#CRYSTAL MY GUYS ENERGON CRYSTAL SPARK CRYSTAL IT'S RIGHT THERE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

decalinethespacecat · 3 years

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The Games that We Play-Ch.1

A simple exploration.

That's all this mission was supposed to entail.

Well, in a sense, perhaps they had accomplished such. Stranded on a new, foreign world, brimming with energy, and teeming with organic life. And with that, it was the very life that they had been forced to alter themselves to, the very lifeblood that dwelt on this strange sphere in too great an excess, and thus, should they not adhere to the laws set by this new world, it could mean the loss of their functionality, or even more, their own sparks. Of course, ironically enough, it hadn't just been themselves that had to follow this code: the very ones that had caused their stranding here had also been subject to it. And even more, one amongst their former pursuers had, albeit forcibly at first, integrated amongst their numbers. Now, as the two parties faced each other atop this mountain, five against five, the playing field had been leveled.

The two heads of the opposing sides made direct eye contact with each other, the differences between them evident in far more than just their conflicting ideals and ambitions. On one side stood the stalwart, strong form of a darkly furred primate, leaning on his knuckles as the species he had scanned were inclined to do. His eyes were dark, yet soulful, and in the minds of some of his fellow explorers, dare they say, they appeared almost akin to the small creatures that had aided and catered to their ancestors. On the other was, for all intents and purposes, a complete antithesis of everything the primate was. He bore the outer flesh of a large theropod coated in a sheen of violet with a series of green ridges trailing along his back, ending at the base of his tail. Rows of sharpened, ivory teeth lined the inside of his powerful jaws, small, yet menacing red eyes full of intent glowering back at the primate opposite of him.

"Across the galaxy," the ancient reptile spoke, voice low and smooth. "It has come to this, Optimus Primal." The primate stood his ground, along with the other four organically based Cybertronians with him. "Face to face," a smile crept onto the theropod's features. "Tooth to claw...yesss." Oh yes indeed, he had been clamoring for this very moment! "Have you anything to say?"

The primate's face grew stern. True, he had not set out on this expedition with the intent to seek combat. Yet ultimately, Primus, it seemed, held other plans for them. "I'd say, that's prime." he simply stated before bearing his elongated canines. "Let's do it!"

...

"YEAHHHH!" a chorus of young voices cried out, five to be exact, as they charged in unison at a collection of five pieces of notebook paper held up by a used popsicle stick glued onto the back, each of them stuck into the ground so they would stay in place. The owners of the voices came forward and did 'battle' with the pieces of cut-out paper, lightly striking and flicking the fragile, crudely drawn depictions of their current 'adversaries'.

This was the third time they needed to be redrawn, and frankly, no one was wanting to have to do all five Predacons all over again. Especially if one of them was a young adolescent with questionable drawing skills. If anything, at least they LOOKED like how they were supposed to this time. Sort of.

One amongst the five, a boy with tannish skin and a darkly colored buzz cut, grabbed the cutout of Megatron (at least, it was supposed to be Megatron) and purposefully fell to the ground, bringing the piece of colored paper on a stick close to his face, raising one hand to keep it back, as if it weighed a good deal of weight.

...

The jaws were close. So insultingly close. Just a few centimeters more, and that slagging ape's head would be firmly in his jaws! "Admit defeat, Maximal!" Megatron bellowed, Primal not wavering, yet it was evident that he was struggling against the Tyrannosaurus' massive head. "The Energon shall be ours!"

The silverback needed to act fast. He held no intention of obeying the violet Predacon's demand, yet he needed some leeway. He needed to at least get the larger beast off of him! "Not if I can help it!"

...

"Yah!" the tan boy hollered, behaving as if he had just flung a two-ton boulder off of him, yet the paper cutout landed in the grass with little more than a soft crinkle. "Surrender, Megatron!" he proclaimed, his voice far from the authoritative, triumphant Maximal he was imitating. "You're scrapped!"

'Megatron didn't retort back, the boy realizing then what kind of corner he had just put himself in.

"Uh, guys?" he called out, the other four children ceasing their 'battle' against their respective Predacons and turning towards him. "Who's not fighting at this part?"

One boy amongst them, African and with a top of short, black curls, turned to him. "They all are!" he answered back.

"Yeah, but who's being shown fighting?"

"Uh…" the other boy paused, thinking for a moment. "I think it's just Optimus and Megatron."

"Ok." the tan boy went over to pick up the Megatron cutout, his dark eyes taking notice of a nearby tree. "You mind? I can't really chase myself."

...

The impact was immediate, and even if it had been mere seconds, the shock that came with the splintering rock formation behind them both clearly affected Primal more than his adversary.

A fact that they wasted no time in taking advantage of.

With one swift, precise bite, Megatron put the jaws of the mighty beast he had donned as his alternate form to proper use, the premaxillary teeth that once belonged to the likes of the extinct predator tore through the alpha primate's thigh, right above the joint. Primal released an involuntary wail of agony, the sharpened instruments having torn through his alt mode's synthetic flesh and down to the fragile circuitry and wiring underneath. Not feeling satisfied with just one sample of the Maximal's mech fluid lightly bathing his tongue, Megatron bit yet again, only this time, Primal seemed to have better prepared for it. He was still in a great deal of pain, yes, yet now he could better channel it, using the horrid sensations and transferring it into an unquenchable need to fight back, beginning with delivering a hardened chop with both hands to the top of Megatron's scaly dome.

This blow had put the behemoth reptile in the same position Optimus had been mere seconds prior. And due to the blow he had delivered, it took the Tyrannosaurus a moment to realize that, surprisingly enough, the foolish ape had somehow found it in him to up and began swinging him around by the tail! As soon as the world had begun spinning for him, it stopped, only to then realize he was flying right into the ceiling of the mountainous structure, crashing down with a resounding thud that shook the entire landscape.

"Gah!" Optimus cried out, hissing as he analyzed the injury done to his leg. True, he had managed to stand to deliver that rather 'creative' maneuver against his aggressor, yet it now dawned on him that there was no way he could walk with a tear like this. And internalized repairs wouldn't be able to undo damage such as this. As if to add insult to injury (literally in a sense), the reptile had somehow managed to get up. "It…" Optimus stammered, forcing himself to rise. "It's over, Megatron!"

"It is NEVER over! Nooo!" He could scarcely believe it at first, yet given how the brute's forces traveled all this way to engage them, perhaps anything was possible. After all, what other Cybertronian before them had been forced to adopt a secondary skin of organic flesh? Despite the painful surges the multiple Energon crystals sent through his true form, Megatron did not waver, aiming and sending a missile right in the direction of the wounded Primal. "For if I must die...I shall take you with me!"

There was no way he could avoid this. Its proximity was too close. The urge to flee was great, yet Primal stood firm. He would stand tall and accept this. He had begun to shut his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. 'Till all are one…'

Yet one, he was not yet to be.

The missile had never come to meet him.

...

"Wait, you want me to do what?" one amongst the group questioned with a quirked brow, this time the child, despite the role, a young girl with skin slightly darker than the boy roleplaying as Primal, her thick, black hair tied back in a low ponytail. In her hands was a wooden sword, one that she had made sure to bring each and every time she met with the others. Yet now, the African boy was asking her to do something a little...odd with it.

"Well, in the episode, Dinobot blocks it with his tail."

"So, what? You want me to put this on my butt?"

"Uh...well, it'd be accurate."

It sounded absurd, not to mention difficult to pull off. Sure, she didn't really know how to properly use the sword, yet at least she could make use of it as something of an improv baseball bat. But nooooo, when she batted the "missile" away like that, they had to stop so that they could do it 'the right way'.

"Fine." she moaned, rolling her eyes and tossing the crumpled piece of paper (Waspinator got stepped on, AGAIN) in the African boy's direction. "Throw it again."

...

The one that had once been under Megatron's command, the one that had blocked their way and saw fit to end his life on the stone bridge, allowing the Predacons to catch up with them, had just been the one to strike the incoming projectile with his striped, reptilian tail, sending it off course and away from them both.

The former Predacon and his would-be usurper had just miraculously saved him from certain death.

This revelation was given no time to truly be dwelt on at the present, for the missile had found itself a new target, the explosion sending a chain reaction that soon caused the entire mountain to shake.

"It's going to blow!" a brown rhinoceros bellowed, the once battling Predacons quickly realizing the danger they were all in and making a hasty retreat, leaving their downed leader behind.

"Time to fade, heroes!" one amongst the Maximals shouted, a green-eyed cheetah, he making himself scarce along with Primal and the rhino, a large, grey rat also atop of the horned creature's back, a velociraptor racing alongside with them off of the mountain. None dare to look back, lest they waste precious seconds before the entire formation exploded.

Thankfully, they thought as they now found themselves a good distance away, all of them had managed to make it out of that close call in one piece. All four...no, all five of them.

Optimus turned his gaze towards the newest member of their group, his pale eyes gazing back into the silverback's own. "Thanks." he simply stated, the ancient reptile somewhat taken aback by this gesture.

"My actions did not imply loyalty, Optimus." the striped theropod clarified, momentarily averting his gaze, his voice low and raspy, yet strangely enough, sincere. "I owe you my life." He admitted the act, even if he dare not openly say it, was rather humbling. "Now we are merely...even."

The silverback took no offense to this. In fact, to the raptor's befuddlement, he simply presented him with a satisfied grin. "I'll accept that."

"Yeah, well, uh.." The rat, having long gotten off the rhino's back, wasn't exactly ready to allow this saurian into their ranks, no matter what Optimus declared. Orders or not, he'd make his opinion on "Chopperface", or rather, "Choppahface", known for a long while. Still, there was a burning question on his mind. "At least Megatron's gone, and so is the Energon!" he declared, voice rising in hope. "Can we go home now?"

It was too good to be true. The shaking of his leader's head cemented this fact. "No, Rattrap." the gorilla solemnly stated. "For now, we're stranded here with the Predacons on this unknown planet." the situation sunk in for all of them now, truly. "Megatron may be back, and there is still more Energon. If they ever get enough, they could conquer the galaxy." he could see the trepidation etched into their features. Indeed, he would be a liar if he said he did not share in their collective concern. Still...there was no other way. Their opposition had to be stopped. And whether it be here, Earth, or even Cybertron, his conviction would have remained the same. "So for now," he began, looking towards the endless, blue horizon above. "Let the battle be here, on this strange, primitive world. And let it be called," he shouted, extending his fist towards the skies. "The Beast Wars!"

...

"YEAH!" The five shouted in chorus, full of nothing short of absolute triumph and exhilaration, the sight of the untamed, unconquered canyon and mountainous landscape the Maximals stood upon at the forefront of their mind's eye.

Of course, after a few moments of this, said landscape steadily began to fade, the mowed, fertile, green lawn of the African boy's yard coming to consume the place stationed in their imaginations.

"Uh, ok." a voice amongst them spoke, said voice belonging to another girl in the group, though contrary to the other young lady with them, she bore lighter skin and a head of long, red locks. "So...do we go over the toy fund now or later?"

"I think we've got a more immediate problem than that." the African boy said, picking up the crumpled-up piece of paper. "Somebody's got to redraw Waspinator. Again."

The skies had darkened, the sun just beginning to set. Yet in the small, packed enclosure of the cubical-shaped treehouse, none of the five children paid any mind, a serious and passionate debate taking place amongst them.

"No way! I did it last week! It's Tim's turn!" a blonde boy with scruffy hair protested, crossing his arms.

"Last time I checked," the African boy clarified, gesturing an accusing finger back at the blonde. "You only did it last week because you skipped out on the last time it was your turn."

"Hey, I was sick that week!" he protested.

"Yeah, that was boring." The black-haired girl admitted. "I was tired of acting out that episode where Cheetor got kidnapped by Tarantulas."

"You got tired?" another girl questioned, she of lighter skin and a head of fiery red hair, even if her voice was meek and smooth. "I had to make sure the cutout we made didn't get too messed up."

"At least Rattrap got to do stuff in that episode!' the other girl retorted, looking to her wooden sword. "Dinobot was barely in that one!"

"And we can only do so many with just five of us!" the blonde added in. "Soon, it's going to get to where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

"Ok, look!" the tan boy interjected, the other four quieting down. "We're getting off track. The point is that Waspinator got messed up, again, and somebody's got to make another cutout-"

"Again." the other children finished for him, he somewhat startled by how quickly they picked up on what he was about to say.

"Right, so one of us is going to have to do it. But we've got to find out who's turn it is to make a new one-"

"Timothy Leblanc!" each and every one of the five adolescents jumped at the voice piercing through their private space up in the crudely constructed, yet still standing treehouse. And whilst the feminine, rather irritable voice called out for just one of them, each didn't need to ask what this also meant for them. "It's thirty minutes past five now, and you're STILL up there?! Your father's going to get here in less than five, and your dinner's had to be heated up twice already!"

The African boy winced, looking at his friends with a rather sheepish expression. "I've got to probably get going too." the red-haired girl confessed.

"Me too." the blonde added. "Mom's going to kill me if I don't do the dishwasher before the day's done."

"And my mom wants me to help her with the...the…" the black-haired girl paused. "I think she called it a…bistek tagalog?"

"A what?" Tim questioned.

"Your mom always makes the weirdest stuff." the blonde added.

"Whatever it is, she wants me to help mix the sauce and put the onions in."

"So, who's going to redraw…" the tan boy began, only to find that all eyes were on him.

A few hours later

"Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah, totally!"

"You're always so thoughtful!"

"Yeah, the best!"

Even now, he was STILL seething mad at all of them.

True, there really wasn't a rush, and he could probably get it done during study hall tomorrow, but still, once again, he had been sacked with the task of redrawing Predacons (correction: one particular Predacon) AGAIN, when the rest of them knew well and good that it was someone else's turn! Still, in a way, he sort of knew why he got this particular task the most, mainly because he was the only one that could actually make them LOOK sort of accurate. As accurate as a fourth grader that had a decent enough grade in Art could get.

'Yeah, well, let's see them when we act out 'Starscream's Ghost'!' the boy thought, scribbling a green crayon in the thick pencil lines that made up Waspinator's outline. 'I'll be Waspinator on that one! And...oh wait, no.' he just remembered. 'We don't have anyone that can be Tigetron or Airazor.' let alone did they have anyone that could've filled in the role of Blackarachnia or Inferno.

'And we can only do so many with just five of us!' the blonde boy's words echoed in his mind.. 'Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!'

"Inuksuk!" a man's voice said from the other side of the door, the young boy ceasing his doodling. "Don't tell me you're still up!" the child inwardly groaned at hearing his full name. Culture and heritage aside, he still hated it. "Have you even brushed your teeth yet, young man?"

Brushed...oh shoot!

The older, far taller adult standing outside of the boy's room was knocked back by the door, quite literally, slamming in his face, a small figure rushing out and into the bathroom. "Well, at least you know to stand out of the way next time." a woman shouted at the bottom of the stairs.

"Y-Yeah...guess so…"

Bathroom

Not so much brushing as he was grinding the bristles in and around his teeth, yet from what he could see in the mirror, his mouth was foamy enough for it to count! Speaking of which, he took a moment to eject said foam from his mouth and into the sink, washing it down and getting out the dental floss, tearing off just enough (just as mom showed him) and tying the ends around his fingers (just as mom showed him, though he struggled more with that particular step). Inuksuk looked good and hard in the mirror at his still growing teeth, a couple of empty spaces from recently pulled ones serving as areas he needed to keep extra clean, this particular tip from his father (of whom he just realized he might've just slammed in the face with a door).

He'd have to apologize when he got out. Assuming he hit him hard.

Still, as the young boy garbed in a simple, grey t-shirt and worn down, dark grey sweatpants navigated the floss through his available teeth, he found one thought running through his mind on repeat as he went on with his (very belated) nightly routine.

"Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

...

"...making up our own episodes!"

Making up their own episodes...hmm.

Perhaps the better term for it would've been 'making up our own stories, as really, how were a bunch of kids going to get ahold of anything better than a handheld camera, let alone, by some miracle, contact Mainframe with a stack of papers detailing these new exploits and adventures of the Maximals?

Still, Tim thought, as he spit out the strong tasting, even stronger stinging Listerine, it could work.

Yeah, they'd have to go through the process of deciding on a plot, a script, who'd be the 'star', all things that, frankly, he would've been more than content to leave for the fine folks who were in charge of the show to decide. But, seeing as it was evident that they'd probably be playing out these reenactments with just five, Timothy couldn't help but entertain the potential Mathis' proposal brought with it. What if, just if, they did go through with it...what could they do? Or perhaps the better question was, what COULDN'T they do?

Oh man, oh geez, oh gosh, oh man! He had just meant it as a way so that they wouldn't have to act out the same stuff over and over again! But thinking about it now...oh geez, he was near slapping himself for not suggesting it earlier!

...

"Mathis, bed!"

"Ok, mom! Just a minute!"

The blonde boy heard the door to his room open, a hand setting itself on his shoulder.

"It's been ten." a low, feminine voice told him. "And unless you want to go through the ritual of me setting the radio on at max volume for you in the morning...and also, did you even brush, let alone take your pills yet-"

"Ok, fine." Mathis groaned, getting up from the dining room table and to the foot of the stairs.

"Clean up first."

He turned back to face his mother, she bearing his blonde locks, yet not his chocolate brown eyes. "But didn't you just say-"

"It's going to take you five minutes to get all these crayons and pencils up." she answered, a small, curt grin coming to her lips. Once again, she foiled him. As the young boy went back over to the table and began putting the art supplies back in their proper boxes, correctly, as she was watching him, the woman couldn't help but notice what her child had been drawing. "Who's that?" she asked, picking up the piece of lined paper. "One of the characters from that show you and your friends watch? Um…" she tapped her finger on her chin, trying to recall whom exactly her son fawned over. "Cheetara or something?"

"That's Thundercats, mom." Mathis moaned. "It's Cheetor from Beast Wars." well, technically, that wasn't what it was called over here, yet he and his friends were in mutual agreement that 'Beasties' sounded ridiculous, not to mention stupid. Besides, Optimus outright even said that the fight they were in was called the flipping 'Beast Wars'!

"Ah, right. He's the...leopard, right?" This earned the woman another groan. "Kidding, kidding." She scanned the crude markings meant to resemble the computer-generated robot cat (at least she thought that was what he was, she only saw the show in brief intervals), and found a strange, new figure beside him. "Who's this?" she questioned her child, gesturing to the right of (what was supposed to be) Cheetor.

