Chapter 1: Silverstreak

The small bulldozer moved back and forth, guzzling diesel from its tanks and spewing it back into the the air as it seemingly pointlessly moved dirt from one side of the abandoned City depot to the other. A small building sat beside the dozers path, nestled against and beneath a freeway overpass, the embankment pushing against the base of the brick veneer construct. It looked as abandoned as the site it administerred.

Around was low cost housing, some built cheaply, some run down over a period of time as the noisy overpass had devalued the suburb. Middle class families moved away, poorer families moved in along with the attendant pressures of living on the financial knife edge. Women walked the straight, dull looks in their eyes, opressed in one form or another, weather it be the pressures of a young family, pressures from the pimp to make a score to earn the money to go on, or an even more personal, chemically induced pressure.

Squad cars drifted by on occasion, with punters drifting through more often, looking for a quick fix of the pleasures of the flesh, or the pleasures of the powder. In and amongst this drifted the occasional hot hatch rice burner of the dealers, restocking this taking the risks at street level, and couriering the proceeds to thenext level of the chain.

Blending in perfectly into the mix was a silver Subaru Impreza WRX. Windows tinted almost black with some hints of red peeking through panel gaps slightly too large for the breed. For underneath the metal lurked not a bored lawyer or leering entrpenaur, or bullying pimp. Underneath was an ancient warrior who had come to this continent before the species had evolved from simians into this society of squalor and decadence co-existing painfully.

Silverstreak had come to this planet millenia ago, wearing a different body, a different face, a different name, and with a different function. When he had arrived he was unaware for centuries, wakening 25 local cycles ago. He was immediately embroiled in the contradiction of his life, the war-hating warrior. An accurate shot, a perfect mortarer and missileer, he was a reluctant and valued member of Optimus Prime's ship of fools, off into the galaxy searching for energon to feed a starving planet.

The nobility of the rescue of Cybertron quickly faded into the nightmare of being marooned in time and space with only Decepticons for company on the fetid clump of vegetable decay called Earth.

A decade was then spent fighting Decepticons into submission before Optimus death and the subsequent leadership crisis the ran alongside Unicron's attack on Cybertron. After surviving the seige of Autobot City and the seige of Cybertron, Silverstreak, known then as Bluestreak, had returned to Earth, the planet he hated, with several other Autobots on mopping up missions, searching for Decepticon criminals.

Several had banded together and had raided a manufacturing district in Japan in search of materiale and energon to survive in the post Megatron era. He and Smokescreen had defended the area alone when he had been struck down.

He had awoken two years later by Smokescreen, a very different Smokescreen. As Smokescreen had told it, their bodies had been too heavily damaged to repair locally. No Autobot medics were on planet, and contact with Cybertron had been suddenly lost. With the wreckage of their bodies placed in storage, newer bodies had been constructed by the plant they had saved and they both now wore the badges of a grateful workforce as Subarus. Bluestreak, renaming himself Silverstreak due to a need to rebirth his own identity, had been shipped by boat to America to complete his rehabilitation while for similar reasons, that differed technically Smokescreen had been sent to Britain.

That had been over a year ago. Since then Silverstreak had had no contact with anyone he knew save for Subaru personnel in North America who kept him fueled and alive. Now like a character from American television he roamed his adopted nation, its populace unaware of the powerful warrior in their midst.

This evening Silverstreak wandered the back blocks of Los Angeles in California, gradually driving South towards a half suggested rendezvous in Mexico. Subaru had not been able to put him in contact with Smokescreen, who appeared to have been seconded elsewhere within the arms of the Japanese automotive constructor, and they knew of no other Autobots to contact. Autobots were no longer popular in North America, scene of so much of the Earth-bound parts of the Cybertronian civil war.

Where once Bluestreak had been motivated by personal revenge against Megatron and had waking nightmares of the last night of Praxus, Silverstreak found no great ire could be formed towards the unhinged antics of Galvatron and he had come to terms with his status as Praxian survivor, a status reinforced by his present isolation from the Autobot armies he had fired so many shots in anger for.

Bluestreaks anger had boiled away and the Cybertron he had missed no longer called to Silverstreak and he wandered aimlessly without any motivation. His new weapon, fashioned by the techs of STi nestled under Silverstreak's hood having not been fired since it had been tested back in Japan. He wandered if he ever saw another Autobot, or even a Decepticon if he would even transform and greet them. He almost felt he had more in common with those Decepticons left on the run from the now authorised Autobots than the enforcer he had briefly become.

Silverstreak had become an isolationist observer, but nonetheless had had received a calling to head South and to cross the border into Mexico. What he might find there, he had no idea of. But for the moment he would spend a rest cycle here, amongst the decadent decay of Californian society. The change he perceived in his near future could wait.

Wait until the star rose in the sky once more...

Next: Chapter 2: Sideswipe

 

Chapter 2: Sideswipe

The sun peeked over the horizon of the long flat plains of the arid Arizona landscape. A landscape constantly baked then frozen each twenty four hours with little variation and only ever the hope of precipitation. For miles around there was nothing but sand, scrub, the occasional tumbleweed. A vision of camel grass and the occasional rusted abandoned car. One of the best climate controlled regions on the planet with the dial stuck permanently on inhospitable.

It was a land of survivors. Plants that could get by on the smallest moisture. Scavenger animals eating the leavings of others abandoned for days. Predators that preyed on predators. A rattlesnake emerged from its night time slumber, and slithered its way to its customer morning warming spot, a ribbon of black, completely alien to the environment, and yet now a part of it. On the edge of a strip of tarmac, which soaked up heat and radiated, the black surface would soon to hot enough to fry chicken eggs, and the cold blooded snake needed the warmth to function. The snake suddenly froze, a moments warning, a trembling on the air, a vibration in the ground. Another survivor, another predator approached. With a flash of red and the cacophony of briefest sound it was gone, travelling at unnatural speeds heading Southwards towards a destiny that did not involve trying to find the least venomous insect of any size to eat.

Red Dodge Vipers were a common sight of the interstates of America. They had largely replaced the Chevrolet Corvette as a symbol of the great front engined American roadster, an automotive stuff-you to sports car trends the world over, the Viper and its Corvette cousin reflected the country of their origin and the people loved them and desired them and lusted after the concept of owning a convertible version to drive along the famed Route 66. This Viper however carried no tourist lost in a nostalgic vision of a youth as much a fallacy as the basic merits of the car they drove. This Viper had a name, a purpose, a vision, and burning desire for vengeance.

Once Sideswipe had been a happier figure. One of several non-specialist warriors Optimus Prime had added to his crew of the Ark to fill empty berths and act as insurance against the worst, Sideswipe had found himself and his fellows inadequate to the task when the worst had arrived in capital letters wearing a sharp outlined insignia in metallic purple.

Sideswipe had always revelled in his abilities as a warrior, thoroughly competent in the art of combat and the dealing of death, and yet willing to take risks beyond the return they represented, his life over the next few years marooned on earth had been busy, but fulfilling.

