Transformers GX - Edited - Completely Changed first chapter!

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by Dark_Convoy, Oct 4, 2005.

  1. Dark_Convoy

    Dark_Convoy Old Bastard Veteran

    Jul 1, 2002
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    For anyone who read the first chapter I had posted before, I decided to make that part of the story come later and begin - well at the beginning - Let me know if you think this a better way to start the story out...

    Chapter 1 "Graduation Gift"

    “Old Sparkplug” – That’s what his friends called him, in fact that’s what nearly everyone in town called Carl Witwicky. Mainly due to the fact that his auto repair shop was called “Sparkplug’s”, the name just stuck and that’s who he came to be known as.

    Sparkplug was stepping down out of his old wrecker. It’s once brilliant two tone maroon and black paintjob dulled by the years, it was covered with dings and scratches. Battle scars form years of use. And though it ran a little loud, and sometimes hesitated when Sparkplug stepped on the gas, it was a good truck that had given him many years of service, and always started, even on those cold Oregon winter mornings.

    He walked across the gravel lot in the cool morning air of early spring, squinting from the light of the sun that still hung low in the sky, having just risen a few hours ago. Up to a set of rickety wooden stairs with chipped white paint and through an aluminum door to a small cluttered desk in what was a makeshift office inside a trailer on the front lot of Jake Cook’s auto salvage yard. The entire office smelled like motor oil, it always had. Jake sat behind a computer monitor that was covered with black fingerprints. Cogs, sparkplugs, wires and lug nuts were scattered around his desk, and behind him there was an out of date calendar with a very large picture of a young woman in a red string bikini, her hair teased out, kneeling, and jutting out her ample bosoms, obviously enhanced by silicone implants.

    Jake was about Sparkplug’s age, mid 50s, with salt and pepper hair, old black rimmed glasses, and wearing the uniform of an auto mechanic, dark blue button up shirt, and slacks of the same color, which obviously didn’t fit him the way they once used to. Sparkplug was more casual, just jeans an old gray t-shirt and a pair of work boots, and his cloths fit his frame in a much more aesthetically pleasing manor.

    Jake glanced up from his monitor, “What can I do for you today Sparkplug? Looking for some parts this morning?”

    “No, not today.” He replied, “I’m looking for an old fixer-upper – something I can rebuild and give to my son as a graduation present.

    “Well, go have a look around, I know I have a few cars out near the back of the lot that are nearly complete, shouldn’t take too much work to get them going – easy for a guy like you for sure.”

    Sparkplug’s technical prowess was known though out town, if there was something wrong with your car, anything, you took it to Sparkplug’s. Even on a few occasions people came in all the way from Portland seeking repairs for problems that they could not find a solution to in the city.

    He walked toward the back of the lot, gravel crunching below his boots with each step, past what seemed like endless lines of twisted or gutted remnants of what used to be automobiles. There in the back, near a 10-foot high chain link fence, topped with coils of dangerous looking razor wire he saw three or four cars that looked somewhat complete. An early seventies model super Beetle caught his eye at first, it was primer gray, missing it’s front and rear bumpers, and one of it’s front headlights, the front windshield had a large crack in it running from the bottom of the window on the driver’s side, arching over and stopping mid way up on the end of the passenger side. He then looked a little to his left were he saw just a single car down a 1984 Camaro, it looked to be in remarkable shape, at least on the outside. He strode up to it and said out loud, “What are you doing here.”

    Not that he expected the car to answer, it was just odd, this car except for it’s dull yellow paint that looked to have lost it’s luster years ago, and a fine coving of grit and dust, seemed like it was in nearly perfect condition. He walked over to the driver’s side door and opened it. It had that smell inside, the one released by nylon seats baking in the sun. He reached down under the dashboard and popped the hood.

    Looking inside of the engine compartment, he continued to be amazed, again save for a layer of dust and dirt, and a bird’s nest that looked long abandoned between the back of the radiator’s fan casing and the engine it’s self, everything looked to be in order.