"Oh, that's…" Mathis began to answer, stopping before he could finish. "Well...I don't really know what his name is, but he's somebody I made up."

"Ah, like it's supposed to be you in the show?"

"No, it's not me. It's someone I made up." the boy affirmed. "He's a Saber-toothed Tiger."

(AN-I know it's more accurate to call it a Saber-toothed cat or Smilodon, but being a kid in the 90s, and in general, a kid, everyone I knew, both other kids and adults around me, just called it a Saber-toothed Tiger.)

"Oh, ok. That explains the teeth." his mother nodded.

"Yeah," Mathis confirmed. "There's only five of us, so we only have so many episodes we can act out as the Maximals. So I got to thinking we could maybe make up our own episodes."

"And in turn, make up your own characters?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Yeah, well," the woman ruffled the younger boy's hair. "You have all the time in the world to do that tomorrow and on the weekend. Right now, everyone, even Saber-toothed Tigers, need to get up into bed. And they definitely need to keep their teeth clean"

"Before they have pills in some ice cream?"

She smiled, going over to the freezer. "I guess that can be arranged. Though, I'm not sure how you could eat anything with chompers like that."

...

'Making up our own episodes…' she wondered, as she climbed on into bed, her long, red locks contrasting greatly with the ivory fabric of her pillow and pale pink of her sheets, as well as a majority of her room, of which followed in a similar color scheme. 'How are we going to do that when we can't even save up enough to get some actual toys?'

Indeed, before the whole discussion involving who was going to be tasked with re-drawing Waspinator, she had collected what everyone had to offer that week to the 'toy-fund'. Inu (of which she and the rest had called Inuksuk, seeing as his name was somewhat difficult to pronounce) was the only one to have actually brought a full dollar along with herself. Everyone else ranged from fifty to no more than five cents.

'Five cents?!' she remembered losing her cool at that. 'Really, Mathis?!'

'Hey, it was hot out!' he in turn retorted to her. 'And Dr. Pepper was RIGHT there in the machine!'

She was still more than a little peeved about it, but ultimately, there was little that could be done now. 'We've gotten up to twenty-five, but if each toy costs around ten dollars, each separate toy, then…' her hand traveled to her forehead, realizing in horror what this meant. 'We're going to have to get around fifty dollars total! And that's not even with tax!' she flopped onto her bed, her red hair fanning out underneath her. 'We're going to be stuck using paper cutouts for the Predacons forever!'

This pessimistic musing, however, was cut off by the cracking of her door, her blue eyes watching as a large, furred, quadrupedal creature squeezed through the opening it had created and made its way to her bedside, sitting on the small, white floor mat stationed beside it.

"Hey, Zoe." The young girl greeted the massive Main Coon, this vocal utterance being all the greyish-brown feline needed to act, hopping on her bed and planting herself at the footboard, curling up and tucking her head under her tail. She folded her hands underneath her head, still more than a little perturbed that it'd be even longer before she and her friends would reach the desired goal of however many dollars before all the Predacons could be purchased. Assuming they would even be able to find any at a Wal-Mart or Toys R' Us. "If anything," she spoke aloud to herself, Mathis' words coming back to her. "Making up our own episodes would probably mean that we'd have to do even MORE work. Because then, we're going to start making up our own Maximals and Predacons!"

...

'Which would be so cool!' The Filipino, black-haired adolescent mentally declared, having been warned already to not be too loud, and that she had school to look forward to in the morning. 'Looking forward to school...yeah, dad, that was a REAL good one.'

'It'll be even better if you get in those eight hours. Now haul yourself up to bed.'

Frankly, she wasn't sure she'd be getting any sleep tonight. Not with this running through her head.

'Like...like there are already characters that are toys that aren't in the show yet! Like Claw Jaw, or Armordillo, Wolfang, and…' as she continued on, listing each and every Maximal and Predacon she had seen on the shelves (Dinobot WOULD be hers! Eventually.), her brown eyes surveyed her environment before she got out of bed and locked the door to her room, then went back to her bed and cut on the lamp stationed on her dresser. She then opened the single drawer on the small, wooden dresser, an even smaller, black notebook, and a single, number-two pencil residing in the compact space, the label 'Lulu' stuck on the cover via a small piece of paper and tape.

'Ok,' she mused to herself, grabbing the two objects and flipping open to a page with just enough room. Then, she began writing. 'Now...there was Claw Jaw, Armordillo, Wolfang…'

...

'...some guy that's a German Shepard...don't know how that happened.' indeed, he didn't, but lo and behold, it WAS indeed a toy. Inu rolled around on his left side. 'Maybe we could start with something a little more simple. Like...like after they left the mountain, they got the ship up and running better.' Despite his eyes being closed, scenarios and 'what ifs' began playing out in his mind. Yeah, that could work. Lulu could maybe play out how Dinobot settled in...and Mikaela could come up with some stuff to throw at her as Rattrap does in the show. Granted, that in itself might've been a little difficult. The Filipino girl could play out her role well enough without much assistance, yet the redhead kind of needed some 'coaching' on how to be snarky. Bizarrely enough, she could channel the rodent-based Maximal quite well whenever the subject of the 'toy fund' was brought up.

Inu continued to ponder and think, drowsiness steadily beginning to creep in, the faces and forms of his small circle of friends steadily transforming into the characters they portrayed in their reenactments.

'Hey.'

Yet...as he drifted off, the smallest bit of his mind that was still conscious noticed that despite the boy himself playing the role, the transformed silverback in his mind seemed to be paying attention to something or someone ahead of him. Something or someone that clearly wasn't present there before, yet he behaved as if they had been there all along.

'Thanks for the help back there.' Inu took a moment. This had to be a dream, yet...he certainly wasn't complaining. 'If it wasn't for you clearing out that path for us, we probably wouldn't have gotten off that mountain at all.'

"Oh, uh, no problem, sir." the young child answered, standing to attention like a soldier, salute and everything. He was far from a Maximal in this developing vision, let alone anything that could've ever had the potential to supposedly clear out a path, yet such details were trivial and minute to him. This was getting good, and he wasn't about to risk spoiling it.

"Despite your size, I'd be more than willing to allow you into our, heh," Primal chuckled, looking at the variety of fauna around him that were his comrades. "Ranks. Besides," he continued, extending one large, darkly colored hand. "I've always been curious about humanity and their culture."

...

Normally he'd totally be against this.

"Ah, here are some nice ones."

Here he was, some kid, in a time where people didn't exist yet, riding upon a talking rhinoceros as if it were the most mundane, normal thing in the world!

"Tim, you mind getting a few samples of these also?"

And even more...he didn't have a single problem with it.

"Sure thing. Just a second.'' The boy addressed both his transportation and 'favorite', hopping down from the Maximal's back and to the fertile, grassy plain below, said plain coincidently teeming with flowering specimens of all kinds. Some of these he had never seen before in his life, let alone in the pages of any book he could potentially check out from the school's library. Thus, he wanted to get the best one. The most fascinating and intriguing, not to mention definitely alien specimen…"Aha!" he cried out, wasting no time in plucking the desired flora from its place and bringing it to the brown rhinoceros. "Here.'' He presented his 'present', a strange, budding thing with fanned-out petals of primary colors.

"Now THAT'S one I might have to keep for myself," Rhinox admitted, the human boy in turn put the flower in a glass compartment he (somehow) had on his person. Dream logic, but he wasn't willing to spoil this. "Truly though, Timothy, sometimes I feel like you, aside from Optimus, are the only ones that can understand and appreciate the majesty of this place."

It was then that the child swore his heart had stopped. True, it probably hadn't, as he certainly didn't feel like he was dying in his sleep, yet to hear those words from the disguised robot, his 'favorite'...well, he was quite ready to go and pick every single thing that was growing in this imaginary field, should the rhino wish it.

...

His two legs carried him forward, the grassy plain and clear, summer sky nothing short of a picturesque perfect day. The slim spotted big cat with vibrant, green eyes that ran beside him was far from allowing the blonde boy to catch up. Far from it.

"Awesome!"

Impossible as it was, Mathis was actually catching up with HIM.

"You're almost as fast as I am!"

"Wait, almost?!"

"Yeah, almost!" With that, Cheetor gave himself a little bit of a boost, propelling forward and leaving the blonde a short distance behind.

Oh, it was on now.

The boy wasn't even getting tired. His legs were burning, his entire body drunk on adrenaline and whatever other chemical that flowed through his body (he'd have to remember to copy the notes off of Tim for Science class again), but by God, he was in absolute nirvana.

"Whoa, you actually caught up?!" the younger Maximal exclaimed to the human child, more than a little surprised at this.

"Y-Yeah!" Mathis shouted back. "Yeah, guess I did!" who cared about being a Sabertooth Tiger or whatever other animal, he was killing it just being an ordinary, boring….well, kid!

...

"..."

"...ok, look kid, you gonna stare all day?"

The red-haired girl giggled at the grey rat's annoyance. Even if she was the current source of such, she found she didn't particularly mind it. "I guess I just never realized how…"

Rattrap quirked a brow, taking another bite of the rotted blue apple (another indication this was no more than a dream. Not the giant, talking rat, oh no). "How what? You said it now, you can't leave me hanging."

Her teal eyes shifted. "I don't think you'll like it."

"I reiterate my prior statement."

"Fine," she said. In truth, she was somewhat anxious about how he'd react, yet all the same, a part of her hoped it'd be something he'd react to. "I never realized how fuzzy you are."

Any contents that once rested inside his mouth were promptly spat out. "Wh-WHAT?!" he exclaimed, scarcely believing what he had just heard. "What'd ya just say?!"

"I said you were fuzzy!" she repeated, a part of her somewhat fearful she offended him, yet another just as excited. "Right now! Your fur's getting all ruffled up!"

"It-it is not!" it clearly was. Robotic at spark he might've been, his outer skin was still a slave to its species' "quirks".

"Yes it is!" she chortled, fear finally gone and replaced with total amusement.

"It is not, kid!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it ain't!"

The vocal back and forth continued on and on, his growing frustration and embarrassment seemingly only channeling more and more humor for the human child, she then actually having the gall to come over and stroke him. Actually stroke him, as if he were some pet she had owned! Even worse, as he came to see as she continued to do it over and over, her hand traveling through his grey fur, Rattrap didn't entirely seem to mind. Daresay, it actually felt kind of...nice.

"Still don't know which of yous is worse. You or Choppahface."

"...you're still fuzzy."

"...it's you."

...

Block.

Thrust.

Block.

Swing.

Block.

Upward swing.

How she had managed to conjure up this particular kata in such a small amount of time, mattered not to her.

"Come now!" all that mattered was whom she was doing it for. "You're surely more capable than that!" Twisting herself around, the Filipino girl lifted her wooden sword and brought it down on the winding blade of Cybertronian origin, the wood miraculously not splintering upon impact. The azure features of her idol transformed into something of a curt grin of amusement. "You really believe you have a chance against me?"

"M-Maybe?" she answered. How she was doing this, she didn't know, yet frankly, she didn't care. And now she just up and made herself look like an idiot in front of him. Great.

Their weapons continue to strike and hit against each other, Dinobot outranking her in strength and size, yet she found that her smaller frame led to her gaining some clear advantages. Ducking under his legs, she aimed to stab upwards, he, in turn, whirling around and leaping forward, away from her strike. She got up, ready to go at it again, yet on the transformed Maximal's azure features, she beheld something that, had she not been so determined to keep her composure in front of him, she could've died happy right then and there in her sleep.

A smile.

A smile that echoed nothing short of absolute pride. Pride for her, of her, of one that had called him her favorite.

"You're far from ready to be partaking in any battle." the transformed velociraptor told her. "Yet...I will say this: there is a degree of potential in you."

...

Despite the distance between each of them, some greater than others, the same consensus was shared among all of them that night. And for many more nights to come. If their fantasies could either become their reality or better yet, have the ones they fantasized of step into the one they were unfortunately stuck in, then their young barely lived lives would be nothing short of absolutely perfect.

Primal's best soldier.

Rhinox's number one assistant.

Cheetor's best friend.

Rattrap's favorite (though he'd never say it).

Dinobot's best student.

The ideal scenario, should it ever be granted to them.

Though even in their young minds, they all knew such things, and their idols were regulated to the television and their own minds. True, it far from curbed or starved the desire to wish and hope for it, yet ultimately, it would be for naught.

For now, they had to make do with what they had at their disposal, regulated and limited to the simple, partially fulfilling games that they played.

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kittydemon9000 · 4 years

Text

Unfortunate Timing

*silently slides to @kabuki-akuma* I did a thing for PrimeDeck

AO3

***

Optimus was a worried mess.

Well, maybe not a mess. Sure he was a little upset that Sentinel was coming, and worried about how he’d react to the Braves, and scared that he go off about how bots made by humans weren’t anything more than drones, and-

Yah know what, scratch that. He wasn’t worried. He was terrified.

Instead of The Steelhaven, Sentinel has arrived on a smaller, nameless ship by himself. Ultra Magnus saw no need to send the giant ship, as it was just a small check-in. The visit was only supposed to last a few hours, after all.

Unfortunately, the Brave Police had just gotten a new lead on a case, which just so happened to lead to Primus fragging Detroit, Michigan at the same time.

Not like Optimus didn’t enjoy the Braves company. Drill Boy, Bumblebee, Sari, and Yuuta (and occasionally Power Joe) got along amazingly, and so did Shadowmaru and Prowl. Gunmax was always looking for an excuse to visit Jazz and was around often enough that the team was used to him. Duke was often seen with Ratchet learning first aid, and McCrane and Dumpson were often just drifting around.

And Deckerd… Optimus really connected with the leader of the Braves. The two often spent hours talking about their respective teams, plans, past adventures, and other such things. Deckerd actually helped Optimus build up some confidence during his small visits.

“Hey there, Optimus ol’ buddy.” a familiar voice snapped Optimus from his thoughts, along with the sound of transforming. Bulkhead and Ratchet were the (un)lucky winners of their small vote to get Sentinel. Optimus would have done it if nothing else than to spare his teammates the drive, but he, along with Jazz, were immediately excluded from the vote. If it were up to Ratchet, the two would’ve been locked in the med bay for the duration of Sentinel’s visit. Something about “for their own good and mental health.”

“Sentinel,” Optimus answered. Sentinel scowled at the lack of rank acknowledgment but didn’t say anything about it.

“Let go!” a hyper voice said from the hallway, followed by a clang of metal and a not very quiet “SHHH!”. Optimus cursed internally. Sometimes the similarities between Bumblebee and Drill Boy were uncanny. He says stay quiet, and the opposite happens.

Sentinel looked at the hallway in confusion, but it quickly became a smirk.

“Unauthorized personnel on Earth?” he started. “You know the rules, Optimus.”

Optimus let out a sigh. He put it off for as long as he could, which was 3 hours less than he wanted, but still.

“You guys can come out now,” he called.

Slowly, each of the eight robot police officers, plus Jazz, entered from the hallway. Drill Boy was clutching to his helm while wilting from a glare from Power Joe, making it clear who did what. Jazz and Gunmax were close to each other, with Jazz slightly behind Gunmax. Deckerd stood in the front of the group, orange optics shining.

Sentinel actually looked shocked for a few seconds, clearly not expecting such a large group, before giving Optimus that smirk. The same smirk he always gave when he caught even the smallest mistake Optimus made.

“Really, Optimus? One or two might’ve been excusable, but eight.” That was a lie and they both knew it. Sentinel wouldn’t have hesitated to report even a single “unauthorized” bot on Earth.

“What are you talking about?” Deckerd asked, drawing away Sentinel’s attention. Optimus let out a silent breath now that Sentinel’s optics weren’t tearing into his very spark.

“Well you see, Optimus here is supposed to report any and all Cybertronians on Earth, which he very clearly hasn’t done,” Sentinel said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But….” Drill Boy started. “We’re not Cybertronians.”

Sentinel balked.

“What?”

“We’re. Not. Cy-ber-tro-ni-ans.” Drill Boy repeated, this time much slower. Bumblebee snickered as Sentinel grew furious.

“I heard you the first time!” he snapped.

“Then why’d you ask?” Drill asked innocently, adding a small head tilt to really sell it. Sentinel let out an angry groan and facepalmed.

A small smile threatened to tug at Optimus’s lips, but he kept his face stoic. It would only make Sentinel more upset.

“The point is that Optimus didn’t report you, which is strictly against the rules he put into place. Isn’t that right, ol’ buddy?”

Optimus let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensors. It was one of the many things he had picked up from his time spent on Earth.

But just as he was about to answer, Deckerd beat him to it.

“Optimus did no such thing.” Sentinel stared at Deckerd.

“Of course he did! He-“ but Deckerd cut him off.

“Optimus Prime did not break protocol because we are not Cybertronians. We were made by humans and have lived on Earth our entire lives.”

Both Sentinel and Optimus froze.

“What!” Sentinel shouted. “You were made! By humans!!!!” He spat out the word like they were rotten.

“Yes, they were,” Optimus said, keeping his voice deceptively calm. Now Sentinel’s focus was on him…...

“They’re…….!” Sentinel looked like he was about to explode into a fireball. “They’re drones! Sparkless machines!” He shouted, jabbing a finger in their direction. Every single one of the Braves looked deeply offended.

“We’re not. We received our own souls and have emotions, much like Cybert-“ Deckerd started, but was cut off.

“They were made. By humans!!!!” He repeated. Sentinel didn’t even acknowledge the Braves now, staring straight at Optimus.

“Of all your mistakes, Optimus, this tops them all.” He stopped for a second before continuing. “Well, maybe not all of them.”

Optimus couldn’t help but flinch at what he was obviously implying, but he held his gaze.

“I’ll have to report this to Ultra Magnus, maybe even get the Autobot Science Division involved. Primus knows Perceptor would love to-”

Optimus’s energon ran cold at the mention of the ASD. From what he gathered from Ratchet, they were the cause of Omega Supreme’s coding, as well as for changing the Jettwins. He couldn’t….no, he wouldn’t let the ASD get their hands on the Braves.

“ENOUGH, SENTINEL!” He shouted. Everyone snapped to attention. Sentinel glared at Optimus.

“Now listen here, Optimus.” But Optimus was having none of it.

“No, you listen, Sentinel!” He shouted. “These bots are under my jurisdiction. They are native to Earth and have proven their sentience There will be no getting the ASD involved!”