And always standing at his elbow was his golden mirror image, a counterpart to the scarlet, his twin brother Sunstreaker. Colder, vainer and more calculating by comparison, but still the ability to fight well above his weight, and with technical ability that the like of Optimus Prime had to make up for with much larger more powerful frames. The pair had cut chaos through Decepticon lines for decades in a blurred vision of metal, lasers and missiles.

Survivors as warriors the pair had stepped through the civil war on Earth and the fight for survival against Unicron with a shrug and a new limb for each battle aware that the profligate use of every weapon that came to hand was the only true way to win a war.

Just six months ago it had all come to a crashing halt.

Returning to earth as part of the mopping up taskforce under Ultra Magnus, the twins had been tasked with hunting down a Stunticon that had been sighted in Europe. A Stunticon, or a Construticon or a Combaticon or a Predacon capture was invaluable as just capturing one removed a gestalt super warrior from pitched battles. Predacons and Combaticons were notoriously difficult takedowns, and as yet Predaking and Bruticus remained unmolested. The Constructicons always travelled in a pack and separating one from the herd was a task yet to be completed.

Stunticons however were another matter.

Generally the five Stunticons hated each other and worked together only out of necessity or under threat of better armed superiors. Their leader Motormaster was a testosterone soaked idiot and there was little co-operation between Breakdown, Dead End, Drag Strip and Wildrider, so reports of maroon Porsche 928 causing havoc attracted the brother quickly to Dead Ends trail. The pair finally cornered Dead End in Italy only for the pair to suddenly find all five Stunticons were present and the Italian army was forced to help fight off Menasor. Sideswipe had taken a terrible personal risk to get the gestalt fractured and take down Motormaster in typical Sideswipe fashion. It was a move that devastated his own body and exposed Sunstreaker to the attentions of the remaining four. After beating Sunstreaker into a messy and violent submission they dragged Motormaster away under the guns of the Italian Army.

The pair were medivacced to the now abandoned Autobot City where human mechanics, mechanical engineers, structural engineers and system analysts worked to try and save Sideswipes Cybertronian body. They failed. American automotive giant Chrysler had come to the rescue and in an emergency operation, Sideswipe had his brain and consciousness transferred to an experimental construct which imitated the concept of the Autobot cars. No longer a Lamborghini and now a Viper, Sideswipe was in recovery when hoping to take advantage, Menasor returned. Having followed them from Europe they now forced the injured Sunstreaker into making the ultimate sacrifice for the brother he loved so dear.

After boldly separating the Gestalt into its five components, Sunstreaker heavily damaged the Ferrari 308 of Wildrider, but at a dreadful cost to himself. Once again the four Stunticons dragged their fellow away from a devastated Lamborghini twin. Sunstreaker was then prepared for the transfer to a yellow Viper when the four Stunticons attacked again. Sideswipe, unfamiliar with his new body; unprepared and under gunned he could not prevent the Stunticons from spiriting away Sunstreaker's new body. Sunstreaker’s last chance gone, trapped in the shattered body he had so adored in life, his spark faded away before his brother’s optics. Sunstreaker tragically joined the Matrix like so many before, but not before eliciting the promise from Sideswipe that the red Viper would have made to himself regardless. That promise would only be fulfilled with the lifeblood of five Decepticons.

Inconsolable, Sideswipe went on a rampage, tearing apart Detroit until the Stunticons were discovered. Sunstreaker's new body had been repainted and prepared for the dying Wildrider, but Sideswipe ventilated his spark within a minute of tearing down the wall of the warehouse and quickly engaged and defeated Drag Strip. Motormaster had raced off with Sunstreaker's intended body encased his trailer within while Breakdown and Dead End tried to perform a last rear guard action. Finally losing a leg, Sideswipe disembowelled Dead End. Faced with the choice of saving Drag Strip, Dead End or neither, Breakdown had grabbed the physically closer Dead End and turned an ran as fast as he could with the wounded Porsche.

Regaining his footing after a fashion Sideswipe waited until Drag Strip come back on line before stating two words and using his rifle at point blank to reduce the Tyrell P34s head into debris. Chrysler employees had found Sideswipe still standing over the remains of Drag Strip and Wildrider and repaired the Viper. Chrysler corporate officials however suggested that after his rampage, that Sideswipe was no longer welcome in Detroit. A grieving Sideswipe acceded to their demands without question despite the words of a Chrysler crony in the shape of Hound.

Initially Hound, himself grieving for Sunstreaker's loss, had accompanied Sideswipe on his return to the mission, but when Sideswipe has stated those two words once more and slaughtered Motormaster before his astonished eyes, a sickened Hound had left Sideswipe to his crusade. Since then Sideswipe had stated those two words once more and Breakdown, tauntingly still holding the Lamborghini Countach shape that both the twins had worn with honour into battle, was now finding out what Decepticons did in the afterlife.

Now heading South towards the border, Sideswipe was stalking Dead End, who sickeningly now wore the body intended for Sunstreaker. Sideswipe had vowed to find this parody of his lost brother and to state those two words once more before introducing Dead End's spark to the nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere of Earth.

For Sunstreaker.

Next Chapter 3: Hound

 

I'm loving this story so far - I love how it's explaining how they ended up in the bodies, and even adding a backstory for Sideswipe and the Stunticons to explain Sunstreaker ending up as Dead End. Keep it up!

Mike

 

Chapter 3: Hound

The air was thick with humidity and hung in the air, like a barely perceptible fog, but there was nothing soothing or cold about this fog that drifted through the tall and ancient trees, hovering at the leafy canopy. It was a rain that refused to fall, and it drenched through in an equal measure of condensation and sweat, the clothing of any of the humans in the area. Just walking was toil, and breathing was an effort, magnified by the thin atmosphere of altitude.

Everywhere you looked the land was green, the thick green of vegetation that had existed here for thousands of years. Trees aged, grew old and died here and were replaced, the harsh fingers of drought never reached this far up in the hills above the Yucatan. Moss grew everywhere, the temperature was cold for Earth norm, even this close to the equator, animals were scarce, even birds were few with so little air to breathe.

And yet this place had an atmosphere that was thick despite the lack of air. The feeling of stillness, of civilisation abandoned, the sense of history and of loss, of a people once proud, now scrabbling for pesos elsewhere in this troubled land. There was also a sense of menace, once active and hungry but now stilled, of a conflict bloodied but past.

Hound had personally witnessed one of those battles, a participant even. The ancient Mayan temple had aged little over the previous twenty years. The aged Mexican artefact was these days a closed site, thanks to the discovery of the wreckage of the Nemesis back in 1984. The Cybertronians had made quite a mess of the site at the time, and the archaeological rehabilitation had taken quite some time. The expedition originally was not going to be allowed access to the site but Hound had made an impression on the local custodians when prompted, and the promise of tourist income into an impoverished land was a tantalising prospect to local authorities eager for even the hint of a future free from financial oppression.

When the Ark crew had revived, Hound found himself in a completely new environment, so different in every respect of the ceramic, plastic and metal of Cybertron. Hound had instantly fallen in love with this new planet. He also loved his new alt mode as an Army utility Jeep. Hound loved nothing more than to get the grit between his tyre treads and drive to the horizon.

