not at all scared. His spark is calm, even under the Stunticon's - I won't leave you alone.* He isn't quite absorbing the other spark's feelings, but he's reacting to them, still exuding warmth and caring and kindness... But underneath it all is something older, a kind of worn peacefulness that seems strange for such a new being.*
Dead End:	Doesn't react to neither the words nor the firm gaze, insanity slowly taking a hold of his features, spark howling in torment, not calming down but just not able* to keep up the raw energy pouring off of it. It doesn't mean that Dead End gives up, however, still lashing out at whatever is in reach with ice-cold hate, leave me alone help go away*
Pepsi Convoy:	Returns each cold feeling with a warm caress of his spark, optics watching Dead End's face with unmasked concern. I'm here, I'll be here for you, hold on to me.**
Dead End:	It doesn't take too long until his spark is utterly exhausted, the mech himself slumping more and more against Convoy's body, burned out. The normally bright shard of pure energy is a dull lump, barely even shining.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy's spark continues to feed Dead End's all the care the semi can muster, I'm worried, I want to help, I'm here.* He keeps his hand firmly around the other's, optics still watching Dead End.* I'm h-here, my f-friend.
Dead End:	His spark manages one last strike; the weakest one so far, drained as it is. His optics offline once again, the feelings remaining, in a toned down version. D-don't need, need help. Help. His voice is quiet, barely audible over the sound of his rushing air intakes.
Pepsi Convoy:	His own voice is hoarse, an underlying feeling of pain for the other echoing in it. I-I'm still here...
Dead End:	Lies heavily on top of him, utterly still. D-d-d-don't-- Before he can end the sentence, his vocalizer shorts out.
Pepsi Convoy:	Sighs and kisses the top of Dead End's helm again, before leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. Still here.**
Dead End:	*Rest. His spark is still silent, too worn out to have any major emotions run through him, easy for anyone to pick apart.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy doesn't make any effort to go after Dead End's spark, instead continuing to run his hands along the other's back, offlining his optics. Rest.* It's not an agreement or a command - it's just there.*
Dead End:	Doesn't really have much choice to do otherwise, a slow-moving sense of confusion and incomprehension settling over him, not fit to fall into recharge, but not fit to stay awake.
Pepsi Convoy:	His engine falls into a low, comfortable rumble, every last part of him exuding a kind of comforting aura. After a while, he sighs and onlines his optics again, looking at the ceiling. You have so much pain...**
Dead End:	The Stunticon's motor has calmed down considerably, a low, oh so low purr in the silence around them. Always hurt.
Pepsi Convoy:	You shouldn't have to.
Dead End:	It is as it should be. A faint feeling of protest struggles to get up as he thinks it - no.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy tries to soothe him, releasing a warm, nameless good feeling. Nothing is set in stone.**
Dead End:	Relaxes, or perhaps collapses under Convoy's spark, the emotion washing over him and making him jerk. Already written.
Pepsi Convoy:	Makes a quiet sound, hugging the Stunticon close. No... All uncertain. Be brave.**
Dead End:	A weak noise. Nothing matters.
Pepsi Convoy:	It all matters. This is the only life you have.
Dead End:	Does not matter. It is only pain.
Pepsi Convoy:	*Not all of it. More feelings, of freedom on the open road, of getting a good polish, of being able to relax to music...*
Dead End:	Counters with his own experiences; the pleasure of causing chaos and panic, the pride of being flawless, anguished shrieks of humans and mechs alike as they died in horrible pain, the need to be obedient.
Pepsi Convoy:	Not exactly what Convoy was going for, but he can feel the underlying emotions, and so he pushes the reasons away. Never need to obey - choose.**
Dead End:	After a moment's pause he shows the semi the memory of Motormaster skewering him with his sword, ripping his jaw off, almost tearing his spark out - No choice.
Pepsi Convoy:	Jerks suddenly, arms tightening around Dead End again. Something very near to anger flashes through him, briefly, followed by... ...He won't touch you again.**
Dead End:	He is gone. Doesn't sound happy about this, however, more an undercurrent of... not sadness but regret.