Sentinel looked like he was about to say something, but Optimus cut him off again.

“And that’s Optimus Prime, to you.” their faces were only inches apart. “Ultra Magnus placed me in charge of alien life here on Earth, which the Braves are not. They are considered a native species to this planet, and by Autobot law, I quote “Should any mechanical life form pass the Ambus Test, they are to be treated according to Autobot Law.” end quote. Autobot law outlaws scientific and medical testing without consent by the mech in question or their Conjux Endura should they be unable to make the decision themself.”

The room was silent.

“Do I make myself clear, Sentinel Prime.” Optimus finished. Sentinel was giving Optimus a death glare. He clearly hadn’t been expecting Optimus to react this way.

“Crystal.” he hissed. He turned around and headed to the door. “Everything else seems to be in order. Goodbye, Optimus.”

As soon as the sound of Sentinel’s engine faded away, Optimus suddenly lost all the strength and confidence he had a few seconds ago and crashed to his knees, venting harshly.

Ratchet was quickly kneeling by his side. He placed a careful servo on his back and started rubbing in soothing circles. “Vent, kid. Vent.”

“I’m….”Optimus started. “I’m okay….I just….I just need a sec.”

“You did good, kid. You did good.” Ratchet repeated, keeping his voice low.

***

“Optimus, are you in there?” Deckerd knocked. It had been a few hours since Sentinel's….. ”visit.”

The door opened and a quite tired looking Optimus greeted him.

“Oh! Hello Deckerd. Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked. Deckerd just smiled.

“Actually, I came to thank you.” Optimus looked shocked.

“What for?”

“For defending my team, earlier,” he said. “You didn’t have to, but you did.”

Optimus gave an awkward laugh.

“It wasn’t anything special, but you’re welcome.”

The two stood in silence for a few seconds, neither one knowing what to do.

“I guess I’ll…*ahem* guess I’ll be going,” Deckerd said, breaking the silence.

“Y-yes. I’ll see you in the morning.” Optimus responded. “Goodnight”

“Goodnight,” Deckerd responded.

With the door now closed, Deckerd started the walk back to his temporary room, silently cursing himself as his face grew redder with embarrassment.

***

BONUS

Before all this happens

Bumblebee: Have you ever been yelled at by Optimus

Braves: We’re not afraid of him.

Bumblebee: So that’s a no.

#bpjd #tfa #optimus prime #deckerd #primedeck #and slight jazzmax

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transform-or-treat · 4 years

Text

Treat from Anonymous!

Treat for @synthesizeher! Your gifter wanted to remain anonymous but they really hope you enjoy this!

Prompt: "G1 Dinobots and the Technobots, Halloween Fun, Grimlock tries to take the Technobots out for their first trick or treat, cue disastrous costumes and jumpscares and candy trading" for @synthesizeher on Tumblr.

"They're asleep," Grimlock said, coming to sit beside his conjunx. Misfire sighed and draped himself across the Dinobot's lap, wings twitching with exhaustion. Grimlock rumbled in amusement and started rubbing his back. "I've been thinking…," he said softly. "Mhm?" Misfire asked, optics closed in bliss, giving him however much time he needed to order his words. "I want them to have more Earth culture. I am from there." "Did you have anything specific in mind?" Grimlock tilted his head, considering. "There are so many festivals." "You could ask the Witwickys." Grimlock grinned behind his mask and leaned down to nuzzle the back of his conjunx' neck. "You have the best ideas." "Halloween!" Daniel cheered. "I'm going to be Lance from Voltron." Grimlock made an inquisitive noise. "Halloween is when you dress up as other people and go knock on people's doors and ask for candy by saying 'trick or treat!'," Daniel explained, grinning. "The better your costume, the more candy you get." Lightspeed shared an excited look with Afterburner. "I call Buzz Lightyear!" Wheeljack laughed and stood from the seat where he had been lounging. "Guess I'll be dusting off the old tools of the trade." "You don't have to do that, Ri," Grimlock protested. Misfire nodded. "We'll just use temp paint." Wheeljack spluttered. "Nonsense! You have to really get into the spirit of the holiday! Alright, kiddos, give me your requests!" The Technobots all started babbling over each other in excitement. Very carefully, Scattershot approached his grandcreator and tugged on his arm. Wheeljack leaned down, tilting his audial as the Technobot leader whispered. His optics crinkled at the corners as he grinned. "You got it, kiddo." "Okay, hold still," Wheeljack said, as he carefully pinned the steel wool he had lovingly spun and woven into the kind of fabric Cybertron hadn't seen since the Golden Age. "How come you know all this stuff?" Nosecone asked, staying indeed extremely still. "I used to live on a cybersheep farm," Wheeljack said, his fins flashing cheerfully. "It was my great-great-great-grandsire's farm. We had sheep and zap-ponies and mineral fields and an energon distillery." "Can you teach me?" "Maybe. I don't know, I still like science better. But I am the only one who still knows this stuff, as far as I'm aware, so I probably should pass it on." "It's okay," Nosecone said. "You don't have to decide right now." Wheeljack chuckled and patted his hand. "I appreciate that, kiddo. Alright," he said, rocking back, "that ought to do it. Just gotta get it all sewn together, and then all the costumes are ready." Nosecone grinned as Wheeljack helped him out of his costume. "Did you get to make the visor?" "Yep, but no lasers, okay? It's a safety risk." Nosecone nodded solemnly. "I understand." Grimlock chuckled as he watched his creations file out of Wheeljack's back room. Lightspeed zoomed out the door, shouting "To infinity - and beyond!" Strafe followed at a slightly more sedate speed, but that was due to the long "mustache" that reached almost to his feet and the giant oversized hat that was nearly as tall as he was than anything else. He swung toy pistols from his hips. "Pew, pew, pew! I'm the fastest gun north, south, east, and west of Ibex! Pew, pew!" Grimlock smiled and nudged Misfire over their bond. He's a better shot than you. Misfire collapsed into giggles, losing it even more as a suction cupped foam dart hit him between the optics. Strafe grinned sheepishly. "Oops." "Raaaarrrr!" Afterburner screeched, jumping out, completely enclosed in some kind of monster costume. "Radiation breath! Radiation breath!" Grimlock laughed. "See, I told you the radiation breath could be invisible and still work!" Nosecone called, adjusting the yellow sash over his blue jumpsuit. "I don't have any eye lasers cause that would be a safety risk." Misfire and Grimlock nodded solemnly, then waited for Scattershot to make his appearance. There was a crash from the workshop. "Everything alright?" Grimlock shouted. "Fine!" Wheeljack called back. "Just forgot a very important costume element!" Another few minutes passed, and then Scattershot burst out of the door, dressed in silver, red, and yellow, and waving an orange sword in the air. "Me Grimlock, King!" Grimlock's jaw nearly hit the floor, and Misfire's optics just about bulged out of his faceplates. Scattershot yelped as the Tyrannosaurus Rex head on top of his helm slid down, covering his vision. He pushed it back up and grinned sheepishly. "Do you like it?" Grimlock laughed and scooped his creation up into his arms. "I love it!" He looked up as his creator walked out, hands still covered in various shades of orange paint. "You did a good job, Ri. What do we say, sparklings?" "Thank you, Grand-carrier!" the Technobots chorused. "Are we ready to go trick or treating?" Grimlock asked. The excited yells that earned him were nearly deafening. They met the Witwickys outside the Earth embassy. "Here!" Daniel called, waving. "I made a list of everybody I know for sure will give us candy. We've got to get these guys first so we have something to snack on." Nosecone rushed over to review the list and come up with a plan of attack. "Are you ready for your first Halloween as parents?" Carly asked, eyes sparkling. Grimlock crouched down to greet her and made a non-committal hum. "As much as we can be." Carly laughed. "Sounds about right." "How long are we staying out for?" Misfire asked, putting a hand on Grimlock's back as he straightened. Spike shrugged. "A joor maybe? We want the kids to have fun but not get overtired. At the very least, we'll be able to hit everyone on Daniel's list. First I think is Rodimus." He raised his voice to carry over the sound of excited younglings. "Everyone ready to go?" A chorus of affirmatives rang out, and the party slowly moved down the broad street that ran in front of the embassy. They didn't head to the Primal Palace or the Senate Hall like most would to meet the Prime, instead with the privilege granted to them as friends, they strolled leisurely to a nondescript apartment in what was decidedly a middle-class neighborhood. Bluestreak answered the door and promptly fell over himself laughing. "Radiation breath!" Afterburner yelled, pointing at the giggling Praxian. "No!" Bluestreak yelled, clutching his spark. "Not radiation breath! I'm dying - I'm melting - tell Rodimus… I love him. Blergh!" Afterburner stared in shock, then glanced at his creators, completely out of his depth. "Trick - Trick or treat?" "A trick!" Bluestreak sat up with a shout and grabbed Afterburner, fingers diving for ticklish seams. The Technobot collapsed in fits of laughter, pouring sheer delight down the bond with his brothers. Rodimus stepped out into the doorway and laughed at what he found. "Alright, alright," he said, patting his Conjunx Potentia on the head. "Who wants candy?" He made quick work of passing out energon goodies, chocolate, and compliments on the children's costumes and then dragged Bluestreak back inside. "They're trying to have a baby," Daniel said when everyone looked confused at the normally affable Prime's hurry. "Rodimus told me cause he wants me to be an uncle." The parents exchanged knowing glances. "Oh," Scattershot said, as if that explained everything. "Well who's next on the list?" Ultra Magnus turned out to be next, peering out at the Technobots through a comically large door. He gave each sparkling precisely two goodies, and Daniel precisely two goodie-sized chocolate bars. "An excellent choice of costume," he congratulated Lightspeed and Nosecone. "Peacekeepers are always noteworthy." "Especially when they're corrupt," Misfire interjected, smiling saccharinely. "Then you have to watch them to make sure they don't hurt you or your friends." Ultra Magnus stared at him for a moment, then wisely chose not to engage any further. "As you say," he said, and then closed the door. "Why don't you hurry on ahead?" Grimlock asked, putting a hand on his conjunx' lower back. Carly nodded and she and Spike gathered the children together and started walking. Grimlock waited until they were out of sight before dragging him into an alley. "We will never let what happened to Cybertron before happen to our children," he promised. "You weren't there," Misfire snapped, attempting a rare dig at his partner's age. "Stop that," Grimlock chided him. "That doesn't mean I don't know it was wrong. It just means I don't know what it was like to live it." Misfire sighed and shuttered his optics, burying his face in Grimlock's chestplates. They caught up to the others just outside of Jazz and Prowl's hab, and the Technobots immediately swarmed Misfire with hugs. Grimlock eyed the walkway suspiciously, something off about the serene look to it - tall crystal trees and soft tingrass, a path made of Earthen bricks that cracked beneath Cybertronian feet. "Everything alright?" Spike asked. Grimlock huffed and shook his head. "Yes," he answered. But he couldn't help but be on edge as they walked up to the door. He did have to admit the brick was an effective early warning system. Out of curiosity, he started counting the number of footsteps he could hear, tapping out the number on his fingertips. One, two, three, five, seven, the humans made barely a sound but they were there, and eleven. Wait. He stopped, turned around, sword drawn. With a yell, Scattershot ran back and started attacking something with his own little sword, leaving streaks of orange paint on - "Argh! I have been vanquished by a ferocious beast!" Mirage's electrodisruptor cut out as he fell to the path, pretending at a mortal wound. Scattershot huffed and pushed up the slipping dinosaur head. "I'm not a ferocious beast! I'm sa! Afterburner's a ferocious beast!" "Radiation breath!" the sparkling in question screeched as he pounced on the former spy, followed quickly by the rest of his brothers. "What are you doing?" a voice called from the door. Mirage was too busy wrestling the sparklings to answer, so Misfire opened his mouth to step in. "It was my idea, Prowler." Misfire shrieked and turned around, unsubspacing a gun to shoot the enemy that had appeared out of thin air. True to form, he missed, the bolt being absorbed by a crystal instead. Prowl surveyed the disheveled party and sighed. "Well, come get your candy." The Technobots shouted with joy and quickly abandoned Mirage for the treats. Jazz reached down to help his former second to his feet and grinned. "You look good covered in younglings." Mirage smiled and put his haughty airs back on like a cloak, patting Jazz' cheek affectionately. "You're getting ahead of yourself, darling." The human adults stared open-mouthed as Mirage sauntered up to the door and greeted Prowl with a kiss before sashaying inside, then turned to Jazz for an explanation, much more shocked at the idea of him and Prowl and Mirage than the idea of three. Jazz simply grinned and shrugged. "Towers courting. What can you do?" "Look!" Lightspeed called, running up with a small toy car. "We get one of these, too!" "Did you say thank you?" Grimlock asked. Lightspeed darted back away to do exactly that. Jazz patted Misfire's arm sheepishly. "Sorry about the scare, man." Misfire did what any Scavenger in their right mind would do and bolted for the goodie bowl. Grimlock chuckled at his conjunx, glad to see he was back to himself. Kup was next on Daniel's list, and he laughed at Scattershot's costume, patting the dino head. "You're gonna grow up to be just like your creator, huh?" "I hope so!" Scattershot said, grabbing handfuls of goodies out of Kup's bowl. Grimlock beamed at his eldest and leaned down for helm pats from Kup for himself, sneaking a goodie or two for himself while he was at it. Springer and Arcee were last on the list, and the Amica pair were waiting out on the stoop of their townhouse, dressed up in costumes themselves, though not as well-made as the ones from Wheeljack. Springer leapt to his feet and pointed imperiously at Afterburner as they walked up. "There can be only one!" Afterburner gave a mighty battle cry, and then the two Godzillas were dueling for supremacy. Grimlock was pleased to notice Afterburner was winning. Arcee laughed as she bounded over, spinning so her skirts flared out. "Isn't this fun, Grim?" Grimlock beamed under his mask at his friend. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to the gauzy fabric. "Just some princess," Arcee said, waving her hand. "She routinely gets captured by a giant lizard, but Springer didn't want to be that giant lizard." She grinned. "She kicks aft in the PVP games, though." Grimlock nodded, not having a clue what she was on about. "Suits you." Misfire grinned at her, bowing playfully. "You do look excellent, m'lady." Arcee giggled. It was disturbingly similar to the slightly maniacal cackle she gave in the middle of combat. "Radiation breath!" Afterburner yelled at the very top of his volume threshold. Springer cried out in mock pain and fell to the ground, defeated. Afterburner put a foot on his back and put his arms up in victory. "I am the one true Godzilla-aaaaa!" Grimlock chuckled, but then gestured the Technobots nearer. "Last stop," he said, "get your candy and give Auntie hugs, and then it's time for bed." There was a chorus of disappointed groans. "That's okay, guys!" Daniel said. "We still get to do this again next year!" Mollified, the Technobots formed an orderly line for goodies and hugs from Arcee, and then trooped on home. "Can I keep my costume on?" Scattershot asked. "Me, too!" Afterburner piped up from where he was trading candy with Nosecone and Lightspeed. Strafe had already shucked off his giant mustache and was working on the boots. Grimlock and Misfire shared a look and then shrugged in unison. "Sure, why not?" Scattershot bounded over to wrap his arms around Grimlock's knees. "Love you." Grimlock smiled and squeezed his creation back before tapping him gently on the shoulder. "Two goodies and then time for recharge." The Technobots rushed to consume their chosen treats and finish up their trading, and then they filed orderly into berth, already pleasantly exhausted by the outing. Grimlock and Misfire each took an end of the row of berths and started giving last hugs and kisses of the night. Meeting back at the door, they looked back over their creations. Grimlock turned off the light and closed the door, and then he pulled his conjunx close for a kiss. "Thank you."

Costumes: Scattershot - Grimlock Strafe - Yosemite Sam Lightspeed - Buzz Lightyear Afterburner - Godzilla Nosecone - Cyclops (X-MEN) Arcee - Princess Peach Springer - Godzilla

#treats #transform or treat 2020 #fic #halloween

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

Telefunken, A Prequel to Eugenesis: The Future Is Obsessed With Making Babies

All These Materials, And I Still Had To Keep The Wiki Open The Whole Time

This short story was included with the secondary publication of Eugenesis, which happened in 2007, six years after the first run. Yep. He had multiple publication runs. Back when you had to actually go and talk to people about what you wanted published instead of doing everything online. For a novel-length fan fiction about murdering space robots and then having them give birth to tentacle monsters.

I wish I had the friggin’ brass balls Roberts does.

Telefunken as a term doesn’t mean anything in any language, but that doesn’t mean we can’t gain any sort of understanding using context clues.

Tele- as a part of Greek, means “from a distance.” So whatever’s happening is far off. In the future, perhaps? The pre-story quotes certainly seem to imply such a thing.

A couple hundred years into the future, actually. With a list like that, one has to wonder just who the hell can get into Maccadam’s these days.

Funken itself actually is a word- it’s German for spark. So “from a distance” + “spark”. Alright, let’s see where this goes.

Is… is this someone trying to convince someone else to read Eugenesis? Is Roberts making the space robots read this batshit story? Is he threatening them? Because making someone read an entire book’s worth of slaughter of their race sort of feels like a threat.

Okay, moving on to actual story, our narrator starts the day by blinding himself. He turns the input on his optics all the way up and stares at the sun.

I don’t know why.

Once he’s done that, he reflects on the nature of change, and how some things just can’t be fixed.

I see we’ve hit our fascist phase. Because they’re only allowed to enjoy the rejuvenation of the planet if they’re wearing Prowl’s face on their chest, right?

Our narrator seems to have an alternate take on the walls, though- seems more like they’re trying to keep the citizens in as opposed to the ruffians out.

Scene jump, and we’re in the middle of a conversation between two folks about some guy who killed an Autobot and fled. Yeah, no one with dialogue has been properly identified as of yet. All I know currently is that one of the conversationalists is a commander. Something tells me Nightbeat’s involved with the scene.

But that’s just a hunch.

So, looks like the Transformers had a little more room for the war buffet after all, because they’ve had at least two named squabbles in the last couple centuries. Hence, our narrator is off to try and corroborate a rumor that Galvatron is still kicking around.

He heads through the religious sector to get downtown, lamenting that Iacon’s been reduced to a military city-state in order to keep some façade of peace going on. He didn’t go through the hell that was the Eugenesis Wars for this.