Having survived the Dark Ages as part of Optimus Prime's lost patrol, Hound found himself in the thick of fighting during the first Terran Wars, but when the Unicron War erupted on Cybertron Hound was still on Earth, and had remained there throughout the conflict.

When contact was lost Hound kept in touch as he could through his military contact, built up over years as a military vehicle. It was through the military that he first heard of the human created frames. After years of attempting to replicate transformer technology with automatons and failing a different approach had been trailed. When one was created in the form of a Jeep Wrangler, Hound himself came up with the link and his spark chamber and intelligence was carefully transferred into the new frame. Hound loved this new body and its potential that he forgot about his former body. Chrysler had a second frame half finished when the drama of the twins and the Stunticons emerged into Hound's sphere of influence. With two frames rapidly converted into Dodge Vipers at Hounds request he took one and flew to Autobot City, long since abandoned by Rodimus Prime when war with the Decepticons had shifted away from Earth and towards other worlds.

When Sunstreaker had died Hound felt a great sense of grief he had not felt since the great battle was fought over this very city. He had never been close to Sunstreaker but he had always been aware of the bond between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Hound felt a great sense of pity for the depth of Sideswipe's less and felt duty bound to fill Sunstreaker's shoes and followed Sideswipe in pursuit of the Stunticons after the pair were told to leave Illinois. Hound quickly found himself ill at ease with this new driven Sideswipe. The ferocity of his attack and the subsequent torture of Motormaster had left Hound sickened and wondering if Sideswipe was any better than the Decepticons he was hunting. Hound left Sideswipe to his crusade and spurned all further contact with any of the warriors he once called comrades and friends.

He found solace in exploration and leapt at the chance to join an expedition into Mexico's lost stone citadels of the past. A few weeks of historical study, research and archaeology would be just the break the former scout determined he needed. The humans were cautious around their new travelling companion, but Hound turned on what charm he was able, and opened himself up in a manner he had never done before with an Autobot. They had responded and he now enjoyed the same kind of bond with the members of the expedition he had once wondered about when he saw Bumblebee with Spike Witwicky and Wheeljack with Sparkplug Witwicky.

At first the destination had troubled Hound until he decided to deliberately ignore his past association with this temple but after a week on site the Autobot found himself less able to abandon his past as he had thought or hoped. What the humans had found at the site had excited them, but troubled Hound. The revelation of the link the device had with the past, and with the remains of the Nemesis was suddenly too troubling for Hound to deal with by himself.

He was going to need help.

One feature built into Hound's frame was the ability to connect with all subsequent frames. Originally it had been imagined that this frame could remote control one, or all of the others in a kind of bloodless army of automata. Hound had never been tempted to try the technology, even when he had watched Sideswipe butcher Motormaster. Now he tried a subtle version of it. Recalling the location of the Nemesis, Hound reached out and touched the other frames. He did not put any force or power into the message but merely conveyed a sense of urgency and the image of the Nemesis. Hopefully that would be enough to summon his colleagues, his former colleagues.

All that was left for Hound to try was to keep the humans from discovering what he had. He doubted they would like its revelations much.

He doubted they would like it at all.

Next Chapter 4: Smokescreen

 

Chapter 4: Smokescreen

It was a visual and sensory assault. The keening howling wind drove across the surface with no obstruction to slow it down, driving gobs of rain into long thin streaks which pounded the decking with a physical impact that would cause pain for the crew. In more northerly lattitudes they would freeze into minature spears that could lacerate and numb the would in an instant. Metres below tonnes of dark green sea water gathered itself and hurled itself against the plates of the vessel for the thousandth, then ten thousandth, the millionth time, trying to pound the ship back into its component pieces.

The vessel, the MV Atlantic Traveller, was pounding its way across the oceans after leaving Liverpool two weeks ago, was now only a couple of days from Veracruz when the storm had whistled south from the region of the famed Bermuda triangle. The storm however failed to carry south any lost forty year old aircraft, and brought only the fury of the oceans with it, and while the Atlantic Traveller lurched with each crash of the waves, it was a lurch the ship was built to withstand.

Aboard the Traveller was several thousand shipping containers, and amognst them were several containers containing equipment essential for the forthcoming Mexican round of the World Rally Championship, the Corona Rally Mexico. The Japanese backed British based Subaru team had two containers to themselves full with spares, equipment, telemetry monitoring gear, communications gear, a demountable service area, and two of the $400,000 rally cars. There was a third car, and on the exterior this car looked identical to the two Impreza WRC2004's strapped securely in position. The interior however was a compromised design and did not hold the same sparse look as the stripped and rebuilt rally cars. For all intents and purposes this car was a look alike mock up of the real thing. Reality was somewhat different.

Underneath the blue and gold war paint of the Prodrive Subaru team, was the deceptively thin alloy-ceramic armour plating then the alien based engines and mechanicals of the Cybertronian Autobot warrior Smokescreen. A specialist diversionary tactics, he had been sent to earth as part of Perceptors reinforcement team once Optimus Prime's legendary lost patrol had regained contact with Cybertron. He had been an instrumental part of Prowl's tactical planning group during the secondary campaigns during the Terrans Wars before the arrival of Galvatron on Cybertron revitalised flagging Decepticon forces. While Galvatron's motives had been personal, it had had the effect of tempering Cybertron's defences for the subsequant arrival of Unicron. Shockwave had rallied the Decepticons behind him when Galvatron and his lackays Cyclonus and Scourge had deserted the Decepticon Army, and when Hot Rod had pulled the miracle out of his metaphorical subspace sock, Autobots and Decepticons had been fighting side by side. Shockwave disappeared during the assault and the 'alliance of logic' had dissolved shortly after Unicron's explosive decapitation.

Smokescreen had returned to Earth with a force led initially by Rodimus Prime, and later by Ultra Magnus as the burden of leadership had told heavily on the young leader. When contact had been lost with Cybertron, Ultra Magnus and a small force of Autobots had left aboard one of the two Autobot shuttles still assigned to Autobot City. When contact with Ultra Magnus was then lost Autobot leadership had fallen apart. Jazz had tried to patch things up and had sent Smokescreen to Japan. Grabbing Bluestreak along the way, the pair had had to defend a heavily industrialised sector of Japan against a Decepticon assault made up of a rag tag group of Earth based 'Cons left behind by Starscream's sudden retreat aboard Astrotrain and some who had returned since the Unicron war led, badly, by the suddenly re-appeared Shockwave.

Bluestreak's ever impressive gunnery fire reduced the number substantially while their forces apparoached but he fell quickly, and badly once the fighting got up close and personal. Smokescreen's layered traps around the facility had reduced the opposition to Shockwave himself. Aware that Bluestreak was probably dying, Smokescreen had fought the giant Decepticon communicator with a desperate forecity he had never achieved before, and eventually forced the monocular Decepticon into a ragged disorganised retreat.

