Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or Night at the Museum

Please R&R

(Crack. I just finished watching Night at the Museum 2 on the TV and this demanded to be written. Enjoy!

I should probably also mention that this takes place way, way, way into the distant future on Cybertron and that there is a museum dedicated to the Great War.)

With a weary grunt, a golden plated mech climbed the twenty or so steps up to a giant building, a data-pad and sketching stylus in his servo which he subspaced as he pushed through the rotating door into the main lobby of the famous Iacon War Museum.

At the front of the reception desk just as he entered there was a giant red faced symbol supported in the servos of a stoic looking Prime with a silver facemask that the past had long forgotten. He grumbled sourly as he leant against the Reception desk awaiting the rest of the meagre public's departure from the giant building.

"Still working for that University fee, Sunstreaker?" the Recptionist femme asked curiously, turning to him as she looked up from her magazine-pad to talk to the new recharge cycle security guard. "Last I heard you were working at your brother's store."

"If I want to get into the University of Art, I need more than what my brother is paying me." The gold bot shrugged at the pink and white femme, "How are you coming on with the final Graduation Project, Arcee?"

The femme smiled charmingly at him, "It's going well, though as the darling of the Art Department, your final project is going to be spectacular, Sunstreaker."

"I hope so." The mech sighed as the owner of the museum stomped out into the main foyer from his office, a torch and a set of jangling access cards hanging from his grip.

"There you are." The old mech huffed, a dark turquoise in colour, his azure optics dimed slightly with age, "Right Lad, come with me and I'll lay down the rules. Arcee, you lock up."

"Yes, sir." The femme smiled charmingly patting the highly polished golden mech on the arm as the budding artist made to follow the grumpy looking Director of the Museum. "Don't let what Kup says get to you. He's a bit eccentric; it's only recently that the Medical Bots have advised him to stop doing the recharge-cycle shifts and slow down more. It really hasn't helped that the last four bots he tried to hire for this job quit within the first few orns."

"Thanks for advice." The gold mech sighed rolling his optics, catching up to the old codger as he stopped before his office, dumping the access cards and torch in the golden mechs hands.

"I trust you've been around the museum before?" Kup asked, eyeing the gold mech up and down sceptically.

"For projects," Sunstreaker nodded in confusion as the old mech handed him a data-pad once he had magnetised the access cards and torch to his hip. "What's this?"

"Instructions for taking care of every individual exhibit," The turquoise mech commented as he picked out a cygar from an ornate box, before leading the way from the office. "Everything you need to know is on that pad, follow it to the letter and nothing will go wrong."

"What could go wrong?" Sunstreaker snorted in amusement as he subspaced the pad, giving Arcee a casual wave as she left the building.

"You'll see." The mech sighed shaking his helm walking from the building but not before patting the unknown Prime lofting the Autobot symbol above his helm, on the back of the shoulder strut and muttering, "Go easy on him."

As the door rotated shut Sunstreaker gave a soft bark of laughter, wandering over to the reception area to slouch in Arcee's vacated chair, throwing his pedes up onto the desk, "Mech's as crazy as Sideswipe with an energon rush."

As he leaned back to relax he subspaced his data-pad and sketching stylus and began to draw the likeness of the mech holding the Autobot symbol in the foyer, so concentrated on his art that he didn't notice the lights outside begin to dim for the recharge cycle ahead.

The sudden dull boom of something in the depths of the museum alerted Sunstreaker to the first things going wrong with his apparently 'easy' new job. With a frustrated scowl, the gold mech threw down his data-pad and launched to his pedes, grabbing his torch that was magnetised to his hip as he wandered into the bowels of the Museum after the loud thuds of a large mech.

Feeling a little stupid as the breems ticked by, he walked through the Hall of Famous Autobots on the way back to the reception. He paused to stare with a scrutinizing glare at the half built mannequins of the infamous Frontline Warrior Twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker who he and his own twin had been named after. "Carrier always was a sentimental jerk." The golden mech sighed glaring one final time at the ancient mech that he had he shared his designation with, as if he could lay all the blame for his life's problems on the mannequins shoulder struts, before he continued on his way.

He never saw one of the supposedly lifeless mannequins move from its stand with the speed of a meteor and slam the butt of its sniper rifle against the back of his helm…

==A While Later==

The first things he heard were voices.

"I'm so sorry!" someone was bleating miserably "He scared me!"

"Hurry up and fix him Ratchet!" a stoic order was barked as he heard pede falls all around his helm and frame.

"I fix our kind Prowl, not real bots!" a snarky reply was snapped back, "And did you really need to hit him so hard Bluestreak? He's been offline for joors!"

"I woke up and he was right in front of me!" a soft innocent voice was protesting, "Anyway I'm doing Kup a favour! He's trespassing!"

"Someone obviously missed the memo that we were getting a new recharge cycle guard." Drawled a distinct Polyhexian accent as Sunstreaker finally groaned, the throb of pain too large to stifle as a soundless whimper.

"He's coming around!" a startled voice cried as he struggled to reboot his optics, "What do we do?"

"Calm down, Red Alert." A deep rumble of soothing calm seemed to emanate from a tad further away. "He was bound to have found out sooner rather than later."

"Who are you?" Sunstreaker finally managed with a moan of pain, sitting up slowly and shuttering his optics at a group of nervous looking bots crowded around him, a medic bot crouched at his pedes wearily.

"We are what you 'Real Bots' might call Mannequins ." A black and white Praxian with a ruby chevron replied dryly as the young Guard wobbled to his pedes using a now empty pedestal to keep himself standing. "Representations of a living…"

"Or Deactivated…" chimed in the black and white Polyhexian accented mech with an azure visor from behind a flared doorwing.

"Mechanisms using scrap metal or crystals." The Praxian finished as if the interruption had never happened.

"I really scrambled my processors when I fell." Sunstreaker grumbled, rubbing at the sore spot on his helm only to get amused chuckles from the group of somehow living exhibits.

"No, that's where Bluestreak comes in." the white and red medic bot snorted in good humour rising from his crouch to pat a wincing grey mech accented with black and red on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry." The young looking mech said shyly half hiding behind the stoic black and white Praxian, "I didn't mean to hit you with the end of my rifle. You scared me when I was just onlining and..."

"Zzzt." Sunstreaker crashed to the floor in a dead feint as the thought of living exhibits finally reached his logic chip.

"Do you want to phone Kup this time or will I?" Prowl asked a cringing Bluestreak as they began to drag the unconscious young bot back to the reception, neither mannequin looking forward to the lecture they would get from the grumpy Director of the Museum when the inevitable call was made...