Ooh, a dash of fantastic racism to really bring out the acidic taste of Orson Welles 1984. Maybe this is Prowl, actually, which would explain why he hasn’t been explicitly named. Would kind of ruin the whole end of the novel, wouldn’t it?

I’m not saying it’s Prowl because of the racism. More the clean dividing of folks into categories and statistical data.

Our narrator walks through the throng, ignores a homeless veteran, and passes by a crowd of Creationists on pilgrimage, and with that he’s off to Autobot City 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Meanwhile, back with the guys reading this account- yes, turns out they’re outside of this particular story- more details are being revealed.

The Turning, you say.

Vampire robots it is, then.

Back with the narrator, he’s just found what he’d been looking for- an Autobot badge, close enough to the real thing to work for his purposes. He heads inside something called an “ingestion tank”- I’m imagining the fucking eating chairs from IDW2- and oh-so-sneakily adds a few screw-looking bombs to the badge.

Hmm. I’m thinking my guesses are just a bit off-base.

Back at the narrative, our narrator has just arrived at the Ministry, where Sideswipe and his boys are truly living up to the ACAB lifestyle- Sideswipe is literally unloading clips into a crowd of protestors. Apparently this isn’t anything new.

Oh-kay. So. Back in the epilogue for Eugenesis, Wheeljack made an offhand comment about Rodimus wanting to look into streamlining the biomorphic reproductive process, using the power of science. This was something Ratchet really wasn’t thrilled about- he’s the Transformer-equivalent to being child-free, I guess- and let me tell you something: if Ratchet thinks something is a bad idea, it almost absolutely is. But it looks like Rodimus got his way, if our narrator’s cryptic statements are to be believed.

Let’s get fucking weird for a second.

Millions of years ago the biomorphic process was decided to be too slow for the colonial ways of the Cybertronian Empire, so morphing centers were created, where protoforms were basically injected with false memories to kickstart their lives. Think MTO programming from IDW, but more mechpreggy. This practice died out when the shortage of energon caught up with everyone, and was left behind for the most part.

EXCEPT FOR THIS. Turns out that Kup actually wasn’t all that old, he just thought he was. Why did they do this? Assumedly for the preservation of their research. Does it factor into anything ever for Kup? Nah, not really. Also:

🄹🄰🄼🄴🅂 🅆🄷🄰🅃 🅃🄷🄴 🄵🅄🄲🄺

Telefunken really is what makes the director’s cut of Eugenesis. This is where all the really weird shit is. If you ever fucking read this nightmare of a book, you better make sure Telefunken is included, because you will be reeling.

Anyway, the planet can’t handle more than a few hundred thousand robots, energon-wise, so the Treaty of Antimorphism was signed- a sort of “no more mechpreg” agreement between the Autobots and Decepticons. Not sure how they’re going to stop someone’s torso from vomiting up a goo baby, seeing as the process appears to be completely random, but they probably know more about the process than I do.

Yeah, that treaty is broken almost immediately. I mean, come on, we know who’s writing this story, it’s amazing that the idea was even remotely considered.

The Autobots decided that they were going to start underground biomorph rings, where Lifers- y’know, the guys who can actually do this sort of thing- spit out protoforms on command to supplement the Autobot forces, in case more war broke out.

They can give birth on command.

I-

I just-

How-

Okay. Sure.

BUT HOW-

Of course, a lot of people had a problem with this, seeing as they already had a solution to the problem of a limited population, in the copies of everyone’s brains Rodimus had commissioned after the events of Eugenesis. Yeah, that’s the root of the problem right there: it was unnecessary. Certainly not the violations of the free will and rights of the poor bastards who got chained to a table and told to start pumping out new robots at what was probably gunpoint in the basement of some bombed out building. Nope! Just that the whole thing was superfluous.

That was about the time that the Anticopyist protests started- how convenient- and the mind crystals were buried, never to see the light of day. Of course, Star Saber might have had a hand in quietly recovering the crystals, but that’s just hearsay.

It’s all going down the tubes, really- High Commands gearing up for the inevitable civil war that’s about to break out amid all this bullshit. Prowl and Nightbeat are trying to put a stop to things, but what are two guys with crippling depression going to do against all this crap? Not much. Especially now that there are Neogens discovering that they aren’t who they think they are.

The slogan is “maximum speed, maximum efficiency.” I’ll let you take a wild guess as to what these weirdos call themselves.

Sideswipe and his goons get done with killing civilians, and our narrator can finally get on with their mission- an interview with Rodimus Prime, who is dying. Again. We just can’t keep our Primes alive, can we? Can’t keep ‘em dead either, but that’s not the point.

But I thought Cyclonus was key.

…I’m sorry, that was dumb.

Anyway, our narrator gets through security, bombs undetected, and prepares to finish his thesis.

These outside conversationalists are kind of morbid, aren’t they? Still, we wouldn’t have the narrative if they weren’t, so thanks? I guess? For being weird voyeurs of terrorist activities?

The narrator makes his way to the basement, where they’ve got Rodimus stashed.

But how are his tiddies? Are they ridiculously huge? Does he breast boobily down the hall towards you? Too bad First Aid’s dead, he’d be all over this behemoth.

You know, last time we saw Springer, his sole purpose in life was getting high. Wonder how he got to this point in just a couple hundred years. That’s nothing to these guys. Guess he traded in the space-heroin for juicing.

Springer, because I guess he’s kind of an asshole in this story, threatens our narrator, saying that he’s got a joor- pretty much an hour- to talk to Rodimus, and one second beyond that he’s throwing his ass out the door. He makes this point very emphatically, and repeatedly. Springer needs to take a chill pill.

With that, our narrator double-checks that his rigged badge is still there- how many times are we going to blow up Rodimus Prime?- and enters the medvault.

Rodimus isn’t doing so hot.

Despite the obvious lag in his brain, Rodimus is happy to be of service to a young student, and invites the narrator to sit and stay awhile.

Now that’s just cruel, Roberts. You gotta give Rodimus something, you already killed his best friend and most of his comrades. No wonder he’s depressed in every continuity, all the writers are mean as hell to our boy Rodders.

Our narrator starts off by asking about Scorponok, and Rodimus takes so long to answer he wonders if the guy just went ahead and died. But Rodimus, ever a good sport, does eventually answer. He talks about all the major Decepticon players, and our narrator smiles and listens, waiting for the point where Unicron is mentioned. He really wants to hear about Unicron, and can practically taste his presence in the room, seeing as Rodimus is still possessed.

You see, our dear narrator is a space-satanist.

Unfortunately, when Rodimus finally utters the name of the robot-devil, nothing happens.

No, see, if the Transformers had Plan B, none of this mechpreg stuff would be fucking happening.

This is where our outside conversationalists come more into play, revealing themselves to be Star Saber- finally entering the story proper- and Great Shot, who I can’t seem to find anything on. We get treated to the security footage from this point on, getting a lovely scene of our narrator yelling at a dying old man, as the two discuss the Turning. It’s a major point of concern for a lot of the troops, and we’re shown why, as Rodimus starts having a Reagan-from-the-Exorcist-level fit about the same time as our narrator drops his bomb. The room explodes, and our narrator escapes out into the world.

From here on, all of the narrative comes from out narrator’s internal recording. He keeps running, beyond the walls of the city and into the Rad Zone, until he hits Eocra. Eocra is where that chunk of space rock from Liars A-to-D was housed. I guess we’ll find out if it’s still there.

He requests an audience with Servion from a member of the Brotherhood of Chaos whom he doesn’t recognize, and is ushered inside.

Into an underground room with a window showing the stars and just packed with Decepticons. Even Blitzwing’s there- I’d figured he’d been one of the POWs who kicked the bucket, but apparently not. Turns out that door he went through was a teleport. They want our narrator’s thesis. He hands it over immediately.

Go for it, guys, his resume from today alone is beyond impressive. He’s done more in the last six hours than most of your top guys have done in their entire careers.

The Decepticons say that they’ll be in touch, and with that they shove him out of the room. Well, that’s that. Guess it’s time to go and see if the rumors about the losers in Kalis are a bunch of bunk after all.

And that’s the end of his datalog.

Back with the ‘Cons, the boys are gossiping about their new hire. Turns out he’s one of theirs anyway- a Neogen, and his name is Tarantulus.

I checked, it’s a valid alternate spelling of his name.

Over with Galvatron- did you honestly think he was dead?- the edgy bastard’s preparing for the Final Purge. Turns out he’s still under Unicron’s thumb, even after all this time. He’s pleased to hear that Rodimus is dying, and recalls being able to corrupt the Lifecode when he needled the Prime during other desperate moments. He decides he’s going to do that again.

Back with Start Saber and Great Shot, the boys are cooking up some tasty treats in their politically-powered lie kitchen. As far as the public knows, Tarantulus was shot to death by the guards when he approached the wall. Prime’s Turned, which sucks for him, but might work out in Star Saber’s favor. Just too bad that that one guard got in between Rodimus and the bomb blast.

So I guess Star Saber being less than piously heroic is just a Roberts thing. Alrighty then.

That’s the end of Telefunken. This answers as many questions as it presents, leaving us at a net-neutral for understanding just what the fuck is going on. Awesome.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #eugenesis #telefunken #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

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darkwalk · 4 years

Text

Trading Stories

Hey guys. Writing for the Together AU has been hard recently, mostly because there’s a lot of violence in the story (a lot of riots at one point) and it’s pretty hard to write that when there are riots going on in real life. I’m not sure if it’s disrespectful to write about them when they’re happening for real. I also don’t want people to have the impression that I’m encouraging the violence.

At the moment, I’m on the third chapter of the second draft (and wow, my writing is so much better with another draft.) and thought I’d share a part of the rough draft - it’s a conversation I wrote nearly a month ago that will get changed later.

This seemed a bit relevant for the present time. Warning: Long post, a dead body, and references to violence/class differences.

Trading looks, the adults sighed but surprisingly, didn't seem upset with Orion. Even the Glitch Mob mech just shook him helm tiredly. Something of Orion's thought process or apprehension must have shown on his face as an older femme chuckled at him. “Aw, don't be like that mech. We ain't gonna bite chou 'cause yer runnin' with Jazz's crews. We already knew yah were with 'em anyway. Yer symbol ain't exactly hidden.”

“I wasn't sure if you would be upset that Jazz hasn't solved all this yet or not. The other gangs seem to be laying all the blame at his pedes.” He admitted, having forgotten the symbol on his shoulder. To be fair, the glow paint barely showed under the dust and grime coating his frame.

A couple people actually snorted at his admission. One gestured broadly, a little wobbly and out of sorts. “They don't get to- get to throw blame when they ain't doin' no better. Honestly, what they gonna do? Only so much you can fight when they're sendin' so many enforcers down here.”

“Could be worse.” Someone added solemnly, making a gesture over their spark.

Several others copied the gesture to ward off bad luck. Another settled morosely against a broken crate piped up. “It ain't ever been this bad before though, has it? They never got down this far.”

“How often do riots like this happen?” Ironhide asked.

Orion glanced at him. He'd have thought the mech would stay quiet to avoid notice but the Ironhide appeared calm. The locals didn't seem to care that he wasn't one of them either. Perhaps being with a mech under Edgerunner protection gained him some leniency. Or the fact that he'd helped save them.

A shaky old mech, unassuming as could be, straightened in the creaky chair he'd snagged and took on a storyteller's voice. “Not as often as you'd think. The worst ones were a real long time ago, back when the Darklight didn't even have a name an' was a lot smaller. The lawmechs didn't like how many of us there were an' how we were growin' so they'd march in to make sure we weren't breakin' the law none. An' if folks got dead or disappeared during that time, well, who were we gonna tell about it?”

Ironhide face shifted, turning from exhaustion to quietly concealed rage as some of the younglings scooted closer to listen in and the old mech continued. “That's why we started buildin' down instead of up. They don't like when they can see how many of us there are. Not that any of us here were around then, ah don't think.”

He looked around the group with a smirk. A few people chuckled and some of the younglings exaggeratedly shook their helms 'no'. Orion stifled a grin.

“They've only tried barging in a few times, since the beginning.” Sitting with her back to a pole, a larger femme stroked the unconscious face of a mech settled in her lap. Surprisingly, Orion could see wings on her back. They were big enough that she could have been a shuttle and he couldn't help but wonder how a flight frame came to live down here where mostly cargo and racer frames roamed. “I don't think they ever got further than the second level.” She looked at the old mech for confirmation. Grimly, he shook his helm.

“No. They never have.”

“You were in the last one?” The youngling with the missing arm piped up, looking at the big femme. “Mah creator was but he didn't tell meh much an' he's dead now.”

“Hmm,” She shifted to get more comfortable and nodded, “Last one was a good hundred vorns ago or something. Don't rightly remember. But it was way before your time. It was bad but not bad like this 'cause they only did the surface. I know a couple patrols tried coming down here but they didn't make it back up.”

“Anybody remember that goodie shop, on the corner of Hololite Square by Fracture's shop?” Asked the old mech.

A number of sighs answer him. Someone hummed, “Daybreak an' Cinnabar's place?”

“Oooh, I remember them.” The Glitch Mob mech smiles, “They had the best oil cakes around. Even better than anythin’ in Polyhelix.”

A youngling asks,“They're dead?” The little frames had steadily and sneakily gotten closer to the group as the adults talked. Orion noted most had cuts or cracked plating, faces lean and hungry looking. But at the moment, they were distracted by the old stories.

“Yeah, surface level during the last riot.”

“Didn't even fight none.” Growled the flier femme. “Everybody knew those two didn't get involved in no street fights or gangs or nothin'! Weren't their fault they didn't have the creds to get a shop in Polyhelix proper!”

The conversation almost stalled as no one had anything to say to that, so Orion brought up something he'd been wondering. “Is Fracture's place really that popular? A lot of people seem to know him.”

That sent a wave of chuckles around the room. The lounging mech outright laughed, high and sharp. “Darlin', everybody knows Fracture! He's the reason we got crystals growin' outta ever crack, hole in the wall, and even our own platin’ if we don't watch 'im close enough! That mech keeps plantin' seed crystals everywhere.” Orion startled, unsure if the mech was exaggerating or not.

“It's like he's tryin' tah turn this place into a fraggin' garden!” Another moaned.

The old mech snorted. “At least some are edible. Free snacks right there.”

“Yeah, he puts tags by those so folks know if they can eat 'em.” A mech nodded in agreement. “Primus, I love the hematite shavings in plain energon. That's good stuff right there.”

“Reverie.” A younger mech whispered, looking at the old one in the chair. They glanced back at the mech on the floor and the group fell silent as everyone took in the deactivation gray plating. Reverie slowly got out of his chair, joints creaking as he crouched to lay his helm against the downed mech's chest plates. After a moment of waiting, he straightened and shook his helm.

“Yah did a good dance youngling. Safe journeys.” He murmured to the body.

Everyone shifted, mouths thinned back to grim lines. The Glitch Mob mech pursed his lips. “We don't got a name, do we?” When several mechs shook their helms, he added, “Whose got claim to his subspace then?”

Ironhide jerked, turning to stare wide opticked at the mech. All the others around them frowned and looked at Reverie for guidance. It seemed surviving long enough to become old in the Darklight earned one quite a bit of respect, even if they couldn't fight anymore.

Although Orion wouldn't have bet that the old mech couldn't fight. Out of everyone in the room, he was the only one with out any injuries. Everyone from Ironhide to the younglings sported at least minor wounds. Reverie ignored the energon staining his legs as he reached into the dead mech's subspace and started pulling out supplies; mainly normal items like knives, a few guns, a couple cubes of energon, credits and some random shinies.

After a long moment to look it over, he turned to the smallest frames in the room. “Younglings, come 'ere.”

They did not 'come here'. In fact, a few near the edges started inching away, as the entire lot of them scowled mightily and flicked their optics around the room like they’d been setup. Reverie's mouth ticked up in amusement but he gestured again, and moved back a little from the body and the loot. “Come 'ere. You bigger one there, get the guns, Armless gets first dibs on a knife,” Orion tried not to make a sound at the terrible nickname, “an' ya'll share the rest. Especially that energon. 'kay?”

No one seemed to disagree with Reverie's decision, even if a few adults frowned sadly at the energon. They all knew none of them really had a claim to the supplies. So they shifted back out of the way and let the wary younglings inch forward. After grabbing the loot, they skittered back behind the props and eyed the adults while they examined their new treasures.

Reverie chuckled sadly and nodded at one of the other adults and the body. “Help me move him to the side a bit, yeah?”

None of this was out of the ordinary for Darklight folks, as far as Orion was concerned. He'd seen much the same when a few of Tumult's crew had fallen in a shootout during that gang war with the Crowncutters. Supplies couldn't be wasted so they went to whoever the deceased was closest to. In the Edgerunner's case, most had gone back to the gang's general supplies and the personal items to the dead mechs’ friends. He'd gotten the impression though, that this might not be the way people in other places did things, especially from the way Ironhide had startled.

A quick look at the mech gave Orion a sudden feeling of relief. He looked thoughtful, instead of offended and about to say something about it. Perhaps he was learning one couldn't just snap at Darklight people demanding answers to their weird behavior.

He didn't expect the question that came out of the Iaconian's mouth. “You don't consider yerself Polyhexian, do yah?”

The group glanced at each other, surprisingly mellow about the question. Perhaps they'd had enough fighting for the day. Smiling grimly, the shuttle femme answered, “No. Polyhelix don't want us, and never has. Even if they claim this area as part of their city. Why should we call ourselves what we ain't?”

“At least Darklight knows Darklight.” The lounging mech sighed softly. “Even if some of us don't have the accent an' some of us don't have the neon an' glow on our plating.”

“Remember...remember that time, that they tried tah tax us?” The possibly drunk but probably concussed mech snickered.

Someone snorted. “If they wanted tah tax us like Polyhexians they shoulda treated us like Polyhexians. Instead, they built a Primus-damned wall.”

“They actually tried to tax the Darklight?” Orion gaped. “Seriously?!”

One of the femmes laughed, “Yep! It didn't work at all-.”

#writing #snippet #tgau #together au #lighting fires #transformers #orion pax #ironhide #darklight #darklight culture #riots

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libermachinae · 4 years

Text

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 2, High

Also available on AO3! Notes: Oops, forgot to put this up here, just barely squeaking it in 5 minutes till 4/21.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

It wasn’t like a space bridge.