The technicians at the nearby facilities they had so valiantly defended, had done what they could for the devasted Bluestreak and Smokescreen supervised his placement in hibernation. His own crippled body, which away from the Cybertronian technology that was his lifeblood, could not be repaired, but with assistance from Hound and the Chrysler corporation, Subaru were able to construct a new experimental body for Smokescreen in time to save his life, and in time replicated one for Bluestreak. Two years had passed in the meantime, and while Jazz had visited once, he too had disappeared. He had lost contact with Hound shortly after hearing of Sunstreaker's death.

With construction complete their new bodies needed fine tuning. Smokescreen was sent to Britain, to liaise with Prodrive, who had been fascinated with some of the concepts Cybertronian tehcnology had opened up for them, while Bluestreak was sent to America to the analytical laboratories available to Subaru there, and Smokescreen had lost contact with Bluestreak as well.

Smokescreen had found working with the engineers and mechanics of Prodrive fascinating, and the mystery of a front line motor racing team was excellent for keeping the Autobot out of the public eye. He had agreed to travel with the team into the field for the Mexican event, and placed himself, reluctantly, into energon hibernation aboard the Traveller for the trip across the Atlantic. That hibernation come to a halt early when the message from Hound had slammed through his systems with all the subtlety of Soundwave's sonic blaster.

It took him several minutes to decipher where in the pitch blackness of the container where he was and what the sounds outside were. It took several more minutes to decipher the transmission from Hound, and several more minutes how to get from where Prodrive were due to unload to get to Guatemala. He hoped David Richards would understand, as an 'employer' he had been brilliant to associate with. There was however nothing he could do until his container was unloaded. So rather waste energon and go made from the aurual assault of the storm outside, Smokescreen slowly slipped back into hibernation. It was over a year since he had even spoken to an Autobot, it wa an effort to quell his sudden excitement over seeing another Autobot again took time.

Once more the Autobot slept.

Next Chapter 5: Tracks

 

Chapter 5: Tracks

The rattle and flash of multitudes of flashbulbs once again lit up the stage. The tall underdressed model slinked across the stage with as much grace as she could muster in the tall stiletto heels she was wearing in the cold Californian air, or at least as cold as California could muster. The heavily moustachioed, overweight driver stepped out of the car as gracelessly and the model had been graceful, popped on a Stetson cowboy hat and posed dramatically on the reviewing stand for the cameras. The model allowed her partially bare rear to brush against the paintwork and theatrically jerked above and away from the bonnet with a 'sexily-shocked smile' or at least that was what the script had called for and the sound of a seven litre Chevrolet V8 revved enthusiastically twice before retreating to its standard threatening burble.

The reviewing stand was set into the a driveway set up to one end of a conference room, the immaculate cars rolling along at under 10 kilometres an hour, entering through a wide caterers entrance, driving up the ramp to the review stand and parking on the large rotating podium which spun the cars gracefully through 180 degrees before pointing them back towards the doorway they had entered.

The newest arrival on the rotisserie was a gleaming metallic blue 2004 Chevrolet Corvette Z06. The only obvious concession to the extravagance of this vehicular concourse d'elegance was extra layers of clear paint which had been added to deepen the look of the cars livery and the great red and yellow stylised flames stretching up the Corvette's enormously long bonnet. But obvious was the word of choice. If the bonnet was to be popped on the Vette, a finely polished ZR-1 V8 engine would be revealed underneath, it was however a 3D hologram. The reality of this Corvette was quite different.

These days Tracks tended not to explore his reality. He had been truly content with his old form in the 'coke bottle' look of 1980's Chevy Corvette that he had been templated with upon arriving on Earth with Perceptor's reinforcements, but had been truly taken with the Z06 model style when it had been offered to him. The chance to update was grabbed with both hands, although he was unimpressed with the GM Corporate yellow he was forced to wear initially when he was enticed to work with General Motors research and development arm after the isolation of the Autobot survivors. It had allowed him to work with the factory supported sports car racing team, and pounding around test tracks and race tracks of America with them had been tremendous fun. He had even travelled with the team to Le Mans in 2004, a reward for his service to the team in the final year of running the C5-R race car and had been thrilled to watch the team's come from behind victory over the Ferrari teams. With the closure of the C5-R program Tracks had been offered an update to Z06 in looks and paintwork of his preference. Tracks immediately picked the blue with the flaming bonnet reminiscent of his former body, now sitting in storage.

He missed the wings of his former flight mode, but the less sophisticated human built frame made up for it in simplicity and ruggedness, and the extremely attractive Z06 body style. Tracks now spent virtually all the time in his alt mode, and he spent his time with a former Chevrolet employee, now standing beside Tracks sporting a ridiculous moustache and hat, and periodically entered themselves in competitions like these.

Tracks had received Hound's summons a week ago, but had ignored it, preferring to show himself off in all his glory before the admiring cameras. Hound could wait. There were no Decepticons to shoot so why should he rush? Tracks once again felt a strange rush from the physical contact of the scantily clad model as she crawled up on Tracks' bonnet, thankfully sturdier than the fibreglass body of the Chevrolet original and reclined for the cameras, showing enough flesh to strongly convey the image of sex on wheels, without becoming pornographic. Tracks' wondered of his vorns long isolation from Autobot Femmes was having a strange affect on his personality and on certain... preferences. Tracks had not vocalised the thought to anyone. He noticed in America such concepts were quite troubling to humans. The rotating platform clicked home and Tracks motored slowly down the ramp, driver on board, model still reclined, as if on a large blue sedan chair. Hound could wait until tomorrow.

But there was always another car show.

Next Chapter 6: Dead End

 

Gotta say..this is wonderful to read.

 

Great storytelling, I'm really enjoying these and looking forward to the next chapters.

 

Brilliant writing style there!  

Can't wait to see what comes next!

 

Cheers much for the kind words. The next chapter will be rather different of course, having reached the first Decepticon in the line...

Isolation is my tale of the Alternators. Scattered and isolated across the planet, and yet called Highlanders style across Earth, called to each other, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. How each of them have come to this point, and what has happened that has changed them since the fluorescent overhead tubes got flicked on by Mount Saint Hilary back in 1984. I want to explore the character of each of them individually before I chuck them together again.

While the intervening time has been less than a vorn, for most of them it has been traumatic. While I had intended to travel in numerological order, Silverstreak's tale which spun off from Smokescreen's became more interesting and I've used the Streaker instead to launch my series. Smokescreen popped back in, in Bluestreaks... Silverstreaks place at Chapter 4.

You will notice that I'm setting my Alternator tale post-movie but contemporary in setting, rather than quasi-official Binaltech continuity which places the Binaltechs as immediately prior to the film, presumably so movie casualties like Wheeljack, Windcharger and now belatedly Prowl could be fit into the line. I haven't decided how to clear that hurdle, while a cop out could suggest that Windcharger and Wheeljack were merely unconscious when seen in the film, Prowl is harder to justify...

I'm sure I'll figure something.

But thanks again  

 

Chapter 6: Dead End

A ridgeline was an odd place to put a fence. This was an odd place in the way that it didn't fit, it did fit. The watcher's head hurt. He had other problems however.

