IDW Contest entries

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by GWolfv2, Dec 9, 2009.

  1. GWolfv2

    GWolfv2 Well-Known Member

    May 23, 2009
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    "You sure do moan a lot, old timer".

    "I'll have you know, I am not old, you young ruffian, I am well aged, refined, matured. I am not old. Now hurry up with this Primus forsaken check up. Some of us have places to be".

    The medibot smiled slightly. His patient did indeed have someplace to be. As a surviving hero of the Great War, he was to be part of the honour guard at Cheetor Prime's inauguration. But even if it was any old day, he doubted the attitude would be any different. This guy was spent most of his time talking down to everyone. Still, once you got past the high and mighty act, it was hard not to like to old-excuse me, refined bot. He just had a way about him.

    "Alright, you're good to go Tracks".

    Tracks arrived at the ceremony with his usual impeccable timing. Naturally, as he took his place in the line up, he shone, all optics drawn to his form. And, just as naturally, he was kept waiting as the less…well rounded types arrived late. His old comrades in arms had let themselves go in their personal habits as well as their time keeping, as demonstrated by Grimlock's indifference to a rather obvious dent in his shoulder armor, no doubt from some sparring with an assuredly unfortunate and battered youngster, or Blurr's incessant fidgeting and that mumbling about energon reserves . Yes, it was a good thing the new Prime would have the likes of him around to raise the tone. It was only a shame he hadn't his old Earth form to impress the young Maximal. While Tracks accepted the new form, in his case a technorganic elk, had a certain functionality and efficiency you couldn't help but admire, it was impossible to get past the simple inelegance of these animal forms. He missed the sleekness of his car mode, the form he'd kept even after the Maximal upgrade, albeit on a smaller scale of course. Oh well, as always, he would just have to put his best servo forward, and make sure the common man knew that Tracks, that ever impressive figure of a mech was still around, antlers or no.

    And of course, Tracks fully intended to allow the new Prime access to his vast knowledge and skill. First and foremost was the keeping of the peace, and smoothing over old differences. And with Tracks on hand, it was an almost guaranteed success. He never liked to criticize others, and of course he had nothing but respect for Optimus Prime (now retired of course) but really, he just hadn't the way with the common man needed to bring the factions together. But, in his new assignment as advisor to the Prime, Tracks would make sure young Cheetor was molded into every bit the object of adoration and respect Tracks, however grudgingly accepted himself to be. Yes, Tracks would-


    Grimlock jabbed him in the side. Why that low brow-. Tracks suddenly realized something. Everyone in the crowd was staring at him expectantly. Grimlock, Blurr, Jazz, all the old hands were watching him, some hiding a smirk. And on the raised platform in front of the throng, Cheetor was waiting, his team looking both amused and embarrassed. Cheetor himself looked like he was going to burst out laughing any nanoclick. Tracks looked down, and realized he was still holding the Energon Matrix in his hands, and that an attendant was beckoning him incessantly.

    "Oh, did I miss my cue?"

    My entry into Jan 09 IDW wiriting comp-Survive into BM

    (Set during Beast Wars: The Ascending issue 1)

    Solitude. As I patrol this jungle, it is the one thing I'm searching for. The Maximals I find myself entangled with are loud, bossy and view me as little more than a big, blunt instrument, to be wielded at the first heavy target they see. I never have been comfortable as part of the wider army, and my patience with Razorbeast's "leadership" and Wolfang's adoration quickly wore thin. And so, I patrol. It's a welcome reprieve. But...the aloneness o of my current's not something I think I'll ever become accustomed to. For more stellar cycles than I care to remember, they were with brothers, my friends...the only things outside this war I've ever truly been able to relate to. The solitude, it gives me a respite from the Maximals, but also frees my mind to wander.

    What you mean, disbanded?

    The Dinobots have no place in the modern era Grimlock. You will all be sent on assignments which we feel best utilise you're...unique abilities.

    Me thought we already utilised. What better job for my Dinobots than job we already have?

    Our new exploration fleet is ready for departure. The Maximal piloting this fleet will require protection. Each of you will be put on a ship and serve in an advisory capacity.

    If Prime here-

    Optimus Prime has been dead for 300 stellar cycles Grimlock, the Council makes the decisions now, and you obey them. You're assigned to the Axalon. I suggest you spend the solar-cycle reviewing her data file.

    This not over, Prowl

    Yes, it is.