Hook could still walk and felt the weight of his frame, so he assumed the timestream must have a floor, but it was not defined in any way. Instead, all he could see was lemony peach light that expanded and dissolved like the life cycle of crystals. Even dialed down to minimum sensitivity, it hurt his optics to look at, to say nothing of the soundless ringing in his audials. Fractals bloomed around him, dazzling his optics, but he swore they grew in him as well: the air was crunchy, resisting every step forward while Hook hurried to keep from being left behind.

Everything was an effort; the momentum of his spark spinning in its chamber almost hurt for the effort it took. So much of his focus was pulled to the feeling that he did not see exactly how the exit opened in front of him. All he knew was the burst of energy he got from relief as he plunged through, relishing the feeling like smooth energon along one’s intake.

A hand landed on his plating and tried to shove him back.

“I told you to wait for my signal,” Prowl hissed. He retracted his hand but stayed close, leaning into Hook’s space like he was trying to intimidate. For the first time, Hook realized their leader had returned to his old frame and was one again small than the rest of them.

“Sorry, Prowl,” Hook said, holding his ground. The only place for him to go was back into the timestream, and he wasn’t ready to bear that just yet. “That place made it hard to think.”

“That’s not good enough, Hook,” Prowl said. “If a slight bit of discomfort means you can’t follow my orders, how can I expect you to—”

Like a crashing wave, three more mechs piled into what Hook had just realized was actually a rather tight space. Trapped between Long Haul and a wall, he noted that they were at the dead end of an unlit hallway that extended about a hundred meters. Open archways, facing each other, were spaced evenly down the entire length. It appeared to be Cybertronian style, but since Prowl hadn’t told them what time period they were coming to, that could have meant anything. It wasn’t purple, so Hook guessed it didn’t belong to any Decepticons.

“So what do we do first?” Mixmaster asked. Hook couldn’t actually see him, on account of Long Haul filling up most of the hallway, but his voice, the highest of the crew, carried through fine.

“You, Mixmaster, are going to wait here,” Prowl said. Somehow, he had managed to avoid the tide of construction vehicles and stood apart from them, arms crossed and doorwings flicking. “We need someone to stay and guard the rift, and make sure the stream stays open. If you had followed my instructions, I would have been able to tell you that before—”

“Can I?” Long Haul asked, drawing Prowl’s attention. His expression remained inscrutable, but his annoyed slouch straightened into something more… something.

“Explain,” he said.

“Just, I have to crane my neck just standing here, and it doesn’t look like it opens up much further. Doesn’t feel like crawling around is a worthy use of my skills.”

Hook was convinced Prowl was going to refuse on principle, so he was surprised at the eventual nod.

“Your assessment is reasonable,” he said. “Long Haul will stay here. Mixmaster, you’ll be accompanying us for the survey. We’re looking for any evidence that our fugitive has been here.”

There was some shuffling that had to be done to allow Mixmaster to squeeze past Long Haul. As soon as he was able to peer around his largest teammate, Mixmaster’s optics flashed in an expression Hook was dangerously familiar with.

“Oh! The lab!” He shoved further, suddenly ignorant of the mechs he was squished in with as his gaze darted around the space.

“You picked this up from my memories?” Prowl guessed.

“Of course,” Mixmaster said. “You were so brilliant here, how could I resist?”

Then, as though familiarity equated permission, he continued past Prowl to explore further into the facility. Hook stared at his wayward teammate, but Prowl, despite stepping out of the way, was not so stunned.

“Mixmaster!” he snapped. “I just finished telling you, you’re to wait for instruction!”

“Find the guy, don’t kill,” Mixmaster said, waving him off. He reached an archway and peered into the room beyond, his optics flashing again. “When are we Prowl? Is that the aqua fortis putty?” And then he disappeared into the room beyond.

“Mixmaster!” Prowl went after the distracted alchemist, leaving Hook and Scavenger alone, glancing to each other.

“What do we do now?” Scavenger asked.

Hook didn’t know. Whatever Prowl wanted them to do was probably the right answer, but he didn’t know what that specifically was, anymore.

“He told us not to move unless he tells us to,” Hook said.

“But we were also supposed to wait for instructions,” Scavenger said.

“Yes?” Hook didn’t understand why that was an argument.

“How can he tell us what to do if he’s in some other part of the building and no one has their comms on?”

Maybe Scavenger had a point. And furthermore, what if Prowl got into trouble? What if Mixmaster led him all the way to the end of the complex and then their mysterious criminal got the jump on them? Prowl’s delicate armor wasn’t built to sustain a heavy attack, not like the rest of the team’s was. Mixmaster could provide some protection, but distracted as he was, Hook could see someone grabbing Prowl, hauling him into the shadows, and Mixmaster not even looking up from whatever superweapon had taken his attention.

He knew what Scavenger was trying to do, but that didn’t stop it from working.

“He needs us,” Hook said. “Come on.”

They followed the direction Prowl and Mixmaster had gone. Unfortunately, they were not in the next room, which housed three desks covered in all manner of supplies and large vats in which something slimy writhed and bubbled. They shied through, Scavenger keeping his eyes on the floor, and in the next room were greeted by their teammates, one of whom had climbed up a derelict ladder to peer inside one of several hundred cubby holes shielded in the wall.

“Prowl, these ones are almost to maturity!” he said, delighted.

“And they’re to stay that way,” Prowl said, standing at the base of the ladder and staring up with disdain. “Mesothulas reported exactly one break in while he was stationed here, and it turned out to be a retrorat that had snuck into my ship. Nothing ever went missing, and since I disabled the paradox drives in the time machine, nothing will, so you’re just wasting our time by considering the possibility.”

“The mission, Mixmaster?” Hook reminded him.

Joint disapproval grounded the overstimulated scientist. He looked down at them from his perch, then back to the curiosity, his fingers thrumming around the frame of the ladder.

“There’s so much I could do with them,” he whined. “The corrosive properties alone would—”

“You don’t, Mixmaster,” Prowl said. “It’s what time has already dictated.”

Even then, Mixmaster took another moment to consider before his shoulders drooped and he relented, sliding back down the ladder and returning to his teammates.

“Good,” Prowl said. “Now that we’re back on track, we can go over tasks. Hook, you’re to—”

Bang!

It wasn’t a gunshot, but Hook’s combat systems came online anyway, senses expanding as he rapidly scanned the room for the culprit. That’s how he was able to capture it when Scavenger toppled to the ground.

“Scav!” Mixmaster yelped.

“Dammit,” Prowl grumbled.

Hook’s distressed run to his teammate’s side was thwarted by two pairs of hands, one on his arm and the other digging uncomfortably into his back kibble.

“Nuh-uh,” Mixmaster said, drawing Hook back by the elbow.

“The slag, Mix—“

“He’s right, Hook,” Prowl said. “Don’t get too close.”

“Close to what?”

“That,” Mixmaster said, pointing in the general area Scavenger had just been occupying. “Do you see the sediment?”

When Hook stopped trying to look everywhere at once and forced himself to focus on the spot Mixmaster pointed out, he found he could see something: hovering in the air, a yellowish cloud of what could have been powder or vapor. It twisted in the minute air currents of the room, dancing to the rhythm of their smallest movements.

“Mesothulas kept all sorts of volatile materials out in the open,” Prowl said, his sharp jerk on Hook’s sensitive kibble enough to pull the larger mech back a step. “It looks like Scavenger set something off.”

“Is he okay?” Hook asked. Scavenger was splayed on the floor, optics offline, though the sound of his engine indicated he was still functioning.

Mixmaster shrugged.

“Don’t know what it was,” he said.

“So, find out!” Hook didn’t understand why the two were so calm, or why he was the only one obviously concerned with their teammate’s wellbeing.

“We will as soon as you relax so we can get the vent filters,” Prowl said.

Hook relented, forcing himself to calm enough that Prowl was able to let go and retreat to a supply closet.

Mixmaster idly traced circles on Hook’s arm. His fingers were blunt, edges of his armor worn down from a lifetime of playing with acids and explosives and whatever existed in between. Hook let himself lean into the touch; silent assurance passed between them.

They separated when Prowl returned, and he and Mixmaster set to packing their vents with filtration foam, pressing until the blades bit into the soft material. Hook offered to assist Prowl, having done it enough for Mixmaster, but was brushed off, so he sat back to watch as they pressed the expanses and kneaded the edges into place. It would have been a privileged show, if he hadn’t been thinking about Scavenger’s state.

Mixmaster finished first and went to Scavenger, arranging his limbs into a more neutral position.

“Hey Scav, how you feeling?” he asked. He waited a beat, then announced, “Functional. Offline.”

“From the blast, or the material?” Prowl asked.

“Honestly? It’s Scav; he probably just scared himself into stasis.”

“It’s happened,” Hook said. He didn’t want to dismiss too soon the possibility that his teammate was hurt, but Prowl ought to know.

“Can you bring him online?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Mixmaster said, reaching for Scavenger’s helm. “Just pinch a few wires, should do the trick. Just so you know, though, you might want to step back. Potentially volatile material mixed with active energon processing is—”

“Okay, stop,” Hook said.

Mixmaster paused and looked to Prowl.

Prowl sighed.

“Fine, yes, stop,” he said. “How long would it take to identify the substance?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Mixmaster said. He stepped away from Scavenger and to the lab bench he’d been looking at, covered in a clutter of equipment and materials. It was such a mess, Hook couldn’t even imagine what experiments had been taking place: it looks like someone had taken a pile of random scrap and dumped it all there.

“Mesothulas’ notes are in here somewhere,” Prowl said, eyeing the piles that extended throughout the room. Hook reflected that Scavenger would have been delighted to be put to task sorting through a place like this, and a few image captures would be just the thing to get him to stick to protocol in the future.

“Okay?” Mixmaster said. With a bare finger he swiped some of the settled dust off an empty test tube, raising it to his optics. “Gimme five.”

Hook wasn’t really able to follow the barrage of tests that occurred over the next 4.96 minutes. Mixmaster constantly seemed to have each hand on different equipment, his optics swinging from one, to another, to a third he had set up to run concurrently. Occasionally he would blurt something, a grunt of disappointment or a sharp demand, “Slide,” that he would swiftly follow by delivering to himself.

“Fascinating!” he announced, like a timer on an oven.

“The results?” Prowl asked.

“Derived from high intensity energon crystals, but the chemical makeup has been altered to interface directly with Cybertronian circuitry,” Mixmaster said.

Hook didn’t know how he’d figured that out from a few standard laboratory tests.

“Is it killing him?” That was all he wanted to know.

“Oh, no.” Mixmaster said. “He can come online any time.”

Prowl strode forward, leaning down to Scavenger’s prone form while Mixmaster continued to delight himself with a few more experiments. He leaned down and for a moment, Hook thought he was going for a medical port, but then he almost seemed to pinch one of the wrist wires.

Scavenger’s optics fans whirred to life and his optics flashed on. He shot up, optics darting around the room.

“Who—where—”

“This way.” With minimal grace, Prowl hauled Scavenger to his feet and led him away from the hazy work area. As soon as they were within safe distance, he shoved him to Hook, who just managed to keep Scavenger from sprawling across the floor again. He was alive and online, for sure, but the glow of his optic band was dim, and when he looked up at Hook it was like he didn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Heey, Hook,” he said, sloppily batting Hook’s hands away when he tried to inspect closer.

“I need to check you for damage,” Hook said.

“Nah, I’m good,” Scavenger insisted, his head tossing back and then rolling forward.

Hook grabbed him by the helm and pulled him forward, shining a light into optics.

“Scrap. He’s overcharged.”

“Something like that,” Mixmaster said, not looking up from his experiments.

Prowl sighed and pinched his nasal ridge.

“Get him back to Long Haul.”

“Yes, sir,” Hook said, sagging under more than just Scavenger’s limp weight. They hadn’t even made it to the point of receiving instructions, much less proving to Prowl that they were a capable and dependable team. Fighting the order would only further prove the point, though, so he shifted Scavenger’s weight and trudged back the way they’d come.

He expected Mixmaster and Prowl to follow, but he didn’t hear footsteps. In fact, just as he was stepping out of the room, he heard Prowl’s voice quietly ask, “So, how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Oh, the residue reminded me of something I tried to put together a while ago,” Mixmaster said, too involved in his own musings to realize he had Prowl’s undivided attention. Whether for curiosity’s sake or jealousy’s, Hook found himself paused, just out of sight.

“For recreational purposes?”

“No, mine was more designed for frying Autobot neural circuits,” Mixmaster said. “Could never quite figure it out, but it looks like Mesothulas made it possible.”

“Yes. He had a talent for that.”

Prowl’s tone… again, Hook couldn’t place it. He didn’t have the words to describe the hush, the gentle roll of the vocalizer that in any other mech could have turned into a tremble.

“Can you describe his experiments to me?” Mixmaster asked.

Against Hook’s shoulder, Scavenger giggled again, and Hook quietly stroked a hand over his helm to shush him.

“That won’t be necessary.” Prowl’s voice had changed. It was harder now, closer to the way he gave orders, though Hook didn’t know what had caused the shift.

“But, I’m interested,” Mixmaster said.

“You already took what you wanted from my memories.”

Scavenger lolled his head against Hook’s shoulder and played his fingers along Hook’s chestplate. He said something that sounded like, “Purple,” but could have been an incidental blat of his vocalizer.

“That’s just data,” Mixmaster said. “The organization system for your memories is as polished as the Iacon research libraries were before we burned them down, but it doesn’t prioritize a whole lot. I don’t know which ones you liked the best.”

Prowl mimicked Scavenger, making a sound that was not words. Hook squeezed the mech tight against himself, making Scavenger squirm like a squishy.

“Hoook,” he grumbled.

Hook squeezed with more intention, but Scavenger wouldn’t take the hint.

“St’p it,” he mumbled.

“That will not be necessary,” Prowl repeated, more force behind it. “Get that cleaned up, as close as you can get it to whatever state Scavenger found it in. We’re leaving.”

Mixmaster sighed, but Hook heard the burner turn off and a rag start to wipe down all the surfaces that had been decorated in the five minutes of mayhem. Knowing he only had moments left, Hook tried to get Scavenger moving again, which was both helped and hindered by the latter’s discovery that he had unimpeded access to touching Hook.

“Mesothulas is a genius,” Mixmaster said.

“Maybe he was,” Prowl said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it does.”

Hook did not know why Prowl did not respond, what sort of silent exchange might have taken place in the room just beyond. He lugged Scavenger back through the room and up the hall.

Getting through the time portal was even worse while supporting a barely coherent teammate. Hook groaned as he finally pushed through, dropping Scavenger’s body on the platform.

“What happened?” Bonecrusher asked, approaching the portal from where it looked like he’d been lounging near the terminal. “Where’s Mixmaster?”

“Here,” their wayward alchemist said as he stepped around Hook, still too worn out to get out of the way. “Miss me?”

“Mixmaster.” The four sober mechs swiveled to attention as Prowl stepped into the present. “You disobeyed orders, questioned my authority, and put one of your teammates in danger. Do you understand that?”

“Mix didn’t do anything,” Scavenger slurred into Hook’s shoulder. “It was just me… I just…” He seemed to lose his train of thought, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling.

“I understand, Prowl,” Mixmaster said. Now that he didn’t have the excitement of another mad scientist to distract him, he seemed more aware of where he was and the consequences of his actions, though Hook doubted that he actually felt guilty about any of it.

It had been nice for a little while to imagine this woud work, that Prowl would combine with them again and they would all be together the way they were supposed to. His shoulder was aching and he wanted nothing more than to ease Scrapper down to the floor, but he could put it off until after Prowl kicked them out.

“You’re staying behind for the next mission,” Prowl said. “And many more after, if I don’t see an improvement in your attitude. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Prowl.”

Hook hiccupped, the sound bouncing off the cave walls and causing Prowl’s doorwings to twitch. Their head had definitely implied earlier that they would be kicked off the mission if they failed him, but maybe he was feeling the draw, too? Was he really giving them a second chance? Hook couldn’t question it. Here was another opportunity for them to prove themselves to Prowl, and he would not give it up for anything. He hefted Scavenger up, trying to give the impression that they were both standing at attention.

“So, when to next, boss?”

#maccadam #prowl week #prowlastator #prowl #constructicons #transformers #my writing #longfic #schematics #high

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amosbrittany · 5 years

Text

Shattered Chapter 1

Disclaimer : I don’t own Transformers Animated or any characters for that matter.

Notes : I haven’t done fanfiction, let alone TF based, in ages. And never for TFA, So I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing but what the hell, I’m going for it. lol I took quite a few liberties, pulling bits from various continuities to build this sucker.

Warnings : I have a tendency to put characters through hell. Violence and character death this chapter. Eventual Optimus/Sentinel, Megatron/Ultra Magnus, Bumblebee/Blitzwing, Jazz/Prowl and Ratchet/Pharma.

Summary : The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but Sentinel’s latest stunt might just kill them all...or worse.

The Fringes had to be the worst possible place to put a space bridge. On the very edge of Autobot territory, it took a regular beating from the Decepticons and even anti-Cybertronian organics. Crews came and went during its construction and maintenance, at times never making it back to Cybertron at all. For the most part, the disappearances were blamed on the Cons. It was a dangerous assignment that wasn't helped in the slightest if the crew assigned were full of incompetent or delinquent workers, which was typically the case as no one with a whole procoessor would settle for the post.

Sentinel Prime knew Alpha Trion sent him out here in particular as punishment, pure and simple. After the unmitigated fiasco Megatron's trial had been, he'd not only lost his position as Magnus but as second-in-command as well. He was bumped all the way down to repair duty with a group of fools and sent off to the Fringes. Naturally, he was angry. He was angry with the Decepticons for living up to their cursed name, at Alpha Trion, and at Optimus for not only upstaging him with the Powermaster armor but for taking his job afterward. He was humiliated and bitter. His team didn't help make the situation much better.

There were four other bots on the large rockbound base with him. Broadside was one of few triple changers in their ranks who could turn into a plane and a sea craft...but he was deathly afraid of both heights and water. Sentinel had no idea how that was feasibly possible, but he imagined the bot would have a spark attack on Earth when the rain came. Second was Landfill, and despite being a decent soldier and overall nice guy, he lived up to his name. Quite literally. Sentinel had no idea where the stench was emanating from on the mech's person and it was almost insulting that the mech couldn't pick it up himself. The whole team kept a wide distance from him at all times. Sentinel knew he could be whiny at times himself, but Huffer took the oil cake. He took the oil cake and complained the whole time he ate it at that. He avoided literally everything difficult, whining about it for good measure and he was the most likely bot Sentinel was going to throttle one day.