Pepsi Convoy:	The feeling confuses him - he frowns, forcing his vocalizer to speak for where his spark can't quite formulate. ...What...?
Dead End:	Cannot be without him. Even now, he feels the gestalt bond, faint and in the background.
Pepsi Convoy:	Doesn't have to hurt you.
Dead End:	Discipline. Not good enough.
Pepsi Convoy:	Good enough. Better than most. You're still alive.
Dead End:	Not good enough for him. Waiting to rust.
Pepsi Convoy:	Better than him. Don't wait alone.
Dead End:	Alone. Already alone.
Pepsi Convoy:	You have brothers - you have me. Not a brother but your friend.
Dead End:	Where are they? Almost defeatedly.
Pepsi Convoy:	Can't you feel them?
Dead End:	They are... not close.
Pepsi Convoy:	They're nearby. They'll come if you call.
Dead End:	A feeling of uncertainty* comes over him, could he comm them would they come?*
Pepsi Convoy:	Returns that feeling with more warmth. They are your brothers. They love you.**
Dead End:	Doesn't reply to that, even his spark shutting off anything that could betray how he feels or thinks.
Pepsi Convoy:	Frowns, shaking his head slightly. Don't hide. I can't help if you hide.**
Dead End:	I can help myself.
Pepsi Convoy:	*I want to help you? Almost feels hurt, really, hands loosening their grip slightly.*
Dead End:	...no.
Pepsi Convoy:	Real hurt comes through, and he goes kind of... limp. After a moment, he takes on a resigned air. ...I wish I could.**
Dead End:	There's a long, long silence from the Stunticon, where neither he or his spark moves. ...as you wish.
Pepsi Convoy:	Stop saying that. Quietly.
Dead End:	Why?
Pepsi Convoy:	....It hurts.
Dead End:	Hurts? Confusion.
Pepsi Convoy:	Is quiet for a moment, before his spark reaches out, bringing with it the feeling of being controlled, of doing exactly what they want,* regardless of if it's an order, the uncertainty of friend or owner, and how much it hurts to think of it. Hurts. Don't want to control or be controlled.*
Dead End:	Already knows what it's like to obey blindly, do what your commander wants without doubt or questions. He hasn't experienced it like Convoy has, though, and it confuses him more. Commanders lead. Subordinates follow.
Pepsi Convoy:	Responds by showing the other, from his own point of view, the memory of Pepsiman telling him he was going to die, telling him - no no no no no* - that he did nothing but follow, couldn't do anything else - wham - and the feeling of being backhanded, not fighting back not because he didn't want to but because he couldn't.*
Dead End:	Dead End doesn't quite comprehend, that was what things had always been for him. It's strange how Convoy reacts - reacted? - to that incident, the Stunticon himself not seeing anything particularly brutal or strange about it. His puzzlement shows through the connection their sparks have, that is how things are supposed to be.
Pepsi Convoy:	Moans quietly, shaking his head slightly. You choose to follow, I have no choice - if I am commanded I must obey. Written into my programming. Default. Unable to fight.**
Dead End:	I have no choice. It is not possible to not follow my commander. We were made to be led by him.
Pepsi Convoy:	*You were made to work together... Weakly, feeling a sort of dull hopelessness. Can't get to you, too far away...*
Dead End:	I am right here. His spark stretches out a tendril to wrap around the other's, more of a demonstration of how close* he really was than of affection.*
Pepsi Convoy:	I don't know how to help you.
Dead End:	I do not need help, there is nothing to repair.
Pepsi Convoy:	You're hurt.
Dead End:	So are you.
Pepsi Convoy:	Convoy doesn't respond, still feeling strange and melancholy. There's still that warm, comforting feeling in him, but it's almost shadowed, now.
Dead End:	*You do not want help. Points it out, oh so helpfully, although it isn't mocking.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*...I'm trying to help myself. Quietly adds aloud-* That's what Glit and you have been doing... helping me.