    “The belts look a little dry rotted.” He thought to himself.

    After all, he had to find something wrong with it. Otherwise this was just too good to be true. He walked back up to the trailer that housed Jake’s office and walked in.

    “Find what you were looking for?” Jake asked peering up again from his dingy computer monitor.

    “Yeah, that Camaro, back there near the fence, how much do you want for it?”

    Jake looked puzzled for a moment, then started typing on his computer, the once beige keyboard, covered with the same black smears and fingerprints as the monitor was now an almost gray color.

    “Huh… must of lost the records for that thing back when I got rid of my old computer, lets go have a look.”

    Jake and Sparkplug walked back to the rear of the lot, Sparkplug, being in much better physical shape than Jake had to adjust his stride a bit slower as to not walk ahead of him. He kept in prime form, always being active, working on cars, playing baseball with his son and his friends, and never driving anywhere he could walk.

    Jake on the other hand didn’t do much more than sit at his desk, scouring e-bay to find junk cars he could put in his lot and sell for parts, returning a profit well beyond what he paid for the wrecks.

    They finally made their way to the Camaro, sitting between an old blue and well worn full size pickup truck, and black early eighties model Monte Carlo that was missing it’s entire front end, exposing it’s radiator with tubes and hoses running to the ground all around it.

    “Hmmm, you know I remember this car sitting here, it’s had to have been here ten years or more, but for the life of me I can’t remember where I got it.”

    Jake just chalked it up to the fact that he had well over 500 cars in his lot in varying degrees of completeness, and he couldn’t remember every single one, but still it struck him odd that he would not remember a car in such good shape, and was surprised it had set there so long without anyone pulling parts out of it, or buying it outright.

    “Tell you what, for you Sparkplug, nine hundred, consider it part of my gift to your son for his graduation, I don’t give deals like this every day.”

    Jake had no children of his own, his wife was not able to have children, which Jake had once seen as an advantage back when he met her when he was in his early twenties and she was 18. He had known Sparkplug’s son Buster or “Spike” as everyone called him practically since he was born, Spike had accompanied Sparkplug several times to his auto salvage yard, where he would play with his toy cars in the office, or when he got older, run around in the salvage yard, probably pretending he was battling aliens or something of that nature. And when he became older still, helping his dad look for and remove the parts he needed, showing much of the same mechanical skill as his father. Jake had always thought to himself, if he had ever had a boy of his own, he would want him to be like Spike Witwicky.

    Sparkplug went back to his wrecker after paying Jake in cash, as he always did with everyone, “I don’t spend money I don’t have.” He would always say.

    He turned the key and the old wrecker started up with a thunderous roar, bofore it died down to it’s normal chugging sound it made at idle and pulled it between the rows of junked cars. He drove it around to the rear of the old camaro and let down the hook. Jake had no keys for the car, but Sparkplug would just replace the ignition switch on the steering column with a new one and a new key to match, he could replace the locks in the doors as well, all with aftermarket parts.

    He hooked his wrecker up the back end of the car and secured it with some chains around the rear axel, the went back the area just by the back window of the truck where there were several levers, pushed a couple of them and accompanied by a loud whirring sound the rear of the car was lifted about two feet off the ground.

    Jake unlocked the back gate of the lot and opened it so Sparkplug could pull straight out. Sparkplug paused, honked the horn on his wrecker and waved at Jake before pulling through the gate onto the dirt road behind the lot.

    Jake waved back, then closed the gate securing it with heavy chains and a ridiculously large padlock, he then watched Sparkplug’s wrecker with the old 84 camaro in tow disappear in a cloud of kicked up dust as he traveled down the dirt road.
  2. Dark_Convoy

    Dark_Convoy Old Bastard Veteran

    Jul 1, 2002
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    Chapter 2 “And they called it Bumblebee”

    Spike Witwicky leaned back in the seat of his ’84 Camaro and let his mind wander. Looking out of the side window he watched the lush green landscape that spread out on both sides of him rush by with the seemingly unmoving pristine blue sky as a backdrop. There was nothing ahead or behind but the open road, he pressed on the gas just a little more then glanced down at his speedometer, which was now at nearly at 80 miles per hour. He felt a small, almost uncontrollable smile begin to spread across his face.