The local time was 3am. There had been quite a bit of activity earlier in the night. A group of humans had been carried to the fence in a van. They de-camped, crossed the fence and started to scatter and move away from the fence where there were rounded up in another van, rather reluctantly and carried away again.

Dead End did not understand human behaviour at all. He had never really tried so perhaps he should not seem surprised. That was several hours ago, and time was a real issue for Dead End. Dead End was on the run. But Dead End had to wait. He did not want to leave a trail, so he would spend the time in order to attain a little stealth.

The black Dodge Viper sat around a kilometre from the fence. The fence was the border between New Mexico and Mexico. Mexico did not look significantly older than New Mexico to Dead End. Both sides of the fence were open scrub. Small trees, with little vegetation and little animal life of any size were laid out before the Decepticon. Once the successions of vans and fence climbing humans had stopped, and the dark watcher had waited several hours, Dead End transformed, stood, and walked towards and over the fence and started scouting around for a road. He checked his internal systems again. Energon levels had not magically increased since his last check.

Tired. So very tired. All Dead End could think about was how tired he was.

Dead End was a Stunticon. But now it seemed the name no longer had any meaning.

When the Stunticons had been created, they had been designed with the intention of cutting back on Autobot superiority on the roads, plus the ability to form a Gestalt Super Warrior as Menasor was certainly appreciated in pitched battles. Regularly Menasor had found itself facing off against the Protectobot Gestalt Defensor. For years they had been Megatron's mad crazy car mob, forever trying to run Optimus Prime's group of cars off the road.

Comparatively Dead End was a level head amongst the Stunticons. At least he still had a head.

Dead End had never been a great fan of the war, or of being part of a Gestalt team. He only really hung around with the others because the kept him fuelled and fed and because if he left they would shoot him. Created in the shape of maroon Porsche 928, Dead End had taken to his name with an enthusiasm that matched its sentiments. He had seemed content to wait out his little chunk of the war in company of his fellow Stunticons until the missile with his name on it arrived and blew apart his cranial armour. Now the other Stunticons were all dead and Dead End's fatalism had been abandoned in his sudden loneliness for fear and panic. For all his career the Decepticon who cared for nothing and just gone with the flow, firing only when shouted at, he was now on the run and found he cared for his lost compatriots and now found his own continued existence of paramount importance.

Looking back, the biggest mistake they ever made was killing Sunstreaker. The smart mouthed yellow Autobot had been a supreme annoyance for Decepticons for decades; his death should have been a joy. Instead an irate and grief stricken twin brother Sideswipe had gone on a personal rampage. Dead End had his own body destroyed. Wildrider was dead; Drag Strip was missing presumed dead. Motormaster was very dead indeed. Dead End had not heard from Breakdown since he had gone out to find some fuel for the pair of them and he was not answering radio calls. After a third attempt to contact Breakdown, Dead End had fled his now unsafe house and had not stopped running since.

And what chilled Dead End most was that he was wearing a new body fashioned for Sunstreaker which could have saved the Autobot's life. Sideswipe was unlikely to look favourably on that. Dead End had a brief visual of Sideswipe blowing up every black Dodge Viper from Chicago to the Mexican border. Dead End almost wished he had not been given the chance to wear the body they had stolen for Wildrider. Almost. Dead End had discovered a will to live he had never been previously aware of before.

But that was not the end of Dead Ends problems. Of all the things Dead End expected to be thinking about, he did not expect it to be what the humans called multiple personality disorder. For Dead End was not the only Decepticon crying in his sleep inside this Autobots frame, with an Autobot’s symbol, covered but still etched into the torso armour. Dead End was being driven mad by Menasor. Menasor was now dead too, he just wouldn't lie down and pass beyond. All five of the bodies that made up the Super Warrior were destroyed and the majority of his identity that was independent of the five Stunticons was destroyed utterly while Sideswipe had tortured Motormaster. Dead End knew this because a piece of Menasor lived on within his own spark, and pined for the four fifths that was now gone. Dead End knew exactly when Motormaster had died, taking with him the bulk of Menasor's intelligence. Dead End knew he would never be free of that feeling, until all of his feelings were dulled permanently. Menasor would always be there crying, shouting and worst of all blaming. He felt it cursing Motormaster's stupidity. He cursed Breakdown's unhinged madness. He cursed Wildrider for allowing his first death, the physical death. He cursed Drag Strip for simply being dead.

And he cursed Dead End because there was someone still alive to hear his curses. Dead End decided it was going to drive him insane, and once that happened then Menasor would get his wish and he would not be able to defend himself from Sideswipe's vengeance.

Dead End had never sought hope, never expected it. Never expected to be handed it from another and he certainly never expected to get it from an Autobot. But there had been a summons from Hound to come to Guatemala. He was sure it was not intended for him but sent generally to all Autobots, and he was reminded again of the origin of his body.

And suddenly Menasor had another reason to curse Dead End.

However, if Hound was in Guatemala, and other Autobots might be there, then maybe there might be some hope that Sideswipe could be held back. Dead End did not know Hound other than a dark green figure crouched behind a rifle on the other side of enemy lines. He did not have the history some Decepticons had with the Autobots that had been trapped on this fetid mudball of a planet that had invented bitumen roadways, which had allowed some rivalry’s to become intensely personal. But suddenly Dead End found himself believing in the goodness of others, and in the hope the Hound may hold an answer for his continued existence.

He wondered if that was a good trait for a Decepticon warrior to hold. In light of his recent lack of contact with his colleagues, he also wondered whether he even was a Decepticon anymore.

Menasor stirred again.

No matter which way he turned, Sideswipe was sure to follow. Maybe there would be safety in numbers. Maybe there might even be a Decepticon. And maybe, for however briefly, he would not feel so tired anymore.

Next: Chapter 7: Jazz

 

Chapter 7: Jazz

“Hey man, don’t have a cow or nothin'. I just got to gets me passage to Central America. What’s a cat gotta do? Is there anyway I can do something to help move this along?”

“I’m afraid sir; there is little I can do until my supervisor gets back to me. In the meantime we are trying to establish your immigration status to see if you can enter our country.”

“Fine, deport me, but please deport me towards Central America!”

“The Department of Immigration does not work in that manner sir. In the mean time we would like you to be considering being moved to our processing centre on Nauru.”

“Look little lady, I’m sure your very good at your job, but I am not emigrating to Australia, I am travelling, trying desperately to find my family, and now I find they are in Guatemala and I have to get there!”