    Prowl...we never had the best of relationships, but with his elevation to the Council after Prime's death, well, let's just say Iacon wasn't my kind of town anymore. A deca-cycle later, and we were split...Slag, Sludge, Swoop, Snarl. Each sent on a mission they may never return from...each cut off from the closest thing to family we'd ever experienced...

    How long was I in stasis? Long enough to be officially declared dead, regardless of what this "Pack" knows? I wouldn't be surprised...I don't like to think about them coming home to the news I was lost on an exploration mission...not even a proper death in battle, just lost.

    I miss them, more than I can ever admit. Sludge's simplistic view of things, his tunnel vision, that ball of well meaning buried under layers of muscle. Slag, always a half second away from exploding, always right there in the thick of things, picking fights with people at the drop of a hat. Snarl, sour as the day is long, only ever truly feeling alive in the heat of battle, the only one of us who didn't consider our Earth forms as a case of the outer matching the inner. Swoop, kind yet ruthless, master of using people's own fears against them yet wanting nothing more than to be accepted, somewhere, anywhere. We were nothing but a group of ill-placed misfits., brought together because we simply didn't work as part of any established team. And yet, we became family. Shared worries, pain, battle, laughter and in Sludge's case loves. Closer than brothers.

    And now, they're gone. Somewhere, maybe alive, maybe dead. I've no way of knowing. But not with me. Yes, I seek the solitude of these trees, but a part of me knows that all they do is give me a chance to poke at a festering wound that won't heal until I can be there, again. With my own.

    Written for the September 09 IDW writing contest. Theme was Dinobots

    "Kup, that was incredible". As always, Springer's optics light up as he looks at me. Hero worship for the bot who trained Optimus Prime, held his ground for days on end during the final battle in Iacon, the tough old coot who is too stubborn to die.

    The warrior fresh from battle.

    "Lad, you're too easily impressed. Back in my day..."

    I begin to relate an old war story, and like human children, Springer and his team of Wreckers draw closer, to better hear the wisdom of the legend that is Kup.

    I look into their optics as I begin a story I'm sure I used umpteen times and I see myself reflected in those blue lights. I see myself...and I despair.

    I'm so tired. I've been fighting for so long. Longer than Prime, Grimlock, even Ironhide.

    I've seen so much pain.

    I was there when Alpha Trion died, when Megatron killed Sentinel. I'm haunted by Thunderwing's destruction. A thousand missions as leader of the Wreckers haunt me. The faces of those I trained, those I knew I was ensuring would either die or take a life themselves follow me everywhere.

    I remember the day I lost all hope this war would end.

    And this, this is the worst. They idealise me. Worship the ground I walk on. They see me as untouchable, unwavering. It's the greatest burden. Because it means I must fight. If I bow down, as my aching joints beg me to, they will lose hope. They need their idol. And so I kill myself a little each day. I keep it from them that their constant idolisation is destroying me.

    I've ruined what Kup, so that they can drive themselves to kill or be killed.

    Springer's the worst. He not only sees an icon, he sees a father. And so I must be both, and more, to him. But what tears me apart when I look at him is the certainty that I am his future. I will die in this fight. I'm certain of it. And Springer will see it as his duty to take up my standard. Become the hero of his generation. Fight the good fight. Pass it on to those that follow.

    And he will forget. Forget the person he was. Forget what it means to be more than an image in someone's mind. He will let them eat him alive.

    And his hope will die.

    "You tired old man?"

    "Aye. Springer, it's been a long day".

    A grin, "Aren't they all". I try not to notice the slight mech fluid stain on his hand. "Want to join me for a quick one?"

    No. "Course, lad".

    He leads me down the hall. And as we enter the cafeteria, sound erupts. It is full of people. Optimus stands at the forefront, his optics smiling. Prowl is standing behind him, looking bored. Another casualty of this life, but he doesn't have the wisdom to realise it. Jazz, Tracks, even Grimlock is here, although the big soldier looks uncomfortable in the crowd. I can relate. Across the hall, a banner reads "Congratulations on your promotion".

    I think I'd cry if I could

    Springer slaps me on the back "Prime's wanted to push you up the rank for ages, but we held off till after a big win. Thought it'd be appropriate, ya know?"

    His arm wraps around my shoulder, affectionate radiating off him, as Prime, whose calming presence heals all wounds, comes up to embrace me. I grin, my face alight


    All I want to do is sleep


    Can't I rest?

    Written for the December 09 IDW contest. Theme of Kup

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