    Spike thought back to a couple months ago, when he woke up the morning of his high school graduation to find this very car he was now driving sitting in the driveway of the small two-bedroom house he shared with his father. There it was, brilliant yellow with twin black racing stripes running the length of the car, from the front bumper, across the hood, over the roof and finally ending at the bottom of the rear bumper. He jokingly commented to his dad that it looked like a bumblebee, and from then on, that became the car’s nickname. He even had a vanity plate made for it that read BMBL-BE.

    So now, here he was with “bumblebee” driving toward Southern Oregon University for a tour of the campus. He would major in business administration and make his father’s small time auto repair business into a larger, and perhaps one day nation wide operation. It was like pulling teeth to get Sparkplug to let him make this trip on his own. His dad had always been so protective of him. He figured it was due to the fact that besides his shop, Spike was all he really had in life. Spike’s mother had passed away when he was very young, if fact he had very few memories of her. Left on his own to raise and support a child Sparkplug had done the best that he could. And though he never expressed it in words, he loved Spike with all the love that father could have for his son.

    Sparkplug had known that this trip was just another step towards Spike leaving him for good and becoming his own man. Even with all his talk of coming back after his schooling was over and running the business end of his shop, he knew that it wouldn’t be the case. Being away from home changes people, especially young people. Spike was eager to get out and see the would beyond this small town in Oregon he had lived in his entire life and was destined for much bigger things than small time auto repair.

    Spike snapped back into reality as he heard the sound of a passing aircraft’s engines overhead. He glanced back down at the speedometer, he was still doing about 80, he looked out the window to see a mile marker and realized he had traveled nearly 60 miles.

    “Daydreaming at 80 miles per hour.” He thought to himself. He could see an image in his mind of his father shaking his head in disapproval.

    Spike took a quick look at his rearview mirror to make sure there weren’t any police around. He would hear no end of it from his dad if he got a ticket on the first “road trip” he took on his own. He gently let his foot off the gas and at the same moment noticed that the sound of the aircraft engines were getting louder, too loud, in fact it sounded like whatever it was, was right on top of him.
    It was at this point he realized that though he had let his foot off the gas, he wasn’t going any slower. “Damn, throttle must be stuck.”

    He gave no thought to the increasingly loud roar of jet engines and gave the brake pedal a slight push. Nothing. He looked again at his speedometer, and saw that his speed was rapidly increasing. The scenery around him started rushing by at break neck pace and he looked down to see the needle on the car’s speedometer pegged at 120. Spike’s heart started to pound in his chest and panic gave way to fear as he stomped on the break in a futile attempt to get the car to stop.

    Down the road and rushing up fast was a huge railroad overpass, built of concrete with hulking iron support beams, flanked on either side by hills covered in gravel were the land had been built up to allow it to pass over the road. Spike concocted a scheme in his head, he would turn the car and drive it up the hill on his side of the road, perhaps the hills steep grade would slow him down, or the maybe the car would not be able to get traction in the gravel and the results would be the same, it would slow him down enough to be able to escape, he started turning the wheel, and nothing happened. Fear turned to horror, he wanted to scream.

    In a final act of desperation Spike stomped on the brake pedal with every last ounce of strength he had, lifting his rear end up out of the driver’s seat. In a loud screech his car spun around in the road coming to a jarring halt under the railroad overpass. He caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. As he was picking up his cell phone, a voice rang out

    “Get out.”

    Spike looked around to see where it had come from, at first he thought there was a cop behind him speaking into a megaphone. Then he realized it sounded like the voice was coming from the car’s speakers.

    “If you want to continue functioning, get out now!” The voice sounded like that of a young man, but with an odd tinny flange to it, almost like it was synthetic.