“Your family." The customs official looked at the talking car sceptically before continuing lamely. "My supervisor will be with you shortly.” The officious government official spun on her heels and marched away down the warehouse, her steps echoing on the high ceiling. Jazz could almost have shot someone out of frustration. Why did it have to be so hard organising things? How did Optimus deal with this sort of thing? Jazz sat in his car mode inside a customs warehouse quarantine facility in Botany Bay, south of Sydney. Jazz had been scouring the world, searching for his fellow Autobots. When contact with Cybertron had been lost, Ultra Magnus had taken what troops he could find and taken off in a shuttle heading for Cybertron, leaving Jazz in charge on Earth. Jazz had only recently returned to Earth. During the lost years marooned on Earth, Optimus Prime had decided Jazz held much potential to be a future commander, and after the conclusion of the Unicron War he was given a command of a small unit patrolling outer territories, prior to being recalled as Magnus' second for this mopping up mission to Earth. Since then he had been scouring the planet, trying to piece together his scattered command. He had visited Smokescreen during his rehabilitation in Japan with Bluestreak still in a coma in cold storage, but both had since disappeared. Jazz had had some contact with Hound around the time the twins were reported chasing the Stunticons. He had he also heard of Sunstreaker's subsequent death, but at the time had been trapped in Europe. By the time he arrived in America, both Hound and Sideswipe had moved on. He then heard that Outback had been found in Australia and had been fighting to get into the country only for one of his human contacts to get in touch with him to inform him instead of Outback it was the grave of his former friend, the valiant warrior Brawn, killed during the fight for Autobot City years ago. What Brawn's remains were doing in Australia was a mystery for another time.

He knew where Wheeljack and Grimlock were if needed, although he wondered weather Grimlock would ever be much use either as a warrior again, or as someone willing to obey Jazz' orders. He also knew where Skids was, but Jazz was loath to take him away from his patient, a situation which saddened him as much as Grimlock's inability to deal with life frustarted him.

How do you steer a ship without a rudder? If a comedian tells a joke on stage in front of an empty audience, does anybody laugh? And what exactly was a commander without a command? These were some of the questions that plagued Jazz. Commanding a small team in border skirmishes had been something easy and well within his comfort zone, even playing to his strengths after years as Optimus Prime's dirty tricks department.

Jazz had been offered a re-template on arrival with Ultra Magnus troops, the better to blend in as Porsche 934 racing cars did not exactly blend in to the local environment. Initially Jazz refused, not wanting to lose his much lover but now disused light and sound rig. However with the increasing numbers of Autobots being forced into human constructed frames, Jazz was forced towards adopting a human frame because of compatibility issues. While human frames could interact easily with the Cybetronian frames, the other direction was quite slow and Jazz had found it reduced his ability to lead effectively. Ultra Magnus departure from Earth just accelerated the decision, and the Porsche was gone in favour of a bright shiny white Mazda RX8.

The timing of the shift had turned out to be important, as no sooner than he had taken delivery of his frame when the rumour had arrived about Outback. If the rumour had arrived earlier he would have further delayed the frame transplant. And if he had travelled to Australia in his Cybetronian/Porsche frame he would not have received the summons. Jazz had been shocked and cheered to receive Hound's strange summons, coming with it the opportunity to gather together a large number of Autobots at once rather than this fruitless wild goose chasing across the planet.

"You Jazz?" Jazz had only just noticed the human male who had entered the warehouse from the East. He was wearing an overly dramatic hat and trench coat, making him look like an 80's TV detective.

"Sure Mike Hammer, what can I do for you?"

"You officer commanding of Autobot's on Earth?"

"Yes." This reply was far more cautious.

"You've been served." With that the bailiff tossed an envelope onto Jazz' Mazda RX8 bonnet and turned to leave.

"You know I can't read that."

"Not my concern."

"Since I haven't officially entered this country I don't think the serve will count in a court of law. Read it to me, and I'll accept it." The bailiff continued to follow in the steps of the customs official. "You won't get paid if the serve ain't acknowledged." The bailiff stopped. After a moment hesitation he turned back and opened the envelope.

"It's a summons to repay a financial debt or to be declared bankrupt in America from AmEx."

"Who?"

"American Express. The credit card company."

Now Jazz remembered. To help ease the acquiring of goods back not long after the Autobots had revived in Oregon, the Autobots had acquired a credit card as the world seemed to run on an economy of digitally stored currency. Since the death of Optimus Prime and the war shifting emphasis away from Earth, the account must have been left idling unattended.

"OK so we owed around $10,000 US right? That should be easy enough to find."

"According to this compound interest over the last 20 odd years has raised the debt to 258,972 dollars and fifteen cents."

"Frell," cursed Jazz, and meant it. He had no idea what compound interest was, but humans were devious with things like currency. He briefly pondered how selfish he had been playing prankster to Prime all those years ago. The strain of leadership was an impossible burden. If some young daring punk had tried some of the stunt Jazz pulled over the years today's Jazz would have ripped the new Autobot's arms from their sockets. And yet Optimus Prime had never once lost his temper. Primus give me strength to deal with the minutiae, was Jazz last thought before giving into a Cybetronian heavily electronic howl of exasperation which sent the bailiff scurrying for cover.

And there was the question, always the question that sat in Jazz mind that he could never ask anyone else.

What do I do now?


Next: Chapter 8: Swindle

 

Civil process to an AutoBot

Now this is funny, yeah you have your warrant, ya got 24 hrs to notify the court, then were gonna garnish yer paycheck!!!      

 

Great stuff! But, but so SHORT! And, and, so FUNNY!  

 

Chapter 8: Swindle

Cybertron was a cold world. With no local star to speak of, there was no heat to warm the surface, but even if there had been there was no atmosphere to retain the heat. The surface was metal on vacuum, cracking in its brittleness from time to time, forming metallic beaches in places left neglected by its spark carrying custodians. There was no surface rust, no oxygen for the metal to react and oxidate with. The interior had an atmosphere of sorts, out gassing from what remained of the rock of the planet and the by product of various manufacturing processes. It was enough for fluids to exist but not much more. Not that an atmosphere was actually needed as there was nobody left on Cybertron who needed to respire.

The contrast to Earth could scarcely have been more complete. Here the local star beat down with a ferocity that belied its mid level yellow colouring. The silica powder based surface extended as far as could be determined in any direction except to the East where a weak solution of salts suspended in water filled in the gaps of topography on this very wet world. This was however one of the driest parts of this fluid covered planet. The star baked the life giving moisture out of the land, driving what life there was eastwards towards coastal areas. An average star creating average heat and radiation, perfect for the formation of organic life. While there was precious little life giving water here, there was plenty of what the freelancer needed. A fluid, not water based, but another fluid entirely, based on decayed former organic life, in its own way a life giving fluid of its own.

For the people of Earth this fluid was used to power their lifeless, soulless, sparkless imitations of metallic life. However, refined through filters and cracked around its hydrocarbon based chemical structure it was life giving fluid of another sort, and could be distilled into energon. For here in Saudi Arabia there were petrochemical hydrocarbons in abundance. And it was here that Swindle had come seeking those hydrocarbons.

Swindle was a Decepticon, more specifically a Combaticon, a small group of ruthlessly effective warriors amongst an army of soldiers. Or more precisely he had been. Now he called himself a Freelancer. That transition had caused some commotion amongst his fellow Combaticons. First there had been the silence, then the shocked questions, then threats. Their new axis of attack now appeared to attempt to be reasonable. It was hilarious and pathetic at the same time. In all the years he had known Onslaught, he knew just how out of character reasonability was.

Swindle was sick of being a Combaticon.

