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Lockup was not a funny Autobot. His life was just a series of unfortunately funny events wrapped around tragedy and beauty and all things that usually assaulted a soldier. He was sparked into war, trained for war, and knew nothing of a life outside of fighting. In fact, he could fathom anything outside of the next fight. And why should he? Their battle with the Decepticons never ended.

It wasn't the killing he was fond of. In fact, it often left a sour taste sticking in his throat tubing at the thought. Death was so very final and absolute. What power one held and wielded over another was so very important when death drew near. He wasn't a careless mech. Never had been, even from a sparkling's age. He'd always been so quiet and thoughtful like he knew every decision he made would affect his future…or he had a stick up his aft, as his Creator liked to say.

The first funny (unfunny) event he'd ran into was bouncing at a local bar on the side during a lull in the war. It was good work and what he knew best: guarding and cracking helms open. It was also where he'd met his mate, mentor, and love of his life. In fact, he'd been thrown into him and took a swing at him at first in his confused recklessness. (Lockup always did have a temper) From then on they'd struck a friendship then a partnership. But that wasn't the funny event. It was in that bar that most of his armor was stolen one night by a very amorous femme with talented hands in more ways than one.

…Locky always did have a weakness for the femmes…

That is how his life progressed. Not always with femmes, of course. Hilarity just found itself attached to his very serious person. Stick him and the very strict drone of Ten-four's into a room and one wouldn't think there would be a anything worth watching. But, he always ended up losing an aft piece to that darn dog or cuddling him like a child with a stuffed animal when he thought no one was looking…

His introduction to Earth was…well, it was laughable to everyone who knew about it. (Which was maybe Ten-four, perhaps the Prime. He'd rather die than let the likes of Ironhide know) Entry had went smashingly well until he'd chosen the wrong location. Earth's atmosphere is a unstable what with the burning and the gravitational pull and making a clean trajectory while flying blind, so to speak, was tricky. Which is why he ended up in the middle of a National Park, smashing into the side of a mountain leaving a path of destruction and leaving a trail of snapped trees behind himself for a few miles. Peaks of Otter had surely seen better days.

From then on, he'd had to play hide-n-seek with the humans while they'd flocked to the "meteor site" and had to pull debris wedged tight under his protoform. He'd lucked out and found a alt mode directly when a Virginia State Trooper had responded to the odd sight. The poor, battered Impala had gotten some interesting looks as he'd fled the seen as fast as he could.

His ego had little under a year to recover from that and sometimes he still felt like he could feel the twigs under his armor. That and the slugs. The primus-damned slugs! Just thinking about it made him twitch. Arugh.

Outside the base he turned to watch Tenny. His spark pulsed strongly, he felt, whenever his mate was near. He always seemed to be in tune to the nature of his other half, something which he never pondered the meaning over. Some things couldn't be explained clearly. Giving a soft whistle, he called out to the drone by his side.