    He looked over to see that the driver’s side door was open, he puzzled to himself for a moment, being unable to remember if he had opened it himself or not. Spike reached down, grabbed his cell phone, and exited the car, slamming the door shut with an air of aggravation.

    No sooner than he had slammed the car door, the sound of the aircraft engines came to his focus again, looking up he saw a dark blue F-15 fighter jet whiz by overhead at dizzying speed, far too close to the ground. It looked to be only 30 or 40 feet above the overpass. It shot off to the horizon firing its afterburners. Spike leaned forward letting his shoulders slack and sighed. Then, within seconds, the jet came back into view, at first looking only like a tiny dot. Then Spike realized it was coming straight towards him, not even 20 feet off the ground.
  3. Hakudoushi

    Hakudoushi Well-Known Member

    Aug 24, 2004
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    This is an extremely nice pice of work Dark_Convoy. I really enjoyed it and I'm very impatient for the next chapter. Please update soon. :cool: 
  4. Dark_Convoy

    Dark_Convoy Old Bastard Veteran

    Jul 1, 2002
    Trophy Points:
    Chapter 3 “Conspiracy”

    “We can do anything we want to Mr. Chase.”

    Chip noted that the agent’s voice sounded monotone, “Like that guy from Dragnet.” He thought to himself. It was almost funny, it would have been in any other situation, but at the moment Chip Chase had pretty much lost his sense of humor.

    Chip Chase, head of the archeology department at University of Oregon had come into work this morning to find his lab trashed. As he rolled his wheelchair toward the back of the room he looked around in disgust at the various samples, artifacts and piles of papers strewn about the floor, and as he reached the back of the lab he saw him. Dressed in a black suit, hair cut closely in a military style fade. He was rummaging through a pile of notes; several other documents lay on the floor around him. He introduced himself simply as “Agent Hartford, CIA.”

    “What the hell is going one here?” Chip actually had a good idea why there was a CIA agent rummaging through his lab, but at the moment he thought it was best to play dumb.

    “Mister Chase, I know you sent a sample of that material off to one of your colleagues at the University of Connecticut, and we know that you are in possession of more samples.”

    “And just how do you know that Agent Hartford?” There was an air of contempt in Chip’s voice.

    “Your phone lines were tapped.” The agent replied, sounding very condescending. “Like I said, we can do anything we want.”

    “And why would you decide to…” Agent Hartford cut him off in mid-sentence, sounding nearly angry.

    “You had a team poking around near Mt. Saint Hillary, that’s a restricted area, there are signs posted all over the place, you should really know better Mister Chase.”

    “They were at least 5 miles from the dead zone, there’s no restriction on that area, and we were well within our rights.”

    Chip looked up at the agent from his wheelchair, never breaking eye contact with him. The CIA agent had cold black eyes that were made even more intense by his pale complexion; he would look almost sickly if it were not for the strong structure of his face.

    Chip on the other hand did look sickly, his pale blue eyes magnified by thick black rimmed glasses, he had a weak jaw line, a somewhat large nose and messy mouse brown hair that hung partially into his face. Chip was trying his best not to act nervous, but his body language betrayed him. His small frail figure nearly buried in a light blue lab coat, he kept fiddling with the cushioning on the armrest of his wheelchair with one hand, while using the other to periodically swipe locks of hair out of his face.

    “That’s neither here nor there Mr. Chase, what it comes down to is you are in possession of property that belongs to the United States Government, and if you don’t turn it over you are going to be in…”

    The small silver cell phone clipped to the Agent’s belt began ringing, in one smooth motion he unclipped it from his belt, flipped it open, put it to his ear and turned his back to Chip.

    After listening for a few seconds he replied, “Where” there was another pause as he began listening again.

    “I’ll be right there.”

    He then flipped the phone closed and clipped it back on to his belt.

    Turning back around to face Chip, he leaned forward to put his face at eye level with him.

    “This isn’t over Mister Chase.”