Swindle remembered the days of being considered a criminal within Megatron command, the days before the famine. He had been considered one of the most efficient quartermasters in the Army. That efficiency had stemmed from his less than above board methods. But while he got results nobody had seemed to care until command had developed a sense of just how much he had skimmed off the top for years. When they began to suspect, Swindle started to become the target of surveillance, but it was always clumsy. The good Decepticons were needed on the front lines and in those days prior to attaining dictatorial power, Megatron had some inventive incentive schemes to encourage capable officers into combat commands rather than become 'REDS'.

Reds was a term of derogatory slang amongst Decepticons, referring originally to the red coloured Autobrand all Autobots wore with misguided pride. But it also acquired the acronym REDS for 'Rear Echelon Defunct Slag' and was used to describe, variously any Decepticon not shooting in the direction of Autobot lines more than once a milli-vorn, generally it was levied against senior commanders who did not often visit their troops, and support troops 'who didn't know what it was like on the front line'.

Swindle had wanted a way out.

So Swindle allowed for one of his less important, and by less important, he meant his personal margin, rather than the goods, which as ammunition high command tended to think of as very important, go sour. When the deal collapsed he made sure the deal collapsed in a certain direction to the quartermaster subordinate he liked least, but made it vague enough that a bunch of Decepticons were brought in for questioning.

In his position he frequently came across the more independently minded Decepticons, those who felt less constrained by the chain of command. One such Decepticon commander had been Onslaught. Onslaught always had a few schemes going and had once a vorn back offered Swindle a position on his staff, but for Swindle that had been at the peak of his wheeling and dealing powers, and the prospect of a staff position was likely to cutback on his action.

Sitting in the holding facility while investigations ran outside, Swindle re-acquainted himself with Onslaught and his ever present bagman/bodyguard in the form of a warrior called Brawl. While griping to Onslaught he made sure the senior officer was made aware of a fewer pertinent facts about the investigation which swindle had planted very carefully days before.

Swindle knew Onslaught had been hovering on going independent for about a vorn. His command had been transferred into Starscream's sphere of influence, and as a ground based subordinate to a professional flyer who was disdainful of ground troops, Swindle knew that Onslaught had to hate his new Commander.

Onslaught then re-extended his offer to Swindle, this time, as an independent mercenary outfit, aligned to, but not necessarily supporting the Decepticons goals.

Perfect.

Swindle could now deal with who he liked for the maximum profit possible, so long as he kept Onslaught and his team fully armed, fuelled and fed then he could do what he liked. One wall of the prison dissolved in fire and a Decepticon called Vortex stepped through haze towards Onslaught and Brawl. Brawl and Vortex then killed every surviving Decepticon in the building with some help from Onslaught, who had first told Vortex of Swindle's new allegiance. Once clear of the building, Onslaught spoke to another called Blast Off via radio and the Internal Affairs building then dissolved in fire.

The next few years Swindle found Onslaught's organisation attracted quite a reputation within certain exalted Decepticon circles, as a team to contact for desperate action at a desperate fee structure, as well as for certain clandestine activities on both sides of No Bot's Land which ranged from assassination, theft, fraud or even assaults. His own combat ability leapt forward in such a manner from the influence of his new comrades that if he had ever met any of the Decepticon soldiers who had once pestered him for supplies he felt he could kill them quickly, silently and without anyone being the wiser.

With the war almost complete and the Autobots driven underground it became harder however to maintain the group. Onslaught began to loose troops back towards Shockwave. Eventually the remaining members of the group were caught and Shockwave placed the team into stasis prison.

And then Starscream had come and offered himself, Onslaught, Brawl, Vortex and Blast Off a new life as the Combaticons. Swindle had said yes because anything was better than stasis prison. But after a vorn living the life as a Combaticon, and as a pawn of Starscream, Megatron, Galvatron, Onslaught or Bruticus, he was sick of it, and yearned to return to the life of an independent trader.

Onslaught and the others would probably have let him go and pursue that life, but Bruticus would not let them. What distinguished the five Combaticons from the rank and file Decepticons was the ability to reshape themselves and merge into a single giant form. The Constructions could merge into Devastator, the Stunticons into Menasor and the Predacons into PredaKing. The Combaticons merged into Bruticus. The Autobots could perform this feat as well; Superion, Defensor and Computron had been regular opponents for Bruticus over the years. Bruticus has his own personality, influenced by, but largely separate from his five component parts. But he was an ever present reminder that he was permanently linked to Onslaught and his cronies.

Or was he?

Autobots had started to appear in human constructed frames. Perhaps here he could sever for once and for all, his link with the Decepticon military. He had made contact with the advanced research division of Chrysler who had created three frames, two of which now housed Hound and Sideswipe, while the third had been stolen, fate unknown. After briefly toying with the idea of tracking down the stolen frame, he made a deal with the human technicians for a frame of his own. With speed of the essence, a direct copy was made from an existing frame, the one now housing Hound.

So now instead of an armoured and armed military utility vehicle, a sand coloured Jeep Wrangler sat parked on the baked sand between negotiating sessions with the Arab oil Sheiks he had made contact with.

Much to Swindle's dismay he had found the new frame, while no longer recognisably his, had not rid himself of Bruticus. It appeared that Starscream's offhand creation of the brute had affected and embedded in his spark, the one part of him left his previous body. His old body he kept in vehicle mode and kept nearby at all times, in case his former partners started looking more seriously, and Swindle needed a decoy.

He had received the summons from Hound, and he saw this as a tremendous business opportunity. From what information he was able to tap into from his impressive network of military contacts, the Autobots were scattered, reduced almost to scavengers, each trying to live off the land anyway they could, much like the Decepticons of recent times. Sources of energon might not be as available as in the old days, and they might be going through filters at a rate that might exhaust supplies far too quickly. If he could provide a supply of energon without having to internally refine it from low grade fuels like petrol. Negotiations would be thorny, but Swindle was used to thorny customer relations. And this would likely be repeat business, the best kind. Swindle had transport arranged, his former Combaticon frame was already aboard, the moment the deal was sealed he was racing for Guatemala.

PAIN! Sudden pain gripped Swindle's mind, swamping it, overthrowing rational thought and making him wish he could run away from it. PAIN! It was gone as suddenly as it had arrived, a headache he guessed felt like all the humans Decepticon treachery had brought him in contact with over the last vorn, complained about regularly. Was this the new tactic of Onslaught/Bruticus to get Swindle to return to the fold? What did Onslaught need Bruticus for? The days of pitched battles with Autobot forces had ended with the disappearance of Galvatron. This is my life and I do not need them.

A cellular message was received. The ever security conscious Sheiks were keen to return to negotiations and a GPS co-ordinate had been received where again no doubt he would meet a helicopter. It was an annoying but necessary precaution. Decepticons still had a certain reputation and tended not to be intimidated by most human weapons. Composing himself, Swindle set his drive train for travel and slowly moved off in the direction indicated, feeling the grit of sand beneath his wheels.

Headaches could wait, there was profit to make.