Dead End:	*So am I. Just as quietly as Convoy's voice.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Let me help, as you've helped me? There's an underlying current of quiet acceptance - he doesn't want Dead End to let him try just because he wants to, no.*
Dead End:	*As you wish. He doesn't open his spark, per say, but it's not as firmly shut off anymore, though it might be a subtle feeling.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Makes a small noise and reaches out for the other, strands of energy slowly moving to Dead End's spark - slow enough so that the Stunticon can pull away if he needs.
Dead End:	To be honest, he doesn't really have the energy left over to get away, and lets Convoy do as he wants, much like he allowed Motormaster to do as he wished.
Pepsi Convoy:	Quietly loops around the other's spark, always leaving openings for him to leave, It's all right, you're still in control, tell me what to do to make you feel better.**
Dead End:	*...what to do? The question is almost tentative, as if he hasn't thought it over before. Feel better?*
Pepsi Convoy:	*Feel... warm. Tendrils wrap around bits of Dead End's spark, warm and caring and concerned.*
Dead End:	Tenses as Convoy's spark embraces his own, making a soft, slightly choked noise. N-not...**
Pepsi Convoy:	Backs off immediately, still giving off waves of comfort and concern. You're in control.**
Dead End:	*C-cannot-not, no control.Trol. If it hadn't been Dead End it might not have been so strange to describe the feeling coming from his as fear, that warmth hurt more than having his optics smashed in, and on a much more personal level.*
Pepsi Convoy:	*All the power is yours. Doesn't back off more, but his spark turns more neutral - still worried, still there, but not potent. You're in control.*
Dead End:	*Cannot f-fight it anymore. And with that he gives in, opening his spark for Convoy to do with as he pleased, nothing but resignation and weary acceptance coming from him.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Pauses completely, picking up Dead End's hand in his own once more. Won't do what you don't want. What do you want?**
Dead End:	*Want nothing. His entire spark reflects his lack of desire, just waiting to hear what Convoy wanted of him.*
Pepsi Convoy:	Doesn't move, his engine barely rumbling. His spark pulls back further, and he looks at Dead End, the worry in his spark reflected on his face. I can wait until you do.**
Dead End:	Is eerily still, both in body, mind and spark, living up to his name of Dead End.* I will be here.*
Pepsi Convoy:	His hands twitch, and he shifts, starting to pull away from Dead End physically. Dead End's upset and he doesn't want to make it worse...
Dead End:	Lies still, though he shifts slightly as Convoy starts to move away, every feeling trying to come through fading before it can be fully registered.
Pepsi Convoy:	Rest. I'll be here for you, my friend.
Dead End:	Does as Convoy wants him to, as you wish.
Pepsi Convoy:	Pulls back, slightly quicker - almost as though burned - and feels his spark chamber locking on him before he can even send out a command. Dead End...
Dead End:	Gasps sharply as the connection is severed, jerking with pain as his spark clashes into the semi's spark casing, his own closing with a snap and locking, the Stunticon slumping down against Convoy's chassis.
Pepsi Convoy:	Winces, shifting more and wrapping his arms around Dead End tightly, hugging him and pulling him up a bit higher on his chassis. Forgive me, I should have warned you.
Dead End:	Onlines his vocalizer, voice sounding raw and staticky, but doesn't attempt to move. Forgiven.
Pepsi Convoy:	Thank you. He doesn't move after that, just holding on to Dead End, trying to comfort him even though he knows it's a futile attempt.
Dead End:	Slowly, he slips into a state of inactivity, not a proper recharge but a light doze, one could call it, ready to focus back on the world should Convoy talk to him.
Pepsi Convoy:	Wouldn't even know what to say, if he wanted to say anything at all. He doesn't shift much, either - just holds on to his friend quietly.
Dead End:	Eventually, as Convoy holds his silence, the worn out Stunticon falls into recharge, unnoticeable with his already dead still posture, though it won't take a lot to wake him up again.