    Agent Hartford gave one last intimidating look at Chip and then quickly walked out of the lab.

    Chip gave a sigh of relief as soon as he could no longer hear the Agent’s footfalls. He then rolled himself over to his desk where sat a large thermal lined coffee mug. Chip picked it up, popped off the top and overturned it, out into his hand fell a shard of what appeared to be some sort of dull gray metal with rough edges about two inches long. He quickly stuffed it into a pocket on the side of his lab coat.

    As he slipped it into his pocket, he thought back to when he fist came into possession of this mysterious piece of material. It was actually a student had found two small pieces of it out in the woods about five miles or so from Mt. Saint Hillary’s dead zone. An area stretching in a roughly ten-mile area around the mountain’s peak where nothing grew.

    It appeared to be some sort of refined metal, but carbon dating put it at nearly 4 million years old. On a microscopic level it appeared to have a nearly cellular quality, but with one side being smooth and the other containing what looked almost to be microscopic conduits, like a printed circuit board. After a metallurgical analysis, it was almost certain that the material was not of this world, and did not match any known metals found in meteorites.

    It was at this point when Chip decided to send one of the samples to a colleague at The University of Connecticut, where there was a much larger and well funded metallurgy department.

    Chip rolled his self out of the lab, and made straight to the nearest exit.

    After making his way out to the parking lot, he pointed a small black box on his key chain at a black minivan sitting in a handicap space. He pressed the one button on the box and a sliding door on the driver’s side popped out then slid open on it’s own, revealing a wheelchair ramp folded up where the second row of passenger seats would normally be. As soon as the door was completely open, the ramp began to unfold it’s self, lurching forward at first in jerky mechanical motions, three segments aligned their selves to make a ramp leading up into the van.

    Chip rolled his self up the ramp to the area just behind the driver’s seat, which was sitting sideways and lifted his self out of his wheelchair then into the driver’s seat, reaching down he grabbed a clip on the back of his wheelchair which unlocked a mechanism that allowed it to fold inward until the wheels were nearly touching each other.

    He then picked up the chair and sat it in the space between the front seats of the van, letting it lean against the passenger seat. After turning the driver’s seat to face forward, Chip started the van. The ramp began folding it’s self back into position behind the driver’s seat.

    Chip always left his radio on either NPR or a news station. And just as the van was started a voice came on the radio announcing, “We have breaking news from western Oregon where it appears a fighter plane has crashed just east of US interstate five, the US military has not released any details as of yet and local authorities are not letting anyone near the crash site. Locals say so far eyewitnesses have been detained for questioning, and there are those claiming, quote, it was shot down.”

    Chip shifted his van into reverse, reached over and grabbed the hand accelerator that had been installed being that he had no use of his legs, and exited his parking space. Now shifting into drive, he pulled out of the parking lot, quickly glancing into his rear view mirror, half expecting there to be a black car with darkly tinted windows following him.
  5. Dark_Convoy

    Dark_Convoy Old Bastard Veteran

    Jul 1, 2002
    Trophy Points:
    If you have already read chapter 3 (before 10-11-05 at 3:48 PM Eastern time), go back and read it again :D 
    I did a little editing and added a few paragraphs.

    Chapter 4 “More Than Meets the Eye”

    Spike Witwicky was now again sitting in the driver’s seat of his 1984 Camaro. His mind still reeling from the series of events that took place only about an hour before. He leaned back, resting only a single thumb on the lower half of the steering wheel and looked strait ahead. He was now heading back towards home now, having never made it to Southern Oregon University.

    He was not sure what was going to happen to him now, he was still numb. It was almost like his brain would not let him completely process what had just happened.

    He started to go over it again in his mind, as had had already several times in last hour or so. He would never forget this, and feared no one would ever believe his story.

    Standing under the railroad overpass, he had stood frozen. Watching the dot on the horizon that he knew was an F-15 fighter jet. At this point thousands of explanations for what was going on all surfaced in his mind at once. Then he remembered something he had read on the internet a few years ago on one of those conspiracy web sites. The kind that he figured was probably run by a guy who had a bomb shelter in is basement and wore tinfoil on his head to keep the government from reading his thoughts.