The only member of the team worth anything was the medic and truth be told, Sentinel had major concerns about the mech. Dark rumors from Delphi on Messatine followed this bot after his experimental jet upgrades following the success of the twins. Pharma had apparently glitched in the processor and hard from the procedures, not only setting a plague loose on the facility, but sawing a Decepticon defector that recently joined their ranks in half. Length ways. After some orbital cycles under intensive therapy, the doctor was cleared for limited duty and shipped off with him out to the Fringes, away from the good people of Cybertron in case he lost it again. There were a few times the Prime caught his medic giggling in an alarming manner and even talking to himself, so Sentinel wasn't entirely comfortable with his presence. But Pharma was the best in the field, so he prayed it panned out well for them.

"Can you not figure out why Landfill stinks so bad? What kind of doctor are you?" Huffer whined, shaking Sentinel out of his thoughts rudely. They stood gathered at the base of the space bridge, surveying the damage recently wrought by an agitated Deception that had attacked in passing.

"Last time I checked, it was my job to make sure you don't offline and continue to function optimally...Not help you smell like fragging rosewood." Pharma hissed, brandishing an inactive saw in place of his left hand at the minibot. "And if you don't shut up, I will ram this up your tail pipe and turn it on!"

Sentinel snorted. At least he didn't have to babysit the doctor. He glanced up at the patchwork space bridge, the south pole smoking the hit and run. It happened frequently and it was damned annoying. "Could you all just pipe down so we can fix this and get it over with?" He scowled at the rest of the team.

"But...But that's so high up..." Broadside frowned.

"Oh for frag's sake..." Pharma rolled his optics, hands thrown in the air. "You have a plane alt-mode. What is your malfunction?!"

"At least it isn't as bad as yours-" Sentinel could appreciate Huffer's brave attempt at snark, but the screaming that followed it as the jet transformed and proceeded to run the minibot down in retaliation just ground further on his nerves.

Landfill called from a few yards away. "Permission to come closer?"

"Permission denied." Sentinel grumbled. "Go, I don't know...Scout the area or something, make sure the Cons don't set anything unwelcome up."

"SIR YES SIR!" Obviously happy to have his orders, the truck changed forms and drove off to scout around. The asteroid was sizable, so it would almost be a mega cycle before he swung back their way.

After knocking Huffer violently into a hole that would likely take him a few cycles to climb out of, Pharma returned to the pair, gracefully transforming as he dropped down. If the slagger wasn't so crazy, Sentinel would be tempted to talk him into a casual frag or two. He was quite the piece of optic candy, the only piece available really. But the jet prattled on in the worst way about Ratchet of all people, so he doubted he would have much luck. "Enjoy yourself? Because we have work to do." Sentinel grumbled.

"I'm a medic, not a mechanic." Pharma groused back, examining his fingertips.

"It's the same damn thing." The Prime held up his hand as his comment almost earned him a scathing lecture about the differences. "I don't want to hear it. Get this scaredy-bot up there somehow and take care of it while I get Huffer! And that's an order if you need clarification!"

He ignored as Pharma acted like he asked him to move the moon, turning away in favor of fishing Huffer out of his hole so they could get to work at the base of the structure. Beyond the upkeep of the space bridge, which would be their way home in case things went south where they were, he couldn't be bothered with improvements to the troops. They were good soldiers, for the most part, but personality flaws were a pain in the aft to try and work over. Besides, he didn't necessarily mind so long as the work got done, his mind was elsewhere anyway. All he could think about were his recent failures and how he was going to get back up in the ranks, at least enough to get positioned back on Cybertron. It was glaringly obvious Optimus would be following in Ultra Magnus's footsteps and he doubted the golden mech was going anywhere any time soon.

Sentinel sighed to himself, crouching at the edge of the hole for a moment. He was finding it hard to stay angry at Optimus, at least a little. Of course, the business with Elita-1 was always at the heart of his ire, but somehow seeing what she had become and the horrible things she was out there doing like what happened to Wasp had tempered it. When Optimus had taken Megatron down and brought the remaining Decepticons back to Cybertron, he had to admit his old friend looked like he had been dragged through the slag pits. He found it hard to imagine what it was like in that battle and he sometimes wondered if he would have had as much mettle to duke it out with the tyrant in the fragging air as he had. The disgraced Prime wasn't exactly a slouch in combat simulations, but he wasn't nearly as battle-hardened as Optimus. His optics flickered thoughtfully, coming out of his musings when he realized he wasn't absently listening to Huffer complain. "Huffer?"

The hole was empty. Turning on his headlights to examine the small pit better, it looked to turn into a tunnel that dipped down after a solid foothold. He could even see where Huffed had hit the edge and likely slid his way deeper into the asteroid. Sentinel let out a long, suffering sigh. Now he had to go searching for the little pest.

<Good job, Pharma. You knocked him Primus knows where.> Sentinel scowled as he climbed down into the hole.

<Well, I say good riddance.>

<That tower better be patched by the time I drag him out.> His threat was answered with some mild grumbling. After reaching the foothold, he slid down into the tunnel, sliding for several yards before he was struck by an odd sense of vertigo. His HUD exploded with warnings on a somewhat muffled and unknown energy reading that was turning his systems on their head. Sentinel grimaces, digging his fingers into the rock to stop himself. 'Woah, that's not right...' His knees shook as he tried to collect himself. He noticed there were spidery veins of glowing violet embers visible in the cracks and further down, there were large chunks of what reminded him of raw crystallized energon that grew in abundance deeper in. Tank churning, Sentinel hurriedly climbed his way back out, thankful that getting topside cleared up his readings.

"Ugh..." Sentinel shook his head, glancing back. <Pharma, what the hell is underground in this rock?>

<How am I supposed to know? I'm a doctor. DOC-TOR. Not a digger. Landfill is the geologist specialist. Why?> After Sentinel explained what he ran into, Pharma sounded far too fascinated for his taste. <Odd. I don't suppose you brought a sample back out with you, did you?>

<Frag no. You think I want to touch that stuff?> Sentinel made a face. Of course, now they had a new problem. <Huffer, come in.> There was silence from the minibot. <We can't leave him down there...Whatever is down there.>

<Well, I'm not going down there and getting my circuits fried. They're already bad enough as it is...>

The Prime ran a servo over his face, sighing. No, he didn't need Pharma going postal on them. Resting his elbow into his servo, he gently tapped the knuckles of his free servo against his chin as he considered what to do. There weren't many reports on the innards of the large asteroid they were on, the ones there were mostly belonged to the teams who never survived their assignment and even then, there wasn't much to them. The reports got progressively more erratic prior to their stopping completely. Given what he felt when he was down there, Sentinel mused whether the energy from the crystals had been a bigger problem than realized. It was a suspicion he was going to have to put in his report.

Pharma and Broadside returned to him. "...Well?" The medic crossed his arms, head tilted.

"...I guess we're leaving him down there." Sentinel frowned. It wasn't a great call, but he didn't want the whole team to be the next crew to go MIA. That wouldn't look good for him. "If he's all right, he'll find his way out."

"And if he's not...?" Broadside didn't look pleased.

"Then...we'll...send a report he went missing. If we find him, we find him...But I'm not sending anyone down there and don't even think about arguing with me about it. I don't know what the frag is down there and I don't really want to. It felt all kinds of wrong."

"But you're just going to leave Huffer down there?" The triple changer pressed before he glowered at Pharma. "And what about him? This psychopath was the one who knocked him in there in the first place!"

"In my defense, I thought it was a simple hole." Pharma sniffed.

Sentinel shook his head. "No one is going down there till we have more information, now let's deal with the rest of these repairs. And Primus willing, the Cons will let us call it a solar cycle."

~+~

Sentinel returned to the Axalon after sending Broadside and Pharma out to hunt for Landfill when the truck never returned to the post. They'd never had an issue with someone patrolling around alone until now. It left the Prime uncertain if it was at all connected with Huffer's disappearance...or those of past crews. It was possible the bot could have been picked off by the Decepticons, but then Sentinel was sure Landfill would have called for backup if that were the case. He went digging into the base's old files as he compiled his own report, pausing when it sounded like company had joined him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Pharma.

And only Pharma.

"...Please tell me you didn't kill Broadside." Sentinel muttered flatly.

The medic gave him an offended look. "No. I did not. He ran off on his own, thank you very much."

"And why did you not stay with him?" He demanded in exasperation.

"Because the daft fragger decided to take a cave tunnel down to go look for that idiot Huffer. That's why." Pharma scowled back at him. "I started to follow him in, when I started to feel what you described and heard voices so I decided to backtrack and report in. This infernal rock is probably layered with particular metals and stone that keep the underground contained below because he wasn't responding to his infernal comm-link after I backed out of the cave."

Well, that explained why Huffer hadn't answered him. But something was bothering him about this situation. Something was putting a bad twist in his tank. "...Lock down the Axalon." Pharma gave him a perplexed look before he shrugged and the two of them set about doing so. Once the ship was sealed off, he felt only somewhat better.

"What is with you...?"

"Not sure...I just have this feeling there is something weird going on and it's bugging the hell out of me."

Pharma frowned, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He supposed his Prime had a point. There was something unsettling about their team's disappearances. He had a feeling even a brief exposure to whatever was below ground had helped unnerve them. "You know..." Pharma began thoughtfully, looking out the bridge window. "The Decepticons never really touch down here or properly engage. It's always passing aerial strikes. Do you suppose they are wary of the asteroid?"

Sentinel's optics flickered with surprise at how he had never considered that. "That...would make sense. I mean if anyone would know these parts...It would be the Decepticons. But..." He frowned. He didn't want to try and communicate with a Con again. It would look bad, especially after the last time he had struck a deal with one. Of course, losing three of his four team members was pretty bad too. But maybe he could get answers without completely damning himself. He pulled up the communications array and started to ring up Cybertron. Pharma gave him a curious look but stayed quiet as the line was opened with high command. Sentinel sighed as he found Optimus staring back at him.

"Sentinel...?" The SIC seemed a little surprised to be hearing from him since all of his reports were in file format and he generally let Pharma deal with the talking. It was hard enough just looking at him and seeing just a bit of the Elite Guard badge on his shoulder.

"I'm going to cut to the chase, Optimus." Sentinel completely skipped over pleasantries. He hadn't wanted to make this call but he had little choice. "Earlier this solar cycle, one of my men took a tumble down a tunnel. When I attempted to retrieve him, my systems were assaulted by a strange energy source, so the retrieval was aborted. Landfill who was sent out on a scouting assignment has not returned. I sent Broadside and Pharma to look for him, but they found nothing and Broadside decided to venture underground to find Huffer. Pharma attempted to go with him, but was assaulted by the same queer energy and reported back. We can't contact them and they've-"

"Oh look, there's Huffer!" Pharma piped up cheerfully.

"Uhh..." The Prime's faceplate heated up as he glowered at the jet, paying the amused look Optimus gave him no mind. He stood to look over the console, seeing the minibot. But his gait was...off and he had an odd, distinct violet glow emanating from his biolights. Pharma took his pedes off the console and leaned forward for a better look himself.

The SIC called to them. "Sentinel? Is it Huffer? Is he all right?"

"Well, he looks kind of funny-" Not that he wasn't built funny for a minibot to begin with but something was quite off now. But neither of the bots had much time to contemplate the differences as the short mech launched himself into the air and threw himself into the windshield. Pharma shrieked, falling back out of his seat and Sentinel staggered back in shock. Huffer's faceplate was twisted in a ghoulish visage of hateful rage as he proceeded to pound on the thick glass, quickly causing the material to crack under his blows. The Prime cursed as he accidentally dented his leg on his chair to get back, drawing his shield and lance out while engaging his face visor. "Pharma, behind me!"

"SENTINEL! What's going on?!" Optimus looked alarmed, unable to see anything but their panicked faceplates and their defensive positioning.

Pharma scrambled to get behind him as he backed further along the bridge. The windshield gave out under the minibot's assault. Sentinel tensed as the small fragger charged them, faster than he thought Huffer capable, if that even was Huffer. As the minibot lunged at him, mouth open wide with gnarled denta, the Prime struck out, driving his lance straight in. The smaller bot went rigid and twitched, speared through on the energy lance, momentarily stunned. Sentinel relaxed slightly before tensing anew as Huffer tried to drag himself towards him along the lance, as if it was a mere inconvenience at worst. The roar of a chainsaw made him jump as Pharma darted forward and pressed the saw into the minibots's head, tearing the helm apart. Violet goo spattered everywhere as the body finally went still, limbs dropping. Sentinel threw his lance down, stepping back from the speared body in horror.

"Good lord..." The medic murmured, his plates shaking. He turned off the saw, shaking off the foreign fluids. They looked over at the communication array where Optimus was just gaping at them in shock. Pharma turned to Sentinel. "He broke through the bloody window..."

That blatant observation jarred him out of his stupified state. "YA THINK?!" Sentinel sqawked back at him.

"What the hell did I just see..." Optimus's optics flickered.

Pharma crouched by Huffer, nudging him onto his back for a better look. Shards of violet were embedded under several cables, his denta were shattered as if he had been chewing on something hard and volatile, and violet goo oozed from the wounds they had inflicted to his frame. He could, however faintly, pick up on that same wrong energy they had felt from the caverns below. That feel of unease returned anew. "I don't know, Optimus Prime...But I think you should send us back-up. Immediately. Because I have a feeling Broadside and Landfill might be returning much the same way very soon."

It looked for a moment that he had lost his ability to process let alone vocalize, but Optimus regained his wits as he nodded grimly. "Understood. We'll be there asap!"

#transformers #transformers animated #sentinel prime #pharma #AU #fanfiction #optimus prime #megatron #ultra magnus #bumblebee #blitzwing #prowl #jazz #ratchet

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jimclassicstoycollection · 5 years

Text

Transformers Energon

Deluxe class

SnowCat

Transformers Energon was (in my opinion) one of the worst Transformers series ever in its entire history; both the cartoon, and the toyline were pretty dismal, Energon SnowCat is a fine example of how bad it was!!!

He's the...'upgrade' of Transformers Armada Cyclonus, SnowCat is...why did I buy this guy?

Vehicle Mode:

Vehicle mode is a...well...I think it might actually be called a snow cat...It's basically a white and gray half-track made for traversing through the snow.

The front end of the vehicle is drivers compartment with the front wheels, and canopy, while the second half of the vehicle mode are the rear treats, and a hodgepodge of robot parts, that don’t fit together too well.

At the very front of the vehicle you see a Decepticon spark crystal meant to hold the Energon chip.

Finally moving towards the back on the top of the vehicle is a Minicon/Energon weapons port which is loosely in place via a small swivel peg. This thin looks like it was almost an after thought for the toy, and I don’t believe was originally meant to be there at all.

Hyper Mode:

The Decepticons of this line all had ‘Hyper Modes’ which was essentially an attack mode for the vehicle mode, or something, and Snowcat had probably one of lamest of them all.

You flip out the skies and unfold the missile launchers, and the whole thing just looks a mess...

Transformation:

Ugh...it’s sloppy and simple...

Robot Mode:

Oh My God it just gets worse! This robot mode has got to be one of the dumpiest, and dumbest things I’ve ever seen.

To reiterate this thing is supposed to be the upgraded body of Armada Cyclonus, which was a decent toy for the previous line. Now he’s just fat, goofy, and all of his modes are just lame.

The toy stands well, I will give it that, and I actually do like his head sculpt. The rest of the toy however can go to hell. The front end of the vehicle just makes him look fat, and his arms are too short.

His missile launchers do sling over his shoulders, and they fire, so there’s that.

He also still has that make-shift, added on Minicon port which is now on his right arm. Again it does not hold well, and just pops off when you remove the Minicon, or the Energon weapon. His hands do hold just about any 5mm pegged weapon.

Final Thoughts:

My final thoughts are, that I’m really glad I sold this toy on ebay.

It’s just not a fun figure; it looks bad and dopey, and ultimately Snowcat makes a poor upgrade to Cyclonus.

#toys #actionfigures #transformers energon #transformers #energon #hasbro #decepticon #snow cat #cyclonus

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atfauomo · 5 years

Photo

Im sorry Im barely on here anymore hghghghh

Backstory: aTFAUomo Tesarus in a Messatine mine shaft, now colored! Soooo, not super satisfied with this piece. And so, after hours of working on this, Im done. Just going to take the L and move on. I don't care enough to not post it, I’ve been taking a lot of L’s this year already, it just this one has a tangible reward sooo lol. There was a good idea behind this, its just I have a problem with bringing it to life.

Yes there are problems with this art and story but idc. Im so burnt out it doesnt matter anymore lol.

So basic premise? Time is right before “The War”. Tesarus is a Destic, or a being created using a stolen Cybertronian spark, with vis purpose being to the will of vis imperial creator without agency. Ve was given sapience if ve took part in a revolt, and after so was betrayed by those ve saved, and sent to the miner prison planet Messatine. At this point, ve had made an unlikely reliance with criminals Rumble and Frenzy, and has good standing with the other miners, Cybertronian and alien alike. The planet is being attacked, so all the prisoners decide to make a break for it, Tesarus trapped in a cave.

Characterwise, Tesarus thinks a lot more than talks, as a good chunk of vis life ve had no ability to talk. Ve actually thinks quite eloquently, but ve never seems like it and always seems absent. When not depersonalizing, ve comes off as simple minded and crude with a dark sense of humor. Ve is mostly just unsure about vis place as a Cybertronian, and whether ve counts as one, or if anything matters.

Story:

Shards of crystal and stone showered down throughout the entire cavern, careening off of Tesarus like hail. The shards’ impact created little sparks and scratches all over vis body, but that was the least of vis worries. The ground shook and heave with every boom from the surface, threatening to crack the entire planet in two. Sparks of light shot down from above, incinerating several crystal clusters into toxic ashes. Tesarus stood stiffly, gazing up and down of the cavern.

A sharp metallic noise went through vis communication waves, audibly assaulting ver with a painful sound.

“You MORON!” a voice weezed. “This whole planet is collapsing into itself and you are actually trapped? Did your heavy tank self broke the floor or somethi--”

“Pipe down you slagging piece of minimetal! Just help me out here!”

“What’s the problem guzzler?”

“Well, there is a war on this planet, I'm stuck in a cave, I'm stuck talking to the squeakiest bot of all time--”

“You dumbass just tell me what is the color of the crystals in the cave right now!”

Tesarus scanned the area. “Okay, there are faded...pink?...clouds and dark purple gas flowing…crystals are of the same color...”

Groans filled the other side of the com. “Those are unstable unnutrium-energonistic--”

“Enough babbling Frenzy how do I get out?”

“I was talking! Yeesh, anyway, just...I know this is hard for a bumbling buffoon as yourself, but do your best to lightly step towards your northside. Try to avoid the purple gas--”

Tesarus looked to the gas clouds that filled the cave.

“--as that will slowly dissolve different tiny pieces in your frame, worse so if you have small cuts. Naturally, avoid the crystals, especially prolonged contact. They burn. But whatever happens, don’t mix the affected area with the opposite color of gas.”

“....what?”

“HURRY UP IDIOT!!”

Tesarus slowly stepped from step to step. All the sudden, a large blue flash exploded into the cave. As flash dissipated, the cave filled with a sparking magenta light. Sparks appeared, as Tesarus could feel tiny prickles of static upon his frame. Tesarus saw an opening to the chaotic scene above.

Tesarus jumped to the surface. As if on cue, the whole cavern turned bright and caved in. Tesarus gathered vis wits and the wheezy voice spoke.

“Hey you jumped too close you guzzler!” piped out a tiny red and black minicon.

“Shut up Frenzy you know that I hate--Wait Frenzy?” Ve cocked vis head and smirked. “Which one is Rumble? The geeky black and red one or the not-that-bad blue one?”

The minicon’s hands turned into drills. “Oh SHUT UP TESARUS you KNOW WHO THIS IS! I OUGHTA JUST LEFT YOU THERE YOU OVERGROWN GUZZLER PIECE OF--!”

“You BOTH come ON we don’t have time for dumb metal smacking!” yelled a blue minicon.

Tesarus grumbled and grabbed both minicons and ran as the ground rose and fell under battery fire. The once desolate planet was now a rising sea of explosions and rocks.

“There it is Tesarus, the shipping dock! Head to it!” yelled Rumble.

From the chaos, an imposing sleek building held its ground. Avoiding various chasms, Tesarus took a leap and made it to the building’s entrance.

Ve waved vis huge fists in the air, wiping out the security drones without so much as a glance, tearing through the fortified strongholds of the ships as easily as air. Ve felt a sick rush from it all, despite vis own ligaments disintegrating bolt by bolt.

Frenzy screeched. “Hey! You almost threw that crumpled up drone at me!”

“Oh shit well sorry that there is toxic gas seeping through my systems!”

Frenzy directed the two to the largest ship possible and ran.

Frenzy made quick work of the ship’s security measures, and soon all the ships were up and running. Ve ran inside and Rumble followed suit, Tesarus thankful for not having to bend down for once.

The minicon ran to the front of the ship, pressing all kinds of buttons and speaking all kinds of languages over the intercoms. Miners from all over were piling into the now open ships, lifting into the air. It was a sight, the ships that took them in suddenly lifted into the air ina spark stopping speed, as beacons of light, the night sky filled with dark blue and orange streams as they raced away from their prison.

Tesarus was in awe. Various ships did complex turns and strikes against enemies, the world filled with a destructive yet freeing light. Ve had never seen anything like it.

Rumble cackled, breaking Tesarus from vis trance. “Okay you easily impressed trash heap, stick out your arm.” Tesarus did so, vis hand easily being larger than the bot and vis twin combined. Rumble took some mental notes and rummaged around the ship and returned. Ve stuck vis tiny hands with all kinds of attachments, of tiny lasers and tiny drills and other tiny things. Rumble swiftly moved from various sections of Tesarus’ frame, lastly hopping to the side. “So move around Tessy and see how ya feel.”

Tesarus stood, looming over the makeshift mechanic. “Holy shit you two really do know things!”

“Well, I knew a bot….” Rumble’s voiced trailed off, and for a second ve seemed to be somewhere else. Suddenly, ve straightened verself and smirked. “Well, I need to make a few more adjustments. But this should hold for a bit until we can get some more experienced hands here. I am actually suprised that Frenzy here actually was able to fly this thing!”

“I told you morons that I was hella smart! Why did you think I got locked up here in the first place? Where else would they put the finest decoder in all of Cybertron? In the dirt!”

Frenzy dramatic took a deep lean into vis pilot’s chair and sighed, putting vis dusty pedes onto the dashboard. “Technology such as this is mere sparkling play for me!”

“This is the opportunity Megatron couldnt even dream of happening! This is even better! This is the perfect chance! ”

Tesarus tiled vis head. “What is that supposed to mean?

Frenzy lept form vis chair and went up to Tesarus. “ You dumbass! WE did all of this, all on our own! WE are a part of this epic story! Dont you see? WE heading back to Cybertron!”

Frenzy smirked. “Rumble you stupid ass Tesarus boyo here has never been to Cybertron!”

Tesarus wrinkled vis face. “...Cybertron?”, ve said uncomfortably.

Frenzy got up from vis chair and looked to Tesarus. “Uhh...Dont you worry too much! Bunch of weird bots from other places like you escape and go to Cybertron and dont get deactivated!”

The giant tensed at the last word. Ve thought ve felt that ve wa being deactivated on multiple occasions, but ve never felt so close to it as ve was heading towards vis home planet.

All the sudden, Rumble sheepishly grinned and looked to the side. “Or at least thats what we’ve heard!”

Frenzy butted in” Im sure you arent the biggest piece of scrap theve ever seen--Though with your track record??” Frenzy quipped. “Hmmmm. You are on your own for that one!”

“Fren--”

“I mean all I ever did was crash the place’s electronic systems, I never like, murdered a whole--”

“Frenzy!!”

Frenzy sighed. “Well, I mean, you always said that you wished you were deactivated, so this would be perf--”

“Frenzy thats enough!!” Rumble hissed.

Silence ensued.

“Okay okay, sorry my guy Ill shaddup now!!” Frenzy sighed and dropped to vis seat. Ve popped open a tank quality energon cube much larger than verself and drank and immediately passed out.

Rumble slid off vis protective goggles and looked to Tesarus. “Well, I never was the one for niceities but...Dont mind ver, ve’s just an asshole! Im sure that you’ll be...okay?” Rumble went awkwardly back to work as Tesarus placed vis gaze onto the view outdoors, looking at the dtstant stars and galaxies ahead.

Cybertron was just a myth to all Destics. Cybertron, the homeland, the place from whence their sparks were stolen and sold to do the work of the lowly or corrupt. Cybertron, the supposed paradise that supposedly held open arms to its lost sparks to join back in society. Cybertron, the place had let its arms open for sparks to be lost.

But what did such a place have to do with someone like Tesarus? Ve didn’t even look like ve belonged anywhere, and ve couldn’t play like ve did like Frenzy and Rumble. Ve stuck out as easily as a Guardian Bot, vis own makeshift spark sending out its bastard sparkwaves to all around it.

This wasn’t the first time that Tesarus felt that sense of the unknowing freedom. It happened so long ago back on Tesarui Eva, that moment sealed with the treachery of the one who taught ver how to feel, with ver in chains and crushing torment, waking in the unforgiving Messatine. But now it was actually happening, ve can see as the planet’s surface began to look not as a warzone but as just a cloudy dust speck in the distance of space, and ve began to imagine how vis messed up speck of a spark would appear to those in its sight.

#maccadam #tesarus #atfauomo #TransformersAU #art #robot #alien #scifi #watercolor #traditionalart

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gammaprimesmw · 3 years

Text

TRANSFORMERS FANFIC - SEPARATION Pt. 1

I started this sometime in 2019 as a sort of backstory for a pair of Transformers characters I brought into a mass-crossover roleplay server on Discord. It's loosely based on the continuity of my ill-fated Transformers Genesis fic, but it exists within its own micro-continuity. Any future fics I write will likely either be set in a micro-continuity of my own making or tentatively set in an official one.

For at least two million years, a brutal civil war had been raging on the distant planet of Cybertron. What began as a coup d'état launched by what was once a mere terrorist organization has since escalated into a planet-wide battle between the planet's new, dictatorial regime and a dwindling band of freedom fighters led by the bearer of what was once seen as the symbol of office for the planet's true leader. This small band of rebels would come to call themselves the Autobots, and the oppressive regime they sought to topple would become known as the Decepticons.

"How exactly are we gonna get off this planet, Prime?" asked a warrior in the form of a teal ground vehicle resembling a classic sports car. "Even a single space-capable scout couldn't make it past that Decepticon blockade."

"Dash's got a point, boss-bot," added a white and blue vehicle driving alongside the Autobot convoy. "That blockade's coverin' the planet like an Insecticon swarm on an Energon crystal."

"During the Age of Colonization, eons before this war began, Cybertronian engineers developed technology that would allow us to travel across the stars without need of spacecraft," replied the heavy red, silver, and blue vehicle leading the group. "The only terminal of this 'SpaceBridge' has, thus far, survived the ravages of war."

"Even if such a thing works, are you really plannin' to just flee the planet?" asked a sturdy-looking red vehicle with maize-colored accents. "This is our home, Prime! We can't just give up on it!"

"Ironhide, I have no desire to simply surrender this planet," the one called Prime replied. "Though I do intend for us to relocate, I do not intend to surrender. We will fight on, but our prospects for victory are grim should we remain here. We will establish an off-world base from which to retake Cybertron. In so doing, perhaps we will re-establish contact with the lost Cybertronian Colonies."

"With all due respect, Optimus, can we really be sure that the SpaceBridge will work as intended?" asked a white and red medical vehicle. "It hasn't been used in four million years."

"Ancient Cybertronian technology is astonishingly resilient, Ratchet. Were I uncertain of the SpaceBridge's functionality, I would not have informed Prime of its existence, nor would I have provided the coordinates of its location."

While the Autobots continued their trek to the ancient SpaceBridge Terminal, Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, watched them from his throne room in the city of Kaon, smirking as he did so. "So...the Autobots are still trying to escape the inevitable," he said to himself before turning to face a powerful dark blue and white robot who was manning the nearby computer terminal. "Has their destination been calculated, Soundwave?"

"Affirmative, Lord Megatron," the faceless technician droned.

"Excellent. Deploy the nearest Eradicon squad," the powerful Decepticon leader commanded as he rose from his throne. "I shall join them. In the meantime, Shockwave is in command of this fortress."

"Fear not, Lord Megatron," a purple, cycloptic robot replied with a salute. "Kaon shall remain as you leave it."

"I have the utmost faith that it will, Shockwave. You seldom disappoint," Megatron commented before transforming into a vehicle resembling a dual-rotor helicopter with a large cannon mounted on its underside before flying off toward the Autobots' location.

“Autobots, alert,” announced a flyer in the form of a gray and maize UAV-like vehicle. “Skybolt is detecting incoming Eradicon units.”

The word ‘Eradicon’ immediately brought about an uneasy feeling among all the Autobots. It wasn’t because they feared these Decepticon shock troopers though. It was because of what they were: former Autobots and Cybertron civilians that had been subjected to Spark extraction and, when necessary, modifications to make them more combat-capable. Each one was governed by a Teletraan-Class Artificial Intelligence that was completely subservient to Megatron. Because these drones were once friends, it was particularly hard for the Autobots to fight against them. Even the steely Optimus Prime would falter somewhat when being confronted with them.

One Eradicon in the form of a bulldozer-type vehicle transformed and fired on Dashlane and Jazz, who responded by transforming themselves and drawing their weapons. The cool-headed white and blue warrior fired a couple shots at the Eradicon, who blocked them with the half of its shovel that was attached to its right forearm. Dashlane, meanwhile, was a bit more hesitant to fire, recognizing this now mindless drone as his former mentor Landmine. He briefly flashed back to his last moments with the elder Autobot as he was being dragged away by Shockwave’s minions before shaking the memory away and firing. He, like the others, had to remember that these things were no longer their friends.

Skybolt, meanwhile, had not been sentient long enough to truly understand the emotional connections his comrades had with the Sparks that once occupied the Eradicons’ shells. He scanned the Landmine Eradicon for a weakness, eventually pinpointing one on his lower back and firing a missile into it, sending the drone falling forward as Dashlane and Jazz backed away. “You’re lucky, kid,” Dashlane commented before taking a deep breath and shooting the Landmine Eradicon in the back of the head. “Fighting these things doesn’t take the kinda toll on you that it does on us.”

“Skybolt is unfamiliar with Eradicon Units’ previous identities,” the flyer replied, his voice largely monotone.

“Like I said, you’re lucky. You have the good fortune of not knowing these guys as your friends,” the teal warrior said with a sigh before aiming in the direction of more approaching Eradicons. One of these took the form of a black and red moped that looked as though it had additional weapons and parts grafted onto it that were never originally intended to be there. This moped transformed into an equally patched-together robot, which scanned the Autobots in front of it before locking onto Skybolt. “Vulnerability detected,” it announced before being tackled by Dashlane. “Not that you’re gonna get the chance to exploit it, buddy,” the warrior growled before shooting the drone in the face. “I’m not about to let the ‘Cons turn him into another science project like you.” He fired again, aiming for the Eradicon’s chest this time and blasting a hole through the original armor that was not covered by the grafts. “Hate to do this to something that was once somebody’s friend.” he sighed before picking the drone up and hurling him at his fellow Eradicon, who simply blasted him away before aiming its weapon at Ironhide and Ratchet and charging up for another blast. Optimus, who was directly in front of them, transformed into his robot mode, performing a backflip over his companions as he did so. He then proceeded to hold his Energon Axe in front of his chest to shield himself from the brunt of the blast.

“Wheeljack! Perceptor! Proceed to the SpaceBridge and activate it. Jazz, Ironhide, Skybolt, and Dashlane will cover you.” the Prime ordered before jumping into the air and bringing his weapon down on the Eradicon, slicing it in half before returning it to his Subspace Storage Pocket and staring down at the remains of what was once an innocent civilian. “I derive no pleasure in having to desecrate your now Sparkless husk.” he remarked sadly before looking up. “This war must be ended...before other innocents are subjected to the same fate,” he continued, his optics narrowing as he heard a familiar pair of helicopter rotors. “Megatron must be stopped…”

While Optimus prepared to face his approaching nemesis, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and those assigned to cover them continued to make their way to the SpaceBridge, remaining in robot mode with weapons drawn as they did so. Soon enough, they would hear the screech of approaching jet engines as a group of Seekers swooped down and opened fire. Ironhide, having the toughest armor of the group, positioned himself to take any shots being aimed at the two scientists he had been asked to cover. “You two git to the control panel an’ try to git that SpaceBridge online! The rest o’ us’ll deal with these Decepti-Creeps!” the red warrior barked before firing on the gray and red Seeker leading the group. The other Seekers would break away from the formation to attack the other Autobots.

Dashlane backed out of the way as one of the Seekers, who was decked out in a black, red, and silver color scheme, attempted to dive-bomb him. The Seeker transformed into his robot mode before crashing into the ground and glared at the teal Autobot before drawing an Energon Sword.

"Nightshade, It's been a while. I guess your boss finally decided to hide behind bots who aren't just mindless drones."

"Heh...I see we are in agreement regarding Starscream's cowardice and seeming inability to learn from past mistakes," Nightshade responded. "Of course, this does not equate to a potential alliance, Autobot."

The Seeker charged forward, using his blade to block Dashlane's plasma blasts before leaping upward for an aerial slash attack.

Dashlane slid out of the way before the enemy's blade could make contact with its intended target, avoiding being completely bisected but still losing his right shoulder pad. He gritted his teeth, inwardly thanking Primus that his whole arm wasn't severed as he took aim and rapid-fired several plasma bursts into the junction between the Decepticon's torso and right shoulder. While not doing as much damage as a charged shot, these bursts did push Nightshade backwards as they hit, eventually pushing him into a nearby light post. Dashlane would follow this up by charging at the Seeker swordsman while charging up for another shot, which he would fire point blank while punching him in the same junction he had weakened with his previous shots.

"You're braver than Starscream. That's for sure," the Autobot smirked. "He'd turn tail-rudder and fly by now."

"Indeed, and that is precisely why I am more deserving of the position of Seeker Commander. That, and I am far more loyal to Lord GAH!"

The boastful Seeker's comment was interrupted by a sharp pain as a missile struck him from behind, blowing off his left wing upon detonation. Nightshade growled before turning to face his new assailant. "Skybolt, I presume?"

"Affirmative, Decepticon Warrior Nightshade."

"I did not anticipate such underhanded tactics from a glorified Teletraan Backup Module. You would make an excellent Decepticon. I will be sure to inform Lord Megatron of your accomplishment. He could use more competent--"

This time, Dashlane interrupted Nightshade's long-winded speech by delivering a powerful punch to the Decepticon's face.

"Mute it, motormouth! Sky's not about to become a 'Con!" Dashlane countered before delivering another punch that knocked his opponent down.

Skybolt, meanwhile, picked up Nightshade's discarded sword and studied it for a bit before activating it to block a barrage of laser fire from a cackling Seeker in navy and white with gold accents.

"Decepticon Warrior Triggerhappy, why are you still permitted to engage in combat?" Skybolt asked, making a perhaps feeble attempt to taunt the crazed Decepticon the way his mentor would.

"Uhh....'Cause I can blast you into spare parts!" Triggerhappy replied before cackling and unleashing another wild hailstorm of blasts, doing more damage to the surrounding environment than any of his targets.

"Maybe you could if you paid more attention to your targets than the sound of your weapons," Dashlane smirked before transforming into vehicle mode and driving toward a trio of incoming Seeker Drones, causing Triggerhappy to fire on them while attempting to blast him.

"Alert! Ally fire," one of the drones announced in the usual monotone before one of the stray shots hit its wing and caused it to crash. Dashlane swerved out of the way as the downed drone crashed into the road, destroying the guard rails as the impact caused it to explode.

Triggerhappy growled in annoyance. "Stupid Autobot! You made me blast one of our drones!"

While the warriors continued to battle the Seekers, both Sparked and drone, Perceptor and Wheeljack worked together to get the SpaceBridge terminal online.

"SpaceBridge control system interface successful," came the pleasant, but fairly monotonous, voice of Teletraan 1 through a speaker on the control panel. "Diagnostic commencing."

Both scientists waited patiently while their base computer AI scanned the SpaceBridge's systems, their expressions turning from excited to concerned as a maniacal cackle sounded in the distance and was followed by an approaching jet engine.

"Oh scrap....Triggerhappy," Wheeljack groaned.

"Your concern is indeed warranted, Wheeljack," Perceptor spoke in agreement. "While his targeting skills may be questionable, his propensity for collateral damage is not."

"I think I know what you mean, Percy," Dashlane replied after returning to his robot mode and firing a charged shot on Triggerhappy's left wing. Skybolt, meanwhile, watched for a bit while accessing his memories regarding Nightshade's swordplay techniques. It didn't take too long for him to settle on one that seemed like it would be effective: The Aerial Slash. All the while, though, Triggerhappy continued to spray ammunition everywhere, with one of his stray shots hitting Skybolt before he could perform the technique.

Another stray shot, meanwhile, struck the SpaceBridge control panel just as a portal was opening. This stray blast managed to strike vital control systems on impact, causing Perceptor's optics to widen with a sense of worry that bordered on a mild panic. Teletraan's words only heightened the scientist's anxiety.

"Alert! Destination control failure. Wormhole magnitude extending beyond acceptable limits."

Dashlane and Skybolt, who were closest to the terminal, soon felt themselves being pulled toward the open portal.

"Skybolt! Dashlane! You must make a concerted effort to escape the vortex before its yield increases...if possible," Perceptor instructed.

Dashlane and Skybolt both attempted to transform, figuring they'd have a better change with the increased speed of their alternate modes.

"Skybolt is...unable to...transform....Maximum speed....is limited."

"You and me both....kid."

"Perceptor, any idea where those two are gonna end up?" Wheeljack asked as he watched his friends' futile attempts to escape the increasingly powerful pull of the destabilizing wormhole.

"The SpaceBridge portal has grown dangerously unstable. In its current state, its endpoint is impossible to determine. Given the exponentially increasing level of subspace distortion, there is a probability of interdimensional transport that further complicates their current situation."

"Gah....Can't that bot explain things in a way that the less scientifically-inclined can understand?" Dashlane asked out loud before being pulled through the vortex, disappearing to parts unknown.

"Oh no! Dashlane! Perceptor, we gotta shut this thing down!"

"Agreed, Wheeljack. If it is allowed to remain open, it will further destabilize," the red-hued scientist said while trying to remain upright as the ground beneath him began to shake. "It's already adversely affecting the structural integrity of this facility."

"Critical alert! Energon conduit overload detected," Teletraan announced as Skybolt was pulled into the portal. "Detonation imminent."

"Scrap! We gotta roll," Wheeljack called out as he transformed into his white, red, and green racer mode and revved his engine. Perceptor soon followed suit, assuming the form of a halftrack scientific research vehicle. Both quickly accelerated to top speed and drove away as the building housing the terminal collapsed further.

"I don't think the other bots are gonna like this," Wheeljack said with a heavy sigh. "The SpaceBridge is scrap, and Dashlane and Skybolt are missing."

"Indeed. It will be imperative that we concentrate all efforts on their retrieval, as well as securing an alternative means of relocation. For the moment, the latter objective seems far more viable."

"If I can get that Vanguard Class Deep Space Transport we found up and running...and retrofitted for combat, we might be able to at least start looking for our future offworld base."

"Given your history of assigning simple, yet intuitive designations for your scientific endeavors, it would not be illogical to assume you have done so for this project."

Wheeljack chuckled, allowing Perceptor's words to distract him from his worries about Dashlane and Skybolt. "You know me all too well, Percy. I call it 'The Ark.'"

"Again...Simple, yet appropriate. Perhaps if...fate...is in our favor, we will locate our friends....and they will be online and well. Yes, I am well aware of how patently unscientific my previous statement was, but...I want to hope."

"Yeah. It's a good thing you didn't delete your emotions the way Shockwave did."

"If taking such an action would result in a similar abandonment of scientific ethic on my part, it is not one I'd ever be willing to take."

TO BE CONTINUED...

#Transformers #fanfic #writing #youtube

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black-strike-otp · 7 years

Text

part 10

♫ ♪ And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be. Right in front of me. Talk some sense to me~ ♫ ♪

Also look- a headcanon I have for Barricade arises.

“Do you ever wonder where you’d be, what you’d be doing, if it wasn’t for this war?”

Novastrike’s audios twitched to and fro at the question. Thankfully her servos were already busy, or she’d probably be fidgeting at the moment. Of course she wondered these things, she just chose not to think on them often. It was pointless; a waste of time and energy, a galactic crushing weight on her processor.

Still her digits kept mindlessly busy. Pieces of weapons were disassembled in front of her; artillery weapons that weren’t connected to bots themselves, anyway. Guns, cannons, mortars- it was both a calming practice and a niche she’d picked up to fiddle with the armory and keep everything in line and running at full capacity. Functionality was key after all; weapons were one of the more scarce things they managed to salvage or steal as rogue Cybertronians.

“I mean, it crosses my mind at times,” Novastrike vaguely answered, keeping her optics on what she was doing. “Why do you ask Silver?”

Sighing, Silvercore leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor so he was in closer optic range of his small friend. “It weighs heavy after a while, that’s all. I just wish everyone could get along already. Form a new governing system, start repairing the planet. I know what I’d do: I’d go on a grand adventure. I’d go see what else is out there, like bots did back in the Golden Age.”

Novastrike snorted softly, trying to contain a giggle.

“You laugh,” Silvercore threatened, “But I’m serious. I would have been famous.”

A soft sigh escaped Nova. “No no- I guess I’m just, envious. Being created in the beginning- or middle? I mean, it’s not like it’s ended yet but... You know, I never had ideas, hopes, dreams. I only know this war, and the stories I’ve heard stringed together of what life was like before it.”

Silvercore nodded solemnly. His optics flickered, shuttering and going offline as he placed her servos against the back of his helm, humming. “It was oppressive. But maybe we can go back to that Golden Age again one day. I bet you’d be someone pretty impressive, too. Probably some sort of special ops.”

Novastrike laughed softly. “Now that is funny. Me, in some sort of- I don’t even know where you’re going at- military job? News flash Silver, I don’t even like lifting my plasma pistols at anyone. What makes you think I’d ever fire em?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to,” he reasoned as he onlined his optics. “You’re strong, have a lot of willpower, have a good processor on you. You help proclaim peace but when peace is not an option, you take in a team who are willing to do the dirty work but you’re the one in charge. Calling the shots, maybe bringing your stun guns...”

“You think too much.”

Silvercore grinned. “What would you rather? I suggest you become a prim aristocrat, fussing up and gossiping with the other upper crust? Find yourself a mech or half a dozen?”

Novastrike stuck out her glossa, her optics narrowed slightly. “Gross.”

“I’m just saying, they stare.”

“Ew, thanks for that. Maybe I’ll keep an optic out now for all this ‘staring’. Better hope you’re not one of them,” Nova hissed playfully, waggling a digit to her friend.

“Mwah?” Silvercore asked innocently, placing a servo to his chassis. “Please- you’re not even my type, you scrawny little femme.”

“Oh, not this again-”

“I want those thick thighs-”

“Please stop-”

“-and curvy hips, and big kissable lips-”

“I’m turning off my audios now.”

“-doesn’t matter what they identify as, you know-”

Novastrike cut off her audios, as promised. Silvercore either didn’t believe her, or didn’t seem to care or notice as he began making gestures with his servos. Nova was hardly paying him mind, a faint smile on her faceplate as she hummed softly to herself while wiping away the grim built up on a piece of metal.

In the back of her mind, she questioned her own taste in Cybertronian. Her type, well... Did she have a type? Someone comforting- and gentle. Understanding and willing to hear her out. Someone...

Embarrassed, her audios flicked sharply back against her helm. The faintest blush glowed softly from them as she allowed her thoughts to slowly die. The shadow of a dark image faded with her thoughts before it could establish fully, though, somewhere in her quivering spark, it seemed to know exactly what she’d began to think of before she even realized it.

Barricade gave a weak chuckle, reaching out to nudge Blackout on the shoulder with his fist. It left behind a smear of glowing energon upon the larger mech’s armor as he did so, but Blackout merely offered a momentary grin.

“Well, we made it out alive again, you stupid aft.”

“Maybe next time pay more attention to your surroundings, and you won’t end up flanked with so many Autobots,” Blackout warmed.

“Yeah well maybe next time don’t be such a giant fragging mech and maybe they won’t see us coming.”

Blackout shrugged slightly. “I never said stealth was my absolute best quality.”

Barricade snickered faintly, looking down at the energon stains that covered his frame. The light of his violet optics flickered between a dull, dark plum and a supremely bright lavender; wavering between the two hues in varying degrees. He placed a servo against his side, flinching slightly.

The grin on Blackout’s face began to fade slowly. His own optics turned a few hues darker with understanding, and he reached out to gingerly place a servo upon the smaller mech’s shoulder.

“Barricade. Can you still hear me?”

“Absolutely,” Barricade rasped.

“We need to get you back to a medic. You should have told me you were this close-”

“I’m fine,” ‘Cade snorted. “The dark energon’s barely bothering me. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all pyscho Terrorcon on you.”

A low, reverberating chuckle came from Blackout. “As much as you’d like your little problem to scare me, Barricade, I know you well. You have a lot of tenacity, and a lot of strength-”

“Oh do go on, Blackout, you flatter me and make my knee joints weak.”

“-and I’m not going to let you just fall over and turn, much as you irk me.”

Barricade gave a cheesy half-hearted grin, winking even as he pulled his servo away from his side to reveal a gaping wound in his side. Although the energon that escaped his frame was a strange bluish-purple, the toxic effects dark energon normally presented to most wasn’t prevalent in his bloodstream anymore.

“You going to carry me bridal style through the doors honey?”

Blackout deadpanned at him. “I should have left you to offline at Iacon.”

“And I should have left you with Starscream when that fragger turned on your in Crystal City,” Barricade sniffed as though his feelings had been hurt. “There. We both carry regrets. I said it.”

Shaking his helm, Blackout removed his servo from Barricade’s shoulder and took a step away. Once transformed in his flier alt, a section of Blackout’s plating beneath him peeled away, revealing a section of armor that could peel away into almost a carrying platform.

“My hero,” Barricade mocked gently, flopping himself onto his chariot. The metal shifted inward; nearly but not entirely to the point of encasing Barricade so he wouldn’t go flying out.

Thrusters roared to life, and Blackout lifted slowly off the ground before giving a gentle boost, ascending skyward in a flash. Droplets of energon beaded through cracks in Blackout’s armor as he flew, twinkling in the air and evaporating before they hit the ground.

Barricade gave the faintest chuckle. “You think Venus’ll accept my broken aft like this?” he half wheezed.

“She’d be crazy not to,” Blackout responded quietly after a moment’s pause.

“Heh, you sap,” ‘Cade muttered.

“Take it easy and just lay still. You’re going to soak me in your special kinda goo.”

Barricade grunted. Blackout knew it had to be bad when he didn’t try goading a snappy remark back. He felt a sliver of concern and burned his thrusters a little harder than he’d normally push with the added weight.

“Hey Blackout,” Barricade slurred, his voice almost delusional. “Don’t you worry... buddy... pal... I’ll win over Venus and you’ll... you’ll find someone too.”

He didn’t bother responding to the pained remarks of crazy, half-dead mech bleeding out on his armor, but he did feel a small bit of surprise at Barricade’s statement. Someone out there for him? Now, wouldn’t that be a stretch. A humorous idea and a ludicrous one at that. As if he needed anyone- as if he wanted anyone.

It was near impossible for Novastrike to help lift or support lifting all the gear they were loading up in Guard’s alt-mode. They’d found a great payload of supplies, unguarded by Autobots who were busy patrolling the area. Morons must have miscommunicated their duties to each other, because the one that had been standing guard stepped out to swap with another, only to realize his comrades weren’t back yet. As he walked further away from the safety of their stash of weapons and equipment, one of the rogues came up and rammed an energon prod in the poor mech, knocking him down and knocking him unconscious.

Between pacing anxiously inside and outside of the small building, Nova wasn’t sure what to do. Every time she did something to try helping, it was useless or someone else would thank her but pick it up part of the way through her hauling it over and they’d effortlessly load it up.

Pivoting to turn back and walk into the building, Novastrike’s ears turned slightly to catch the quiet shuffle of pedes moving.

She looked back to see nothing.

Feeling chills, she walked slightly back into the building, keeping her voice low as she whispered, “Guys, I think companies back.”

One of the femmes helping to load looked up. “Well, go back outside and do something about it,” she grunted. “We’re busy here, if you can’t tell, shortie.”

Novastrike pursed her lips angrily. Some of the others helping load gave vague shrugs, like they weren’t sure who to believe or side with.

“I’ll go with you and check it out,” coughed an elderly mech.

Novastrike gave a small smile of thanks, and the mech followed her out the large doors that were only pried partially open.

The body of the knocked out Autobot was missing.

“Oh, sla-”

The elder mech jumped, swinging his gun around only for a large blade to come crushing through his chassis.

Novastrike whipped her helm around, energon splattering on her and beside her.

A very thin frammed Autobot was grimacing, his weapon buried into the rogue mech. Novastrike stepped back slowly as he pulled his sword through, letting the old mech fall dead.

Behind the Autobot, others began to walk around the building.

“Autobots!” Novastrike shrieked, hoping the others inside could hear her before they were ambushed inside the building.

The sword wielding mech’s optics shifted over her.

Scrap.

Fear ghosted its way into Novastrike’s limbs and burned in her spark. She turned tail, fleeing in the opposite direction of the Autobot.

She nearly tripped over her pedes coming to a halt as another Autobot popped up from beneath some of the remains of buildings and carcasses of Cybertronian bodies just in front of her.

“Going somewhere?”

Novastrike’s tail lashed, and she inched her digits slowly to her side for her guns, but the mech jerked up his blaster.

Diving to the right, Nova barely escaped the barrage of fire. She skidded, trying to push herself up. Her optics caught sight of the light from the barrel. She wasn’t going to get up fast enough.

A metallic battlecry, more of a shriek, emitted from the ground and of all the crazy, weird, but somehow- somehow rational luck- Scorponok lunged out from the ground and into the Autobot. His drilled struck the mech’s chassis, taking him to the ground and burying his digging tools into the mech’s chassis.

Novastrike winced, energon and metal grinding up in the air. She looked back, spotting the others shoving their way out of the building. Guard came rushing out the doors; slamming them open and sending the Autobot’s trying to block the entrance rolling.

There was a string of commands being spewed, but Novastrike only heard the one that mattered. She jumped up rushed the bulky vehicle, leaping up to hang onto the back. This time though, she made sure to have one of her servos occupied with a stun gun ready, just in case.

They sped off; shredding metal and dust. The other rogues followed after, with the biggest heavy hitters taking up the rear just encase they were followed.

Novastrike could still see Scorponok fighting the Autobot’s as they took off. A small frown crossed her features as she watched, puzzled as his image grew smaller and smaller the further away they drove. She never spotted Blackout, and with his size, on land or sky, she would have seen him coming.

It seemed odd for Scorponok to be out without his partner nearby. Then again, maybe she wasn’t fully aware of how the Decepticons did things.

Work had been fairly dull. Megatron hadn’t ordered anything of Blackout recently, and he was growing restless. The Decepticon Tyrant had his other pawns and bishops at work, and he was left off to the side. Idly training in his time, spending some with Barricade. Restless. He felt restless. Whenever he was hailed it was for nothing more than meetings and conversations. He mostly sat in silence, barely offered a word or question.

When he would ask his Lord and friend if anything was needed of him, Megatron would wave him down. No, he was fine where he was. There seemed to be an air about the primary base of Decepticon operations. Something big was going to be happening, soon. What it was, Blackout couldn’t guess, but Megatron kept it to himself. His shoulders tense with something...

He didn’t try over questioning it. It wasn’t his place or job to do things like that.

Barricade seemed cheaper once his pieces were back together again and he wasn’t almost well- almost on the verge of being a deranged mindless zombie who would only destroy and try to consume others energon. In fact, after his near-full-death experience, he seemed all the more cozy with Venus. She seemed all to happy to pamper him too.

Not that Blackout noticed. Or cared. ‘Cade just liked to gush about it.

Blackout spotted Scorponok in the corner of his room, curled up in an almost cat-like position as he recharged. He was almost tempted to wake him if for nothing more than a spar and for conversation. It seemed unfair to wake his partner though on his own behalf of his restless nature.

Stepping out of his room, Blackout went to head for the training room. There was a rather unfortunate amount of Decepticons crowding the room, obviously thinking the same thing. With no orders being placed lately, hardly anyone seemed to have anything else to do.

Blackout turned to leave the room, bumping into a tall, bulky femme just behind him.

“Pardon me sir,” the femme stated.

Blackout inclined his helm slightly.

She peered around Blackout at the training room and let out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s a lot of ‘Cons. Don’t think I’ve seen that many in here before.”

“Which is why I’m leaving,” Blackout snarled, “So if you don’t mind-”

“Of course sir,” the femme said, backing up swiftly out for the room. Her red optics followed Blackout as he stepped and turned from the room, the door closing.

“Sir,” the femme huffed, running up to Blackout’s side. She had to widen her stride in order to match his pace, but did so and looked him up and down as she remarked, “You know, sir, the training room may be crowded, but there’s other rooms that could probably be used to burn out a little energy and frustration.”

Blackout glanced down at the femme. There was no mistaking that coy expression.

Maybe there was a time he’d take up on such an offer. It was nothing personal, and it would only happen once. Nothing had to be said. No one could climb the ladder of success by throwing his name about in a room. It was like it never happened.

But he felt nothing. Not unusual; but... it was less than nothing. Not revulsion no, but... detachment. A heavy sense of disinterest to the point of annoyance.

“I’ll make note of that,” he stated flatly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The femme stopped short, arching an optic ridge slightly. She huffed as Blackout stepped past, looking slightly vexed as she crossed her arms.

Primus, he needed to get some work. The whole damn Decepticon army needed some work, before everyone was pounding everyone- in more way’s than one. An instant look of terror crossed and disappeared from Blackout’s face, and he shuddered violently as he walked.

Now that was a thought he could live without.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #badass otp #this one's shorter than anticipated but I had a busy evening and just kinda feel... blah

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