Next: Chapter 9: Grimlock

 

Author's Notes #2

One of the problems with the Alternator line is new toys are still being released. While I yet have no idea what to do with the Asterisk line, especially as I've dramatically killed one them already. I've had to re-write Chapter 9 (almost finished) and Chapter 7 to incoporate additions to the line. If you go back looking for the changes to Jazz, it's a single sentence two of them, one of which I've named as Skids.

 

Chapter 9: Grimlock

The walls seemed to glow in their antiseptic whiteness. The room was featureless. Six walls arrayed in three dimensions with only gravity to discern two from the other four. The entrance could no longer be discerned, the gap blended smoothly into the studio-like whiteness.

But here the camera operators were not pleading for a pose, for an emotion, for a flick of the hair, a pout of the mouth, an inclination of the head, and even supposing someone asked the subject would be unwilling to give it. The subject stood some 25 feet tall in roughly the centre of the room, staring motionlessly straight ahead at what he thought where the camouflaged control windows were.

The body looked like a mess of sharp angels and strangely dull silver placed panels of over an exaggerated black skeleton with some red highlights. The familiar shape of a current model Ford Mustang stuck forward underneath the subjects head while two car doors jutted away from angles to the shoulders like the world's largest shoulder pads.

An engine block sat attached to one hip, with two gun barrels incongruously jutting downwards, one each side of the block, while on the other hip sat holstered a bladeless metallic orange hilt. The head wore a flush fitting black helmet with two exaggerated ears, jutting Batman-like from each side over a blue visor and a featureless dull gold mask. The figure stood ignoring the weapons at his side.

"Come on Grimlock, we'll fire some training drones at you. I've got some new ones, they're just as likely to blow up as fight like a maddened Seeker. You always used to like them."

Grimlock used to like a lot of things. When he was Grimlock. Now the warrior's warrior had no idea what he was.

Once, Grimlock's name would strike fear into the hearts of friends and foes alike, and even Megatron would pause mid-step at the sight of the Autobot behemoth approaching. The fearsome metallic Dinosaur charging heedlessly through the lines, shredding metal with each thunderous footstep, each snap of his mighty jaw, each swing of the fire bright energo sword, was now gone. The enormous figure had been devastated in a head-to-head fight with the purple Decepticon war machine Shockwave and a fight, a slugfest that Grimlock would have enjoyed regaling his fellow Dinobots with. But the end result was the two protagonists had fought each other to a standstill, staggering, crawling, still trading blows, physically unable to retreat, with only a hatred for the emotionless cyclops to sustain him.

The epic duel had allowed Ultra Magnus to gather his forces and flee Earth for the suddenly vanished Cybertron with only Jazz and Wheeljack for company to help in a volunteers only final stand to hold the Earthbound Decepticons at bay while the vulnerable shuttle took to the skies. Jazz had seen Shockwave's cannon artillery mode forming and pointed to Grimlock. Both Autobots both knew Jazz was no match for Shockwave, so Grimlock charged down the Decepticon strategist before he could puncture the shuttles hull.

Wheeljack had hauled Grimlock's carcass away from the scene retreating to the rally point. Wheeljack had promised to take care of Grimlock, and he had known no more.

Until he woke up like this. With a car shape just like any other of Prime's Autobot weaklings. A weakling. Once he could have taken on Megatron himself. Now he was just another Autobot amongst many. He was faster now than before, but what use did Grimlock have for speed?

He could not even seek solace amongst his friends. Slag, Snarl, Sludge and Swoop had left for Cybertron with Ultra Magnus, along with his only real friend outside the Dinobots in Wheelie. While Grimlock's courageous act would be long remembered, as far as Grimlock was concerned, he might as well have been better off dead.

"Come on Grimlock," said the ever cheerful voice of Wheeljack. "If we're going to respond to Hound's call we've got to get used to these frames quickly if things turn nasty." Grimlock sighed silently to himself.

"Me Grimlock say things already nasty. This frame have less power than Wheelie. Is piece of Earth junk. Wheeljack should have given Grimlock honourable death."

"And who's going to keep the Dinobot's in line if you'd died? They need you leadership," goaded Wheeljack. After a brief pause the Engineer added, "Who's going to keep Rodimus Prime in line?"

"Me Grimlock wear same frame as friend Wheeljack. Human frame not allow Me Grimlock keep even Swoop in line. How Me Grimlock be use to Autobot with such weak frame?" At that point Wheeljack had obviously had enough and attack drones appeared from hatches in the walls and Grimlock was suddenly embroiled in battle. Drones Grimlock would have ignored as insects prior to his climactic battle two years ago, now had to be fought. Grimlock's entire fighting style and leadership abilities had grown around being one of the mightiest Autobots frames ever constructed, leading a team of similarly powerful team with their own skills, but lacking in leadership. Grimlock knew the Dinobots he commanded would no longer respect him. Other Autobots would no longer fear him. The threat of a punch in the face would no longer hold at bay the ridicule held for his simplistic syntax, despite his reputation and his battlefield skills. What does a legend do when only a shadow remains? He could not fade away while the war still raged. While he lived he still had a responsibility to the Autobrand on his shoulder. The real dilemma was then that he lived. That could be remedied.

The challenge of the drones was fleeting. Standing amongst the wreckage Grimlock could do little but think of despite the ease of the result, that this was far to difficult for an Autobot of this rank. Wheeljack was a long standing friend of the Dinobots, having championed them when even Optimus Prime was against them, maybe he could help Grimlock again in this time of need.

"Wheeljack?"

"Yeah Grimlock?"

"Can you help me end spark? Me Grimlock's life no longer important."

"I... Grimlock... you're Grimlock, the most indomitable Autobot I've ever met. This is just another challenge for you."

"Might gone. Strength gone. Tyranosaur gone. Dinobots gone. Me Grimlock wishes gone. Me Grimlock not do this to me. Wheeljack help Me Grimlock?"

"I... I can not do this Grimlock. I see a future for you. We still need you here on Earth."

"Me Grimlock not believe you friend Wheeljack. You not do this, you not friend of Me Grimlock." Wheeljack did not answer. Grimlock strode to where the entrance stood and paused. The door did not open. Grimlock pounded on the door with his fist, only to find the energy shield in place.

"Wheeljack! Open door!" Grimlock pounded away at the energy field, denting his hands, not caring about the pain. Eventually Grimlock had to stop. Collapsing to his knees, he half turned and sat, holding his damaged hands in front of his face, not caring how miserable he looked.

Primus let the pain end.

Next: Chapter 10: Windcharger

 

Oh. Wow.

That was Great.

 

I second that wow. Really looking forward to seeing how Grimlock evolves from here. You are planning to continue the story after everyone's introduced, right?

 

Yes I am. Both my computers struck problems on the weekend so I've been unable to finish Windcharger. He's almost finished though - just some editting.

The plan, now, is to set the story in motion prior to the character piece introductions particularly since this glut of new models (and the damn Asterisk line including a character, a fave of mine, that I've killed thoroughly!!). So since I've linke Grimlock and Wheeljack, I'll probably return to Guatemala and Hound after Wheeljack. There's another linked pair after Wheeljack so I'll leave that on the hooks for a bit. Hopefulyl Windcharger today.