    There was a story on there about fighter jets attacking people in their cars as they drove out in rural areas, the theory was that the military was doing this to test pilots’ ability to engage small targets. Just as Spike was thinking to himself that the stories must have been true, his car sped off on it’s own down the road in front of him, straight towards the incoming fighter jet.

    Now, confusion, fear, and shock all began to swell within him all at once. The pavement around his car began to erupt in explosions as if hit by some sort of powerful weapons fire. The jet, now only a few hundred feet away, ceased firing and pulled up, apparently to get high enough to clear the overpass Spike was standing under.

    There was a deafening roar as the aircraft passed overhead, and Spike turned to see that his car had turned around and was now heading directly towards him.

    He stopped trying to make up explanations in his mind for what was going on, in fact everything started to feel like he was in some kind of bizarre dream.

    Then it happened.

    His car was only a short 30 to 40 feet away, he knew it happened nearly in a instant, but as he was watching it was like everything was moving in slow motion. The hood of the car first flew open, then the front end split entirely in half. Defying gravity, it nearly stood up on it’s front end. The roof separated from the windshield, almost as if it was a convertible top opening up, and just as the passenger compartment was exposed, the doors opened and swung forward nearly 180 degrees until they were flush with the sides of the front of the car. He then realized the entirely of the back end had folded down behind what no longer look like a car.

    It landed. It landed not even 10 feet in front of him with a loud metallic clang, ripping gouges in the asphalt. Spike stepped back and looked up at the 15-foot tall humanoid figure now standing in front of him.

    Spike studied to figure for what had must have only been a few seconds, but again, it seemed like an eternity. He recognized the windshield of his car folded up against it’s lower torso, then extending down from the hip area were it’s legs, the area that would be a human’s upper legs were black, extending down into a mechanical looking knee joint attached to a yellow and black striped area that were the lower legs and had obviously been formed from the front end of the car, on each leg’s sides were the car’s front tires. The legs ended in a complicated looking mechanical ankle joint, and the feet were solid black and looked somewhat like boots. Looking back up towards the area above where the windshield was, there was the chest, solid yellow, with a large red emblem, that resembled a face. Flanking the chest were two large and powerful looking robotic arms, each of which consisted of two rectangular sections, one forming the upper arm and shoulder, the other forming the lower arm on each side of the upper arms positioned vertically, were the car’s rear tires. It’s hands were configured exactly like a human’s or at least a robotic interpretation of a humans hands, but clearly mimicking the same joints and range of articulation. Then Spike looked further upward, at it’s head. It had a face that looked almost like it was made of some kind of flexible metal, he had already seen it’s expression change from a dull stare as it was landing in front of him, to a look he interpreted as solemn determination. As with the hands, many elements were present one would expect to find on a human face, it had an angled featureless nose, which lacked nostrils, and eyes that entirely consisted of a uniform pale blue color, it seemed like that color was emanating from within them, like the glow of a neon light. It’s mouth and chin looked Entirely human like, and around it’s face, a yellow helmet, crested on each side with small pointy horns. Spike’s over all impression was it looked like a robot wearing his car as armor.

    It looked down at Spike for a moment, Spike staring back in total shock. Then it reached behind it’s back and produced some sort of very large rifle, in fact it looked too big for the robot that was holding it. The robot took a step back crouched down, then jumped, Spiked watched as in a single bound, it went over his head and landed atop the overpass.

    He could hear the jet coming around for another pass, it’s engines growing loud again. Then the sound of firing weapons. Spike looked out from his vantage point across the field at the side of the highway and saw the jet nose-diving towards the ground. Then there was an explosion that sounded like distant thunder, accompanied by a quick flash of light in the distance.

    The robot, that was his car, then landed again on the ground in front of him. Having jumped down from where it was standing on the overpass.

    They stood, staring at each other in silence for a few seconds. Spike took a few steps backward, then yelled.

    “Get away from me!”

    The robot did not move, it just stood there in that same spot watching Spike, still holding that ridiculously large rifle.

    Then it spoke; it was the same voice that had told him to get out of the car.

    “Fine, I see how it works, you save a guy’s life and them he gets all pissed at you.”

    “What did you say?” Spike looked shocked, and no sooner than the words left his mouth, the robot began to twist and contort, turning it’s self back into the ’84 Camaro.

    Spike took another step back.

    “You know, you didn’t have to slam my door shut so hard earlier either, the force requi…” Spike cut in, shouting at the top of his lungs, in no particular direction.

    “What the hell is going on here?”

    The car’s door opened on it’s own, “I’ll explain on the way back to your home.”

    “What?” Spike sounded angry, “I have to get down to SOU for a tour, I can’t go back home!”

    “Oh, the learning institute, there will be time for that later, you may not realize it, but you could be in a lot of trouble, especially if more of those seekers are around.”

    “Seekers? What? You mean that jet?”

    “Get in, I’ll explain, we have a long drive.”

    “I don’t thank so, just, just get away from me, I need to think.” Spike started walking quickly away from the car, heading back north towards home.

    After a few seconds he looked over to see his car, driving slowly next to him.

    “So… you’re going to walk all the way back home huh?”

    “Shut up.” Spike could not believe he was now having an argument with his car, his car that could turn into a 15-foot tall robot. “Stop following me.”

    “Fine, keep walking.”

    Spike looked up the road and saw in the distance, over the next hill a police cruiser, he stopped.

    His car came to a stop as well, “Why did you stop?”

    “That’s a cop up there, and you’re driving the wrong direction.”

    “A cop, you mean, law enforcement, and someone who is probably going to wonder why you are walking up the road, followed by an automobile with no one driving?”

    “Fine, I get your point.”

    Spike got into the car, and slammed the door shut.

    “HEY! You did it again.”

    "Just turn around, we need to be facing the other direction."

    By the time the police car got over the hill, Spike’s car was facing the proper direction, and picking up speed.

    The police car passed them and continued down the road.

    “As soon as we get to the next exit, I’m turning around, and we are heading back to your home, once we get there, there is someone I need to see.”

    “And what the hell am I supposed to do?” Spike asked. “How am I going to explain to my father that I am back a day early, and my car is missing.” Spike still could not believe he was talking to his car.

    It sounded like his car sighed. “Look, I need to go look up some friends of mine, they are disguised as automobiles just like me, I have a pretty good idea where a few of them are hiding…”

    “There are more of you?” as soon as Spike finished asking, they came up on an exit, turned and went back over the highway on a bridge, then got back on the highway going the opposite direction.

    “There are a lot of us.”

    “So… you’re telling me there are cars all over the place that can turn into robots?”

    “Yeah, cars, trucks, airplanes…” Spike cut in, mid sentence.

    “What about that plane you shot down, the one that was shooting at you, was that one of them?”

    “Yes, as a matter of fact it was.” The voice coming from the car’s speakers sounded reluctant, as if it was something it did not really want to talk about.

    “Look, you humans are not even supposed to know about us, that’s why we are in disguise.”

    “Why was that plane shooting at you?”

    There was silence for a few moments, and when it spoke again, it sounded much more serious than before.

    “We are at war.”
  6. Hakudoushi

    Hakudoushi Well-Known Member

    Aug 24, 2004
    Trophy Points:
    I love this line:

    {Spike got into the car, and slammed the door shut.

    “HEY! You did it again.”}:lol 

    I swear you should be writing the movie. This is great! I love how Spike and Bumblebee act together! It's perfect. :rock 
    Love the last line too. :rock 
  7. Spider Striker

    Spider Striker ThisGuyWithTheYellowCap

    Sep 5, 2003
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    Awesome work. Great set up. As good as Petey's. :thumbs2: