Transformers Version 2.0

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by peteynorth, May 27, 2003.

  1. Trenner Dios

    Trenner Dios everything u like is dumb

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    Just finished this today, took me a few weeks of reading at work while I should be doing other things...

    ...Amazing stuff. I could nitpick certain things, but the sheer enjoyment and emotional rollercoaster I got out of this story vastly outweighs any of the very minor criticisms I could bring against it.

    If anybody does have this complied into a word file or something similar, I would be greatly in your debt if you could send me a copy.
     
  2. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    This entire series is just like enjoying a bottle of vintage wine !
     
  3. Rotorstorm

    Rotorstorm Wreck n’ rule

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    I had completely forgotten you had a pontoon transformer in here called Undertow :lol  Maybe Hasbro like the idea and decided to make him (abiet a decepticon)
     
  4. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Well, I’m officially done with this story….

    April Fool’s

    Season Five: Ragnorok

    Episode 63: Seeds of the Past




    Poseidras, one time god of all aquatic environs, or at least that was his self-appointed title that he had forced upon captive Cybertronians until eight million years ago, hovered briskly through the hallway of his vast three vorn old ship, the rebuilt Ithikanus, and reached the now-opening doorway to one of its hangar bays. Inside he saw the recently arrived alien craft that had transported their guests. The ship consisted of a conglomeration of parts and technologies, even technologies long since improved upon and made obsolete, but in their attempt to hide the identity of their species these aliens did their best to make themselves and their ship unidentifiable. Poseidras switched faces and smiled, laughing inwardly at their utter failure in such an attempt.

    He understood their desire not to be identified; their presence, and even more with their agenda here would undoubtedly not go over well with their closest allies. But it was not Poseidras’s place to judge, or at least not to make potential customers aware of his judgments. He switched faces once again, to a visage that was even more broadly smiling as three armored figures emerged from the craft and made their way down the gangplank. Humanoids, roughly seven feet tall with the armor, but going by the general characteristics of the black armor they were likely about six feet in height without it. There was an extension of the armor to the lower rear of the torso section, ostensibly to imply that they had tails, as well as protrusions extending out of the lower portions of their helmets, implying some sort of non-malleable growth on either side of their upper jaws. Once again Poseidras chuckled inwardly. “I bid greetings to you my friends.” The Quintesson addressed them in his native Quintellicai, knowing full well that they would have no knowledge of the language other than maybe the little that had found its way into modern Cybertronian, but recognizing that as the appearance of his ignorance to the identity of their species was crucial, it was an appropriate formality.

    “We assume that you can converse in this language.” One of the armored creatures replied in a different tongue as they walked toward the Quintesson, now flanked by Alicon Magistrates.

    “Ah, Cybertronian,” Poseidras feigned delight as he switched faces, “and spoken so well. Excellent, you will be able to dictate your will to the merchandise; that is, should we come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

    “What product line does this merchandise fall within?” Another one of the aliens questioned curtly.

    “Ah, right to the point. I can truly appreciate that.” Posiedras replied, a bit offended by the nearly barking manner in which the question was asked. But he continued to play the part of the charming merchant; it was an unfortunate necessity these days, their reputation as the greatest slave traders in the galaxy had completely evaporated over the last one hundred thousand vorns. Since the loss of Cybertron and access to Vector Sigma, they had been forced to resort to their virtually mindless Sharkticons as mechanical warriors, and being lifeless they qualified as weapons or equipment, not slaves. And as far as arms merchants went, they were not the best the galaxy had to offer, so kowtowing to customers was something that they needed to do until they could reclaim Cybertron, if and when that would ever happen. But every so often, a gift would find their way into their tentacles. “These are the warrior class, the premier line, the most potent killers in the Universe; these are Decepticons. Each one of them is a weapon of mass destruction, capable of routing battalions of virtually all non-Decepticon life form and laying claim to entire cities. And we have nine.”

    “Three Decepticons will be sufficient for our needs.” One of the smaller aliens replied. “But we must be certain that they are Decepticons. No other Cybertronian factions are of use to us.”

    Poseidras turned and flicked a tentacle at a pair of Alicons standing on either side of a large door. At the signal, one of the Alicons turned and activated a control which began raising the door. A few moments later a Decepticon on a hovering energy cage was visible, one on-line and clearly enraged by his predicament. “Let me out of this cage, you sawed off little slags!” The thirty-foot tall red robot bellowed at the Alicons, before turning his attention to the approaching Quintesson and armored creatures. “You!” He yelled as he pointed at Poseidras. “I’m gonna pull off every one of your slimy straps and beat you to a puddle with them, you, you, you…whatever the slag you’re supposed to be!”

    The alien would-be buyers paused at the statement and gathered together to discuss it with each other. A moment later, one of them turned back and addressed the captive Decepticon. “You are unable to identify this creature?” It asked as it pointed at Poseidras.

    “What? Naw, should I be an expert on freaky blobs of metal, glop and tentacles stuck together mounted on a repulsor?” The giant robot barked at the small creature. “For that matter, what the slag are you supposed to be?”

    The armored alien ignored the question and continued on with its own questioning, raising its armored wrist and activating a holo-projector. It pictured nothing but fuzzy light as the creature selected what it wished to display from a computer built into the armor. A moment later the image of Galvatron appeared. “Do you recognize this Decepticon?”

    The Decepticon stared at the holographic image intently for several moments before answering. “No, who is it?”

    “How about this individual?” The image shifted to one of Shockwave.

    At seeing Shockwave, the robot smiled broadly and started chuckling. “Oh yeah, I know that guy. And you will too when he finds out that you runts have kidnapped me and my crew.”

    The alien punched in one last selection. “And who’s this?” With that, the image of Megatron appeared.

    The Decepticon was stunned. “It looks like, but it can’t be. I mean, his body’s had alterations, but it looks just like him.”

    “Who is it?”

    The robot, now bewildered and desiring an explanation to the point of being almost submissive, stared at the smaller being. “It looks like Megatron, but he’s been dead for fifty thousand vorns.”

    The small alien once again addressed the captive, though its words were more a statement of fact than a question. “You were dispatched by Shockwave thousands of vorns ago for the purpose of finding a planet possessing energy resources, were you not?” The robot merely nodded as he continued staring at the hologram of Megatron. The armored alien switched off the hologram and turned back to Poseidras. “Did this creature’s ship transmit any messages?”

    “As we locked them in our tractor beam, they did attempt to send messages for help, but we blocked all transmissions.” Poseidras switched faces and smiled.

    “We’ll take him and two others, provided they’re in fully functioning condition.” The smaller alien said.

    “Excellent. And how will you be paying for these Decepticons?” Poseidras questioned, already vaguely aware of what the answer would be. The intermediary for this meeting had informed him, with a grossly over-vague description, of what these creatures were planning to barter with, and based on that initial description it was a curiosity that the Quintesson would happily part with a couple of ill-tempered Decepticons for the chance to study. Just as Poseidras had assumed, two of the armored customers walked back to their craft and a moment later they returned pushing a hover pallet holding a large metal crate. Upon reaching their comrade and the waiting Quintesson, the two aliens opened the crate to reveal large, intensely glowing chunks of what appeared to be naturally forming energon. The Quintesson switched faces and peered down at the contents of the crate with an unimpressed look on his face, while behind him, the Decepticon captive stared hungrily at the glowing energy. “Energon? We have more of this element than we know what to do with. You bring me energon and expect me to part with our top of the line product?”

    “Scan its energy readings.” The apparent lead alien suggested to their host.

    Poseidras did as instructed, pulling a tentacle-held scanner out from a compartment on his technorganic body, preparing himself to look surprised at what the scans would reveal. His surprise was genuine; he’d been told that the energy levels were highly concentrated in these large shards of special energon, but the levels were far beyond what he had expected. The energy and radiation being given off by these few stalactites could theoretically be enough to cause damage to the frames of Cybertronians; perhaps, with the correct levels, even death. The Quintesson had been planning on feigning mild surprise, but he was barely able to keep his genuine shock contained. “Where…where did this come from?”

    “A moon not far from here. This stuff is all over it.” The lead alien replied. “Here, let me draw you a map.”

    The Quintesson switched faces to one displaying a look of scorn. “There are not that many species that resort to sarcasm.”

    “I know. It’s something we learned from our dealings with Cybertronians.” The alien replied dismissively, aware that their host likely knew of what they were and not appearing to be all that worried by the prospect. “So, do we have a deal or not?”

    “It is nowhere near the value of a Decepticon.” The Quintesson haggled. “But it has piqued my curiosity none the less, so I suppose I can part with one of my war machines.” Poseidras turned and looked at the soon to be sold piece of property, and noted that the large robot was looking a bit peaked, no doubt due to the radiation being given off by the aliens’ cargo.

    “Sir!” The Alicon jogging into the cargo bay called out. “I apologize for interrupting, but…”

    “Silence you insignificant bag of excrement!” Poseidras lashed out at his subordinate in Quintellicai.

    “But Sir, Lord Apolonicus…”

    “Can wait!” Poseidras bellowed as he switched enraged faces. “Interrupt my business here again and I’ll abandon you on the home world for the Pit Lords to hunt down!” The Quintesson switched to a face that bore an exasperated smile as he returned his attention to his customers, addressing them in Cybertronian. “I apologize for that. So, I believe that I was insanely offering you a Decepticon for these chunks of rock. I’m already regretting making such an offer, but I suppose once it’s out there it would be poor form for me to rescind the offer, so I guess today is your lucky day.”

    “Three Decepticons, or we take the element and leave.” The lead alien replied.

    “Come now, you must be joking.” Poseidras replied with just the right mix of amiability and irritation. “This energon-esque substance of yours is interesting, no doubt, but worth three Decepticons? That’s ludicrous.”

    “Perhaps, but those are our terms.” One of the other armored aliens replied. “If they are unacceptable to you, then we thank you for your time and we will be on our way.”

    “No you will not.” Poseidras growled, but immediately switched to a smiling face. “I take it that your species, whatever it may be, is not one to haggle.”

    “Time is of great value to us.” The lead alien replied. “Either present three Decepticons for us to take, or we will be leaving with our payment.”

    “You do realize that your departure is contingent upon me allowing you to depart, do you not?” Poseidras baited.

    The lead alien nodded. “You either know what we are, or you don’t. If you don’t, then you’d be a fool to pick a fight with us without knowing whether you could beat us or not. If you do, then you know that we are allied with those you know that you can’t beat. So, either provide us with three Decepticons, or allow us to leave with our payment.”

    Poseidras heard a thump behind him, and rotated his body to see that his Decepticon prisoner had dropped to one knee. “Whaa…what’s going on?”

    The Quintesson then looked back at the glowing energon-esque crystals. He wanted them. He wasn’t sure how he’d go about utilizing them, or more specifically, weaponizing them, but he knew he wanted them. “Fine! Out of a desire to establish a good working relationship with whatever species you are, I will acquiesce to your demands.” Poseidras then barked out at the Alicon guards that had wheeled out the prisoner. “Prepare the ones designated Nefarak and Malicious!” The Alicons nodded and disappeared into the hallway from which they had retrieved the first Decepticon. The Quintesson then returned his attention to the aliens. “We will begin the modifications on the Decepticons immediately. It should only take a couple of hours for us to effectively render them adequately submissive.”

    “Negative, leave them as they are.” The lead alien countered.

    “As they are?” Poseidras asked, switching faces as he did so. “You may have heard stories, going back way beyond the likely origin of your organic species, whatever that may be, about Cybertronian slaves that were compliant. These stories are true, but much has changed. We no longer create them, they have learned to reproduce on their own, and have been raised in a culture they’ve created without our influence. They are wild, insubordinate, and make no mistake, unless these modifications are performed, they will try to kill you and escape.”

    “Yes, that’s something we’re counting on.” The alien replied.

    Poseidras stared at the smaller creature, a disbelieving smile creeping across his prominent face. He touched a tentacle to a button on the front of his body. “Magistrate Pompelin, do not conduct the behavioral alterations. Place the products in cages like the one designated Eradicus, and bring them here for immediate transfer to the buyers.”

    “As you command, Lord Poseidras.”

    A few moments later, two more large Decepticons were brought out, one predominantly gray and the other black. “What have you done with Eradicus?” The gray one snarled.

    “Will these suffice?” Poseidras asked the alien customers, all of whom nodded their approval. “Well excellent, then this transaction is complete. Go with your acquisitions and my blessing, and I look forward to our next business dealing.” Without a word, the aliens directed the Alicons as to where to place the Decepticons in their craft, and several minutes later they were piloting it out of the Quintesson hangar. Poseidras then turned to the very anxious Alicon that had interrupted them earlier. “What is so important that you felt obligated to interrupt my first foray back into the slave trade in vorns?”

    “Sir, Apolonicus is awaiting contact with you regarding a matter he assured me is most urgent.” The Alicon muttered.

    Poseidras hovered over to a holo-projector. “Well then, let’s see what my fool comrade considers to be urgent these days.”

    Poseidras flicked on the projector, and a moment later the clearly enraged visage of one of Apolonicus’s faces appeared. “Why have you kept me waiting for so long? Didn’t that fool of a lower life form convey that I was contacting you on a matter of exceptional import?”

    “He did, but I was in the midst of a sale, which is of greater import than whatever has you so bothered.” Poseidras replied.

    “You’re an imbecile! Assemble your forces, all of your forces, and prepare for invasion!” Apolonicus barked before switching faces.

    “You do not dictate orders to me, Apolonicus!” Poseidras barked back. “As I’ve informed you countless times, Zuelos’s murder did not leave you in command!”

    “Fine, then do not make preparations!” Apolonicus snarled back. “After one hundred thousand vorns we are in a position to retake Cybertron, but if you are satisfied selling the handful of wayward Decepticons and Junkions that you come across every few vorns, then so be it. You will not be a part of our re-conquest of the factory world.”

    Poseidras switched faces to one of annoyance. “What are you babbling about, fool?”

    “The Garbolicanopsil! It has found a champion, and has been able to reformat Cybertron.” Apolonicus cheerfully reported.

    Poseidras stared disbelievingly for a moment, but switched faces and called out to the nearest Alicon. “Begin preparations immediately! Every warship, Sharkticon and Olympus Guardian at our disposal is to be ready for assault NOW!”


    ***


    The blue ground transport sped over the glowing green hued streets that cut through the similarly colored buildings, buildings that now bore more resemblance to jungle mountains with their coloration and the endless foliage growing out of and around them. The racer, although shiny, had undergone a self-imposed rebuilding and therefore lacked the glowing exterior like virtually everything else on this newly remade planet, now made its way with a sense of purpose, something that seemed to be lacking in the countless other newly reawakened and rebuilt denizens of the planet, all of whom seemed to be pointlessly meandering around in their new bodies, marveling at the phosphorescent appearance and the ability to derive sustenance from the flora growing from virtually everywhere. The living transport felt nothing but disgust and contempt for these creatures he was passing, altered members of his own species, and in some cases, his own current faction, contempt he’d felt for them for the last three centuries. But he understood their compulsion to relax, celebrate, and indulge in all that Mother Cybertron was now offering her children, as he had felt these things prior to being recreated into his pre-planetary-reformation form. Soundwave, however, had little difficulty suppressing this compulsion, unburdening himself of his blissful new frame, and attending to his duty. He had been biding his time and enduring humiliation and emasculation for over three point seven vorns, but now, perhaps this alteration to the status quo, as well as the passing of enough time for his fugitive comrades to have made most, if not all preparations, would usher in the return to their former glory.

    The transport turned onto an entrance ramp leading into a building, and followed the ramp, which snaked up toward the top floor. Upon reaching the top floor of the building, Soundwave transformed to robot mode and climbed through an access panel to the roof. The Predacon robot, now less than a quarter the stature of what he’d been as a Decepticon, strolled over to the edge of the roof and gazed out over Cybertropolis. He looked down at the ledge just below him and noted a green-orange fruit of some kind growing off of a vine that ran along the edge of the building. Soundwave leaned over, plucked the fruit up and raised it to his chest, a series of lights shot out to scan the odd energy-bearing piece of vegetation. The vines and other vegetation around Soundwave shifted slightly, almost in agitation at his intrusion into the fruit’s biology, but Soundwave’s scans were complete, so he ceased, tossed the fruit away, and the vines settled back into place.

    Soundwave accessed the results of the scans, and inwardly smiled at the results. The specimen was a heavily modified version of one of the species of flora that Botanica had studied abroad and had added to the alien genetic database that had been restored the day before. It seems that the fruit’s core genetics were little more than a launch point for the alterations made by, presumably, the Oracle, Mother Cybertron, the Allspark or whatever mumbo jumbo the Maximal victors were trying to sell. The specimen contained high levels of energy, not energon, but energy that their new bodies could metabolize, as well as various other chemicals that seemed to promote feelings of contentment and even mild euphoria. This was not surprising in the least given the reaction of all Cybertronians, including himself upon prior to being restored to his fully mechanical frame, who had consumed the fruit. What Soundwave did find surprising, though not all that surprising for the naturally skeptical former Decepticon, was that there were trace amounts of chemicals that by his calculations, would result in low levels of lethargy, even ambivalence and other chemicals that could theoretically cause some significant personality alterations. Somebody had slipped a Mickey in Cybertron’s vast new punchbowl; an impressive plan to be sure, but one which Soundwave had no intention of falling victim to. The former Decepticon transformed into a pseudo mode, one utilizing communications equipment that had been hidden in plain sight in his other two modes. A transmission emerged from Soundwave, one that would be bounced via well-placed equipment so that it would cover the entire planet in minutes. “Sleeper agents; awaken. Time for action; at hand.” Even under ideal circumstances, the Maximal powers that be would have had difficulty intercepting the transmission, and right now, the Maximal leadership had a lot more to deal with than scanning for barely detectable transmissions.


    *


    Arcee peered out her window, the same window from which she had watched the city of Cybertropolis expand into a city-state that nearly rivaled Iacon in terms of size, or even exceed it when accounting for the significantly reduced average stature of its denizens. It certainly was more populous, though Arcee had only known Iacon in the handful of years at the tail end of The Great War, when she had been an Autobot; a lifetime ago. “I will take the time to read all of your reports in detail, but for the time being, I need a few clarifications on the very brief summary I’ve been given. So let me make sure I have this straight,” the Maximal Elder said to those standing behind her in the center of her living room, “the transwarp shunt initiated by the Darksyde, the one that you followed through in the Axalon, took you roughly four thousand vorns into Earth’s past, right?” Arcee turned around to look upon Cheetor, Rattrap, Black Arachnia, Silverbolt, Botanica and Nightscream, as well as holographic projections of Obsidian and Strika emanating from the projector on her oversized coffee table, a term for the piece of furniture that none of the visitors were familiar with.

    Nightscream shrugged. “Don’t look at me. Botanica, the Vehicons and I had nothing to do with any of that.”

    “And my lady and I were dormant for the actual shunting.” Silverbolt added, wrapping his arm around Black Arachnia’s shoulders.

    “That is correct.” Cheetor answered, ignoring the responses that preceded his.

    “And upon crash landing on Earth you were forced to adopt alternate modes based on indigenous life forms to shield you against exceptional levels of energon radiation, correct?” Arcee continued.

    “Yes Maam,” Cheetor replied, “the Axalon’s equipment was already configured to perform such alterations, being that our intended purpose was scientific study of other planets and life forms, and infiltration would be a great method of observation, the shielding was simply a bonus.”

    “I’m curious about this super-charged energon.” Arcee mentioned. “Even were this the energon we’re familiar with, which is clearly wasn’t, energon is not believed to be naturally occurring on Earth.”

    “I forgot to include it in my report, but that’s what Rhinox said.” Rattrap replied. “We’re pretty sure that the energon was placed there by a species of alien called the VOK; I kind of left that out too.”

    The Maximal Elder’s optics widened at hearing that. “Well that makes some semblance of sense.” Arcee muttered just loud enough to be heard after a few moments of silent surprise, raising her optics to the ceiling high above her. Even after halving each of the levels of the quarters bequeathed to her by Mirage, the ceiling was still eighteen feet high, a good twelve and a half feet over her head.

    “You know about the VOK, Aunt Arcee?” Rattrap asked in shock.

    “They’re the reason Iacon is subterranean.” Arcee replied, still lost in her thoughts.

    “How does it make sense that they’d seed ancient Earth with the stuff?” Black Arachnia asked.

    “To keep us out.” Arcee replied. “Along with all the other traps, and countermeasures apparently left for you.” The former Autobot snapped out of her thoughts and continued on with her inquiry. “So you win the Beast Wars, strap the pretender to the hull of a commandeered Autobot shuttle retrofitted with a transwarp drive, and set about returning to the present, but toward the end of the journey, this so-called Megatron breaks free of his bindings, and slips out of transwarp space, arriving in Cybertronian orbit three point six two seven vorns Anno Pax Cybertronia, a couple of Earth years before your intended target, while at the same time pushing back your arrival to three point six eight seven vorns APC, a couple years after your targeted re-entry, correct?”

    “Yes Maam.” Cheetor replied.

    “And in the five years Megatron had before your arrival, he created and distributed a virus that immobilized our entire population, extracted our sparks, cannibalized our frames to make armies of drones, and then pounced on you when you arrived, right?” Arcee watched as Cheetor nodded, and then walked forward and stared intently at the predominantly yellow Maximal. “Now, this is where I want you to be very detailed. This Oracle, as you call it, tell me everything you know about it.”

    “I don’t know all that much,” Cheetor muttered, “Bigbot was the expert.”

    “Bi…you mean Optimus Primal?” Arcee questioned. “Just tell me what you know.” She then peered at the other Maximals. “The rest of you feel free to chime in with any details that the kitty might be leaving out.”

    “Well, it’s an extension of Vector Sigma, or the Matrix, or both; whatever it is, it’s an ancient shell program that kind of monitored the planet, and wanted us to help it achieve a balance between the mechanical and its organic roots.” Cheetor relayed.

    “Trust me kid, Cybertron doesn’t have organic roots.” Arcee countered, not noticing Cheetor’s agitation to her response as well as the blue wave flickering over his optics.

    “Then how do you explain this,” Nightscream pointed out the window to the technorganic skyline, “or the organic subterranean grove that I called home for awhile?”

    “Answer me this, was this ‘organic grove’ that you found within the confines of the Ocalek Chasm?” Arcee watched a look of uncertainty and a shrug come from the angsty young bat-like Maximal, but surprised nods coming from Rattrap, Cheetor and Botanica confirmed her guess. “What you found wasn’t a remnant of some Terratron that we used to be, it was…a buffet of sorts for Decepticons capable of deriving energy from organic material, a useful trick during the famine that stretched throughout most of the Great War. Cybertron has always been cyber.”

    “If that’s true, then why would the Oracle tell us otherwise?” Botanica queried.

    Arcee thought a moment, turning to once again look out the vast window. “To help enlist the aid of champions that could facilitate…this.”

    “You’re saying that the Oracle…lied to us?” Botanica asked again, severe skepticism in her voice.

    “Impossible!” Cheetor exclaimed as another wave of bluish energy washed over his optics.

    “I fear that lying may be the least of what this Oracle did to us.” Arcee, oblivious to Cheetor’s indignant response to her suggestion, answered in a whisper before turning back around to view the others. “I think that you all have provided me with enough to chew on for now, but I undoubtedly will have more questions for each of you at another time. Thank you for your time, you are all dismissed.” With that the holographic generals bowed before their images flickered away and the Maximals turned and headed toward the door. “Snare, please remain for a moment.”

    The Maximals paused, all confused with the exceptions of Rattrap and Cheetor. Rattrap turned and took a few steps back toward the center of the room, while Cheetor nodded at the others to continue their exit. “His name prior to adopting a rodent alt mode.”

    The Maximals left and both Rattrap and Arcee sat down on one of the long couches in the center of the room. “I’ve been here thousands of times, and I still can’t get over how big this place is.” Rattrap muttered looking around.

    “It belonged to a friend who liked large, opulent things.” Arcee explained. “Even by Autobot standards, this was an enormous living quarters. For a Maximal, it’s nothing short of cavernous.” The Maximal Elder smiled at the younger robot. “We haven’t had much of a chance to catch up since, well, since you left with the Axalon. But in the little bit of time we have been able to spend together, I’ve noticed a few changes in you.”

    “Well, yeah, there was a modification to a bestial alternate mode, then my transmetal upgrade, and then my reformatting to this.” Rattrap replied.

    “I wasn’t referring to your physical transformations so much as, what appears to me anyway, a change in disposition.” Arcee replied gently.

    “Well, I guess war will do that to you.” Rattrap replied, his optics shifting away.

    “I’m not sure that’s it, Sn…say, which name do you prefer?” Arcee asked maternally.

    “Actually, I’ve kinda grown attached to Rattrap.”

    “Alright, Rattrap. As I was saying, I’m not so sure that these changes are solely brought on by the conflict.” Arcee replied, touching his arm gently. “Don’t get me wrong, war can have a tremendous impact on a person’s psychology. In the Great War I watched many dear friends undergo nothing short of metamorphoses due to the carnage of the war, but I suspect there’s something else involved with your changes. You see, while I haven’t read everyone’s report, I have read yours.”

    “Oh.” Rattrap replied, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

    “The details of the war on ancient Earth; those were fairly contemporaneously recorded, weren’t they?” Arcee asked.

    “Yeah, I kept a log.” Rattrap replied. “I’ve never been a diary-keeper, but there was some prerequisite training for the Axalon’s science mission and it was drilled into our cranial shells by the instructors that good record-keeping was an essential part of any scientific undertaking.” Rattrap turned to Arcee and gave a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”

    “Because it almost seems as though the Maximal that described the events of the Beast Wars of Earth and the Beast Machines conflict of Cybertron were two separate individuals.” Arcee answered, providing Rattrap with an inquisitive look. “I had no trouble recognizing my nephew’s thoughts when reading of the events that unfolded on Earth, but I’m not sure I recognized the author of Cybertronian account.”

    Rattrap shot to his feet and snapped back defensively. “What, a guy can’t change?”

    Arcee stood up as well, raising her hands gently in an attempt to calm the agitated Maximal down. “Of course you can change. We all need to continue changing as we go through our lives. But not all change is for the better. I’m not saying you were perfect; Primus knows you weren’t anywhere near perfect,” Arcee digressed, but immediately got back on track, “but you were one of the most enjoyable characters I’ve ever known. Only a didiot…excuse me, an idiot would suggest that you disregard everything that made you so compelling and think that continuing on as…I hate to say it, but we’ve always been blunt with one another so here goes; a watered down wimp, would be in anyone’s best interest. Sorry Sn…Rattrap, but while I was reading your account of the Cybertronian conflict, I was stunned at how whiny you’d become. You’ve always been the squeaky wheel, but your Cybertronian accounts make you come across as a helpless, whiny whelp.”

    “Hey, I’d been saddled with a body that was defective and armed with a toolkit!” Rattrap snapped back.

    “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot that you were an eight foot bruiser who kicked the slag out of everyone prior to getting hit by Megatron’s virus.” Arcee replied sarcastically. “Being smaller and physically weaker than everyone else has NEVER been an obstacle for you. You were one of the most resourceful individuals I’ve ever known, you always found a way to come out on top, and never gave up and cried about it. Oh, you moan and complain about everything under the sun, but that was more to hear your own voice and give everyone else a hard time than an admission of defeat. I’ve seen you ready to lock horns with the premier warrior on Cybertron, the thought of backing down nowhere to be found within your cranial shell, but there wasn’t a hint of that guy in what I read in the drone war report.”

    “Now hold o…when was I about to lock horns with…never mind!” Rattrap growled. “Look Arcee, I know you’re a war hero, and that you’ve seen a lot in your time, but trust me, you’ve never been in a situation like what me and the other Maximals had to go through here!”

    “I know Rattrap, and I may very well be wrong.” Arcee replied softly. “I hope that I am. But I simply cannot dismiss what I feel is a complete shift in your character. Perhaps were it just you, I might be able to, but while I never met Optimus Primal, I’ve spoken to a few that have regarding your descriptions of him, and like with you, his depiction in the Beast Wars seemed spot on, while his words and behavior in the Beast-Machine conflict seemed to be those of someone else, someone…less. And that seems to go equally for Megatron.”

    “What are you talking about?” Rattrap protested. “Megatron tried to kill us on both Earth and Cybertron.”

    “He tried killing you on Cybertron, until, apparently, he could kill you. And when the opportunity presented itself, he seemed to be overcome by a bout of honoritis, an ailment that according to both his criminal dossier and his depiction in the Beast Wars, seemed to have never affected him before, but which seemed to compel him to release you and avoid certain victory during the Cybertronian conflict. Or his sudden and unprecedented anti-organic fanaticism. From what I’ve read, he spent years enjoying the predatory and animalistic aspects of his Earthly frame, only to suddenly have a deep seated hatred, one that typically boils under for decades, against all things animalistic? No, there was definitely some broad, thus-far unexplained character shifts involved after your return to Cybertron.” Arcee replied. “Or am I getting that wrong?”

    The exasperated Rattrap just shrugged. “Fine, maybe my reporting on Earth was more accurate I guess. I had a bit more time to devote to my logs then than I did on Cybertron when I was being chased every second of every day! It seemed almost like it was just one, never ending chase scene.”

    “I don’t think that’s it.” Arcee replied. “I have little doubt regarding the accuracy of anything in your report. I’m thinking that the changes involved in your team, and in Megatron, may have been due, at least in part, to external influences. Primus, I knew Rhinox. There was no way he would have done what he did were he in his right mind!”

    “External inf…you think the Oracle did some sort of mind-slag on us?” Rattrap asked disbelievingly. “First you imply that she was jerking us around the whole time, and now you’re suggesting she was playing us and Megs like puppets on strings. Seriously, what’s up your exhaust port, Aunt Arcee? Even before Megatron stole the disk Cybertron was in trouble. Each faction was exceeding their reproduction allotment in an attempt to increase their cultural and political influence, resulting in a population outpacing resources. We were starting to experience shortages of every kind, and small conflicts within and between the factions were popping up all the time and threatening to spill over into something bigger! The Oracle has fixed all that! Just look outside!”

    “I’ve seen outside, Rattrap.” Arcee replied. “There are several reasons, over and above the personality changes that I suspect have occurred, that I am mistrusting of this Oracle and what it has wrought. For one, I don’t trust magic bullets. The last time I was on Earth, during the first fifth of their twenty-first century, they were at roughly the same point we were at; overpopulated and on the cusp of it becoming drastically worse, resources dwindling at a frightening rate, and environmental crises coming to a boil due to various forms of pollution. While officially out of contact with the planet, I did receive periodic updates, and the decades that followed my departure were a very painful time for the humans. As predicted, they were inundated by wars, famines, plagues, floods and other ecological disasters. Millions upon millions died, but that did little to alleviate the continued burden of the billions being continually brought into the world. It finally reached a point where severe action needed to be taken for the planet to survive, and the time for curbing behavior had long since passed. It was now the time to eliminate such behavior entirely. For the wealthy, they needed to eliminate their consumption; for the poor, they needed to eliminate their reproducing, or at least slash it to less than an average of a lone offspring per couple. It took over a century of pain and suffering, but it was through that pain, suffering, hard work and sacrifice that they finally achieved a balance; not through some miraculous deux ex machina.”

    “Oh really? Well thanks for the Earth history lesson Aunt Arcee, but how about you clarify a little Cybertronian history,” Rattrap chirped up, acting a bit like his old self, “tell me again about the victory over Unicron. I don’t remember it involving some masterful strategic maneuvers, or wearing him down with millions of soldiers.”

    “Point taken Rattrap,…” Arcee peered quizzically at her nephew and displayed a skeptical smile, “when was the last time you ate, by the way?”

    “Too long, I’m famished.” Rattrap replied, but then smiled back at Arcee mischievously. “Nice change of subjects there.”

    “Not intentional, I assure you, just something that occurred to me now as you started acting like yourself a bit.” Arcee answered as she made her way across the room to the wall, where she pressed a few hidden buttons which caused the door to a safe camouflaged into the wall to open. “Here, take this.” Arcee reached in and pulled out a container filled with small energon shards. “No more of the Oracle’s vegetation until I tell you it’s OK. Nothing but good, old fashioned, energon for the time being.”

    Rattrap reluctantly accepted the container. “Ahh, alright.”

    “Anyway, yes, you have a point about miraculous victories occurring from time to time. But that wasn’t my main reason for not trusting this Oracle.” Arcee began explaining. “Back during the final years of the Great War, just prior to the ratification of the Pax Cybertronia, there was…an individual; the primary author of the Pax to be exact. An ancient Excaviton politician who was one of the few surviving Emirates from the pre-war government, so despite what many viewed as cowardly stances and voting policies, he was treated with great respect. He soon developed a following by bandying against both the Autobots and the Decepticons, holding both factions responsible for the horrid state of Cybertron, but his following was fairly modest. Until one day he traveled deep below the surface and apparently communed with an entity he referred to as the Oracle. This Oracle transformed his frame into one reminiscent of our current technorganic bodies. He seemed in many ways like your depictions of Optimus Primal after his reformatting, though he lacked the courage, morality, strength of will and any other virtue your former Commander possessed; which may be why Custodex ultimately failed in his quest to create…” Arcee turned and gazed out the window in disgust, “this.”

    “Look, Arcee, you didn’t like the guy, and he may very well have been a slag bucket, but that doesn’t automatically mean he was wrong.” Rattrap replied.

    Arcee continued glaring out the window. “None the less, you are to avoid ingesting anything spawned by this Oracle until I say otherwise.”

    Rattrap nodded. “So is that it?”

    “And I would also like you to be rebuilt.” Arcee continued. “Preferably into a frame based on your original, or perhaps that…transmetal form if you prefer, but I want you out of this technorganic design.”

    “What?” Rattrap grumbled. “No way.”

    “Yes way.” Arcee dismissed Rattraps objection. “In fact, I’ll do it with you; now. Let’s head to the Science Center in the Maximal Security Complex. That’s up and running again, and they’ve already performed the retro-fit on the clean up teams that were sent to ancient Earth.”

    “Clean up teams?” Rattrap queried.

    “Yes, clean up teams.” Arcee replied, a little surprised by the question. “You really didn’t think we’d leave all your junk laying around for humans, Autobots and Decepticons to find eons later, did you?”

    “Oh, so who’s on these teams?”


    ***


    “Inventory logs adjusted,” the eight and a half foot tall red robot with white tufts of fur announced as he exited the vast cavern housing the scuttled Autobot Ark, “it’s as though the shuttle Primal took back to Cybertron never existed.”

    The hulking recipient of the news, a horned robot standing two feet taller and bristling with fur and firepower, looked to the robot and nodded. “I suppose it’s cleaner than trying to find and rebuild the one Primal took, or to build a new one.” He then turned and looked out over the landscape away from the mountain and his comrade. “Besides, as the Ark never left this place in one piece, it’s doubtful anyone will notice one of their away crafts missing, and it’ll be less scrap to clean up after Trypticon obliterates it.”

    “Optimus, are you sure you don’t want to go in and inspect our work?” The red robot asked hesitantly to his distracted commanding officer as other Maximals went in and out of the cavern at the base of what would one day be called Mount St. Hillary.

    “I’m sure, Polarclaw,” The imposing predominantly red and white robot with chunks of brown mammoth fur hanging off of his frame replied, “and while we’re here; while…he’s…there,” the leader nodded to the cavern, “you are to refer to me as Grand, to Atrox as Atrox, and of Primal as Primal…when you speak of him. Any time that…he’s present on a planet, whether on line or not, no other will be referred to as Optimus.”

    “I wasn’t familiar with such a rule, sir.” Polarclaw replied.

    “There wasn’t one until now.” Grand clarified. “I trust you and Mach Kick to see to the details inside the mountain.”

    “Thank you for your faith sir, but standard operating procedure for any temporal rectification operation requires the commanding officer to evaluate and sign off on the cleanup of the potential divergence scene.” Polarclaw pressed.

    “That is much more than a divergence scene!” Grand snapped.

    Polarclaw nervously nodded. “Understood sir, and the last thing I wish to do is to come across as disrespectful, but because it is what it is, it must be treated as the most critical of potential divergence scenes.” The red and white robot took a step closer and placed his hand on Grand’s shoulder. “This place is sacred to all of us, but more so for you and Atrox, I realize this. Its preservation outweighs all else, which is why you must enter.”

    Grand looked down, and after a moment nodded. “Thank you old friend, you’re right. And I apologize for snapping at you.”

    “No apologies sir,” Polarclaw reassured him as he directed him toward the opening of the mountain, “we all recognize how difficult this mission must be for you. Both for what’s here, and what was lost. I know he was like a son to you.”

    Grand nodded, but then grumbled in an attempt to suppress the feeling of sentimentality being brought on by the memories of the lost Optimus. “A disobedient son. What kind of Op…member of the Order of Optimii chooses a life of a scientist over a military calling?”

    Polarclaw nodded and let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m proud of him too, sir.”

    A beeping went off on Grand’s wrist, which he raised to his faceplate. “Go.”

    “Grand, we’ve got the Nemesis strapped to both the Snowy Wind and the Gung Ho. We were about to lift off to transport it to the coast for Orcanok to return it to its previous location at the bottom of the Pacific, when our orbital sensors indicated another ship.” The authoritative voice came through.

    Grand looked to the sky and nodded as he saw a small craft heading toward him. “Predacons. I’ve got a landing craft heading to my position now, I’d bet you’ve got one on its way to you too Atrox.”

    “And the Maximal Security Council?” Atrox questioned.

    “I’m sure one’s heading to them too.” Grand replied as he watched the ship settle to the ground a few hundred yards away. “I’ll contact Prowl now and let him know to be ready for guests.” The ten and a half foot robot marched toward the descending uninvited ship with a large Predacon symbol etched on its flank, but turned to Polarclaw. “Let the team know we have guests.”

    “Yes sir.” The agitated Maximal growled as he headed into the cave.

    Grand continued toward the now landed ship, a boarding plank lowered to the ground. “Prowl come in.”

    “I was expecting a call from you.” Prowl replied. “I suppose you’re about to tell me that the Predacons are here.”

    “You’ve already spotted an away craft I see.”

    “This thing looks more like a flying spider than an away craft.” Prowl replied.

    “So they slapped some skin over an Arachnid.” Grand grumbled.

    “A what?” Prowl’s voice came through.

    “All terrain mobile battle base. Land version of our Orcanoc. Our spies got word of their intent to build such a thing, but we were unaware of them actually going through with it. Have your team ready for anything.” Grand instructed.

    “Valuable instruction from the One Robot Army. Wow, no wonder why you’re head combat instructor of the Optimii Order.” Prowl replied sarcastically. “But please, allow me to do the instructing. My team was placed in command by the Maximal Elders. Atrox, are you on?”

    “Yes Prowl.” Atrox’s voice came through.

    “Make the Predacons aware of what we’re doing here, allow them to observe, but inform them that any attempt to remove, destroy or obscure evidence in any way will be met with the most severe of consequences. And under no circumstances are they to step foot on the Ark or the Nemesis.” Prowl ordered.

    Grand switched off his communicator as a form strode down the ramp and stepped onto the ground, a form that stood more than four feet taller than Grand. “I should have known it would be you, Magmatron.”

    “Hello Optimus Grand.” Magmatron addressed the Maximal as two hulking thirteen foot tall robots took their places on either side of him. The Maximals began streaming out of the cave and headed down toward Grand. “It has been too long.” Magmatron looked up past Grand and noted the other Maximals. “Ah, Polarclaw, Bonecrusher, Wolfang and Mach Kick! A pleasure to see all of you as well.”

    “Don’t forget me, Predacon.” A cobra hissed as it slithered between Magmatron and the hulking robot to his right, coming to a stop next to Grand and transforming into a slender five foot robot.

    “Ah, Cohrada, stealthy as always I see.” Magmatron muttered, and then turned to Optimus Grand. “You appear to be more than a foot taller than you used to be, Optimus Grand.”

    “I had some liberties taken when I changed out of that technorganic sludge body.” Grand answered curtly. “Now, why are you here, and who have you brought?”

    “We’re here to see to Predacon interests. And as you can see, I’ve brought Guildart here,” Magmatron nodded to the predominantly orange robot to his right, “Saberback here,” a nod to the robot to the left, “and on board monitoring us are Sling, Dead End, Archadis and Bazooka.”

    “And the other ships?” Grand asked.


    *


    Optimus Atrox maneuvered his nine-foot, nine-inch body down the rocky terrain toward the landed ship and shook his head at the thirteen and a half foot tall green robot with gray camouflage patterns over his hulking frame, the scuttled remains of the Nemesis was behind the Maximal, the legendary warship strapped to two much smaller ships hovering in the sky above and embedded atop the mountain he was descending. “And they accuse me of stealing the appearance of a Great War leader. Isn’t there a warrant out for your arrest, Megastorm?”

    The massive Predacon grinned up at the Maximal. “It’s all a misunderstanding. And honestly, given the current state of Cybertron, I doubt any records relating to that matter are recoverable…” a look of realization came over Megastorm’s face, “I mean, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The Predacon, whose frame was nearly identical in shape to the legendary Decepticon Megatron’s Earth-modified frame, was followed by six other large Predacons with frames that indicated they possessed alt modes based on late twentieth century Earth vehicles as well.

    Atrox, who was followed by a German shepherd, a boar, a white rabbit, a penguin, and an armadillo, shook his head. “Before we get down to business, I just have to ask what you guys picked for your alternate modes. I mean, are you supposed to blend in with anything?”

    The confused Megastorm took on a look of confusion, and exchanged confused glances with his subordinates. “What. We’re on Earth, these are forms our computer says are native to Earth.”

    “Wow, you guys are slaggin’ morons!” The boar transformed into a five and a half foot robot, a gun in his hand. “How is it that the TriPredacus Council chose you idiots for this mission?”

    “We were some of the few warriors that were off world and avoided the virus and the…jungling that happened to Cybertron, so we were…”

    “Shut up Autocrasher!” Megastorm roared at the bright green robot.

    “Enough.” Atrox announced. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is what you’re doing here.”

    Megastorm paused as he struggled to remember what he was told to say. “We are here to offer our assistance and to ensure Predacon interests are preserved.”

    “Predacon interests?” The dog transformed into a robot that was a few inches taller than the red robot that had been a boar. “What are those? No wait, let me guess, they’re either cover this up and say it never happened, or kill us and succeed where Megatron failed.”

    “Uhmmmmm…” Megastorm had no idea of how to reply to this question.


    *


    “Protecting Predacon interests involves making sure that you Maximals don’t skew things here to your advantage.” The fourteen and a half foot tall purple robot with an alligator head for a chest announced to the Maximals standing before him.

    “Nothing needs to be skewed to our advantage.” The brown robot with a white head and forearms and bearing a twelve-foot wingspan replied as he crossed his arms. “It’s been established that a crew of Predacons stole the golden disk. It’s been established that they set out to come to ancient Earth to, plan A; steal energy resources to power a Predacon military buildup, or plan B, kill a dormant Optimus Prime. It’s been established that the Maximal crew that followed them came here without the knowledge of where or when ‘here’ was, so even though they would be completely justified in violating the Pax Cybertronia given the circumstances, without such knowledge they could not even be accused of such a violation. It’s been established that elements of Predacon Command were aware of these circumstances, and refrained from alerting any governing body on Cybertron, opting instead to send back a former Decepticon to arrest Megatron, but who instead joined forces with the fugitive and aided his attempt to assassinate Optimus Prime. Oh, and lastly, it’s been established that the Maximals did in fact win the Beast Wars.” The winged Maximal shrugged. “The outcome works for us. We have no desire to violate your interests, and absolutely no need whatsoever to skew a damn thing; we’re just here to clean up, Violator.”

    The helmeted alligator-robot nodded and smiled as he gazed upon the group of six Maximals standing on the banks of what would one day be called the Awash River, in what would one day be called Ethiopia, recovered chunks of the Axalon laid out along the shoreline. “Well put Silverbolt, I’m sure you, your fellow Security Council members, the Optimii and the rank and file Maximals you have on this planet are whistling joyfully as you straighten up. But there are three things that I’d like to point out; first, along with the adjustments made to my frame to better fit in on this planet, I’ve adopted the name Megalligator.”

    “Better fit in on this planet?” A twelve foot tall robot with giraffe body parts covering much of his body muttered to a large Tasmanian Devil standing next to him. “He’s purple.”

    “Colors are tricky.” Growled a seven foot angry looking robot behind them with blue-furred mandrill arms and legs.

    Megalligator, who was standing before twelve other animalistic Predacons, all of whom had exited from a gigantic spider which had transformed into a base of operations upon landing, glared at the interrupting Maximals before continuing. “And second, the accusation that the TriPredacus Council knew of the Beast Wars and sent Ravage back is thus far speculation as there has been no proof of his involvement. There very well may have been a Predacon posing as Ravage, but until actual proof of his identity is presented, it is our position that the Council remained as blissfully ignorant of the Beast Wars as the rest of Cybertron. And lastly, if cleaning up were truly of interest to you, why not just return to a point just prior to the Beast Wars and intercept the Darksyde and the Axalon as they emerge from the transwarp jump?”

    “First, lame name. Second, what a load. And we will be bringing back the corpse and remains of Ravage’s ship. Lastly, as was mentioned, Megalligator,” A ten foot, hulking red robot covered in elephant body parts replied, “the outcome of the Beast Wars works for us.”

    “And there it is.” Megalligator said spitefully. “Your intention has been made clear.”


    *


    “It all boils down to Amendment Fourteen Eighty Seven.” Magmatron folded his arms. “Or am I wrong?”

    “The political arena is not my battlefield.” Optimus Grand grumbled back.

    “I know, but even you must recognize the implications of what’s transpired here combined with that bit of legislation.” Magmatron smirked. “Your Elders pushed to have it ratified, garnering votes of ‘aye’ from every senator save the Predacon representatives. The authorization to suspend voting rights to the senators of any faction whose leadership has been found guilty of gross violation of the Pax Cybertronia or been considered an enemy of Cybertron.”

    Optimus Grand shrugged. “As I mentioned, not my battlefield. But I think you’ll be alright; Megatron was a criminal, not an elected member of your faction’s representative body.”

    “Yeah, but Grand,” a gray wolf spoke up as it trotted next to Grand, “Prowl’s digging up the proof that Ravage was sent here. And if he was sent here, that means that somebody in a position to order Ravage here knew Megatron was here, and we all know who held Ravage’s leash.”

    “Thank you Wolfang!” Grand snapped at the canine before returning his gaze to the now smiling Magmatron.

    “Don’t blame him; of course you recognized what was at stake here.” Magmatron explained as the other four Predacons that he had arrived with exited the ship, weapons in hand. “You chose not to pre-empt the Beast Wars because you want them in the history books. You want the treachery of the TriPredacus Council documented so that your Elders can present it to the Senate, use Fourteen Eighty Seven to null our voice, and after more than three and a half vorns, finally strike down the Pax Cybertronia, and replace it with a constitution that will enable the return of the Autobots.”

    Grand’s frame was tensed and ready to spring into battle, as were those of all other Cybertronian’s present. “So you’re aware of our intentions.” Grand intensified his glare at the larger Predacon general. “What are yours?”


    *


    “Kill em all!” Megastorm bellowed before firing off a shot from his shoulder cannon that blasted a boulder behind Optimus Atrox to rubble. Atrox had launched himself into the air just as the Predacon fired, avoiding the shot and setting himself up to land just to the side of Megastorm. The other Predacons and Maximals began exchanging fire and ducking for cover.

    Atrox landed in a crouch and swept out Megastorm’s legs, causing the behemoth to fall on his back. “Why are you doing this?” Atrox yelled as he transformed into a giant North American Cave Lion with a golden mane and white fur. “This serves no purpose. Even if you claim the Nemesis, it’s not in any condition to fly, and our back up will be here long before you can repair it to anything remotely like working condition.” The lion leapt to a large outcropping of rocks, flipped out four rocket launcher from behind his mane, and began peppering the Predacons with low powered ordinance.

    “We don’t care about the Nemesis!” Megastorm bellowed as three of his soldiers transformed to miniature versions of human jets and took to the sky. “We kill you so you can’t present your findings to the Senate.” The sawed off Megatron clone got to his feet and started running at the lion, ignoring the shots being sent his way by the other Maximals. The white lion leapt at the charging robot, unleashing a set of blades as long as its forelimbs, and slashing across the face and upper torso of Megastorm before propelling off his upper chest with the hind legs, landing on the ground behind him and slashing off the arm of the large red robot.

    “Arrrggghhh!”

    “Shut up and get back in the fight, Autolauncher!” Megastorm roared as the three jets came down to strafe the Maximal positions.

    Atrox roared out as well. “Maximal’s to the coast!”


    *


    “There’s too many of them, Ironhide!” The blue robot yelled out as he unloaded a barrage of ordinance from the missile banks in his chest.

    “Understood, B’boom.” The red Maximal with the elephant alt mode replied. “Should we give up and beg for mercy then?”

    “Up yours, Tusks!” B’boom snapped back. “I’m thinking you, Prowl and Silverbolt need to get all magnanimous with these slaggers!”

    “Not yet!” Prowl called out as he backed up, drawing Predacons he knew to be Drill Bit, Buzz Saw and Spittor toward the water line. A moment later a hammer head shark burst forth from the water and tore into them, biting off the leg of Drill Bit, slashing Buzz Saw with its bladed tail, and then transforming into an eight foot robot and blasting Spittor at close range. “Well done Cybershark!” With that, Prowl transformed into a tan lion and charged Megalligator, who had transformed into his alligator mode, and the two faux predators began circling and snapping at each other.

    A giant mosquito hovered over the tall giraffe-bot and the six foot robot that the Tasmanian devil had transformed into. “Long Rack and Snarl, prepare for the infern…” The talons of a bald eagle cut into the insect’s back and the bird dragged the larger mosquito through the air and hurled it against a giant rock.

    Megalligator transformed back to robot mode and peered around the battlefield. “We have you hopelessly outnumbered, and would undoubtedly exterminate you all were this lopsided brawl to continue,” the Predacon accessed some controls on his arm, and the base transformed back into a giant spider and began marching toward them, “but I’ve had enough. Arachnid, kill them all!”


    *


    “You’ve always been a worthy enemy!” Magmatron snarled as he slammed Optimus Grand up against the side of the mountain. “Obsidian and Stryka may have gotten all the glory in the data tracks regarding the putting down of The Predacon Uprisings, but it was always you that I most respected; always you that gave me the most difficulty.” Grand gripped Magmatron’s massive right hand and twisted it with enough power to force it off his chest. Magmatron chuckled as he continued to press his opposite into the mountain side with his left hand, but Grand’s left forearm flipped open and a tonfa snapped into place under his fist, and Grand drove the tip of the tonfa into Magmatron’s right optic, forcing the Predacon general to release Grand and reach for his optic. “Ahh!”

    Grand sent a left thrust kick into the side of Magmatron’s right knee, and then accessed his right tonfa and drove it into the chest of Magmatron, knocking the Predacon back several feet. Small caliber artillery launchers emerged from the bottom of the mammoth feet mounted to Grand’s thighs, and missile launchers emerged from the mammoth flanks that where mounted to his ankles. The ordinance lanced out and blasted Magmatron across the ground leading away from Mount St. Hillary. Magmatron slowly recovered and got to a seated position just in time to watch as Optimus Grand withdrew his handheld super cannon from its back-mount and level it at him. Magmatron lunged away; avoid a direct hit but the blast of the ordinance hitting the ground inches from him sent him hurtling through the air. Elsewhere the other Maximals were barely holding their own against the larger, more powerful and slightly more numerous Predacons. Both Atrox and Prowl had sent them a count of the Predacons they were facing, and while he was slightly outnumbered, and Atrox was outgunned, it was in Africa that the Predacons had stacked the deck vastly in their favor; Prowl was outnumbered almost two to one and was facing a mobile battle station as well. It suddenly dawned on him; the mother ship that they had taken was orbiting over North America. If either Magmatron or Megastorm ran into trouble, Magmatron’s ship could provide support almost instantly.


    *


    “What do you think, Big Bomber or Maximum Bomber?” The twenty-two foot, eight inch black Predacon asked as he admired himself in the reflective surface of the deactivated view screen.

    “BB or Max B? Whatever floats your boat.” The twelve foot robot of similar coloration replied. “Though if this little endeavor of ours doesn’t pan out, you’ll be answering to whatever numerical prisoner ID the Maximals assign you. They’ll even add a few vorns to our sentence for accessing and adopting the specifications of outlawed Decepticon frames.”

    “Pan out? Of course it’ll pan out Hellscream, you little pansy!” The larger robot chided. “We’ve brought some of the baddest bad asses in the Pred roster, the Arachnid station, and I’m the physical recreation of Dreadwing!”

    “Dreadwing was like ten feet taller than you, BB.” Hellscream corrected.

    “Whatever clown.” The hulking robot marched over in an ominous manner in an attempt to intimidate him. “Yeah, I’ll go with BB. Big-ass Bomber!” Suddenly a sensor sounded off on the control panel. “Righteous! Someone needs our help!”

    “No, something else.” Hellscream answered as he accessed the control array in front of him. “According to this, there’s some…thing outside the Dinosaur’s hull. Go check it out.”

    “You check it out, pissant!” BB replied.

    “I’m your superior officer. I’m ordering you to get out there and check it out.” Hellscream snapped, but fear clearly in his voice.

    BB grabbed Hellscream and yanked him out of his chair, and flung him across the bridge of the ship. “You’re gonna be my slippers if you don’t get the slag out there!”

    “This is not ac…ac…acceptable, BB.” Hellscream stammered out as he got to his feet. “You need to adjust your behavior.”

    “Get outta here!” BB yelled.

    Hellscream made his way through the various airlocks, floated outside the giant ship that Magmatron had designated Dinosaur in a humorous reference to his chosen alternate modes, and transformed to fly to the point of the disturbance. He, like the other Predacons accompanying Megastorm, had adopted a vehicular Earth mode from the late twentieth century; in this case, a stealth fighter. He rounded the side of the ship and saw nothing, just the blackness of space. He cut his engines and coasted along the side of the craft. “Hmm, nothing.”

    A glowing orb phased out from the hull of the ship and darted into his body, phasing through his armor. “No, not nothing.” The high voice replied through Hellscream’s own speaker system.


    *


    Fortunately for Atrox and his team, the few miles to the coast were covered within a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, the Predacons were able to move just as quickly, and were unrelentingly attacking them the entire journey. And now, backed up against the waves crashing on the seemingly endless stretch of beach, the Maximals appeared to be trapped. “Might as well take your killin’ like a warrior, Atrox!” Megastorm bellowed at the lion and other animals turning to face their pursuers, the endless Pacific behind them.

    The massive cave lion calmly paced and took a position between the other animals and the Predacon robots. “Sorry Stormy, not ready to give up just yet.” Suddenly something blasted forth from the choppy waters and shot toward Megastorm. A Humboldt squid slammed against the Predacon team leader and wrapped its tentacles around his head and upper arms. “Maximals attack!” Atrox roared, and his team of animals charged ahead.

    Autojetter, Dirge and Thrust shot out over the water, looped around, and headed back toward shore, fully intent on strafing the Maximal beasts. But far below, something huge was disrupting the water, something too large to be swimming in the shrinking shallows. A moment before beginning their attack run, an orca the size of a blue whale exploded out of the ocean, soared into the sky, snapped its jaws around Dirge and knocked Autojetter and Thrust out of the sky, leaving them to plummet into the water. The vast whale began its descent, every optic wide with awe as they bore witness to the animal’s body falling toward the beach, slamming into the water and sand and displacing tons of both with its tremendous girth. The moment the beast’s underside hit, its mouth opened and the mangled frame of Dirge shot out and smashed into Autostinger’s massive yellow frame, propelling both past the beach and into boulders leading up to the mountain range behind them.

    “Orcanoc, transform and open fire!” Atrox called out, and led his team toward the whale as it converted into a battle station. Upon completion of the transformation, dozens of weapons mounted on the station opened fire upon the Predacons, forcing Megastorm and his forces to fall back into the mountains.


    *


    The gigantic spider circled back and forth, forcing the Maximals to bunch together at the bank of the river. “Look, I get it, it’s a violation of the Pax, it’ll prove our slag stinks too, but it doesn’t negate what the Preds have done here, so for the love of Primus,” B’boom snarled at the three members of the Maximal Security Council leading the expedition, “merge and squash this thing!”

    “I hate to say it, but the monkey’s right.” Silverbolt muttered to Prowl as he drew his wings forward, opened up the tips to reveal two automatic weapon barrels and a missile launcher in each wing, and unloaded with minimal effect on the giant spider.

    “Alright, do it!” Prowl called out. Ironhide nodded and thrust his rear body up and forward. In a flash his massive front legs were holding the rest of the bulk directly above them, and longer feet were flipping out from the shins to replace the front elephant feet. The remainder of the beast's body shifted shape, the back flipping up with internal components connecting it to the tusks and the rear splitting and opening up to form arms from the rear legs. Prowl then looked to Silverbolt and nodded, the two leapt into the air, reconfigured themselves, connected with one another and latched above the legs and between the arms created by Ironhide's frame, armor paneling created from the elephant's back flipped up from the waist of the partially formed body to lock the new torso into place. A pair of blue optics surged to life in a tan face surrounded by Prowl's lion mane, the head of an eagle mounted above the mane, and a tusk jutting from the torso on either side of the head. Magnaboss was online. On the ground next to him were the detachable weapons they all possessed. Magnaboss bent over and reassembled the various weapons into a tremendous broadsword.

    “What?” The stunned Megalligator called out in surprise, but smiled as he took in the site of the thirty-foot tall super robot. “Perfect, we’ll kill you, keep you from collecting any proof of Ravage’s or the Tri-Predacus Council’s involvement, and have your gestalt corpse to study once Arachnid finishes you off.”

    “Arg, Magnaboss big dumb gestalt, Magnaboss destroy big spider!” Magnaboss yelled out as he clumsily stepped toward the giant spider-shaped battle station. The spider, which stood over seventy feet in height, paused before stepping down with one of its front legs in an attempt to spear the robot that was less than half its height. Magnaboss spun, utilizing speed, balance and agility that ran contrary to his previous lumbering and what was generally assumed about gestalts, and avoided the leg, continuing his spin to lash back at the avoided leg with the blade of his sword, slicing off the pointed lower six feet of the leg. “Morons!” Magnaboss then sprinted to the point directly beneath the center of the massive, nonliving beast, leaned back, and opened up on the underbelly of the creature with the arsenal embedded in his broad chest.

    Explosions and tracer fire lit up the large shadow created by the beast’s giant body blocking the sun, and its legs danced frantically to get away from the barrage being unloaded on its undercarriage. “Kill him!” Megalligator ordered his troops, but was startled as the new gestalt turned its attention away from Arachnid and toward them, charging them at a sprint that very few non-combiner robots could achieve.

    “Yes, kill me, Cons!” Magnaboss taunted at the top of his voice as he unloaded on the thirteen Predacons with his projectile weaponry, catching up with Manterror and kicking him with enough force to tear his right arm and shoulder and leave it dangling from his frame, and then stomping down on Powerpinch. Arachnid once again started toward the Maximal gestalt, but paused as Magnaboss turned toward it and smiled broadly. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten about you, Legs.” With that Magnaboss magnetically latched his sword to his back and launched himself up toward the second joint of one of the spider’s legs, and used his exceptional strength to propel his frame up the rest of the leg and onto Arachnid’s body in a matter of seconds, landing heavily near the back of the creature’s head, grabbing his sword and slashing away along the top of the beast-base in conjunction with the unloading on it from his chest arsenal. Megalligator and his Predacons watched in shock as this super-warrior was taking it to what they had believed to be their unbeatable mobile weapons platform, and were once again caught completely off guard as Cybershark, Long Rack, B’boom and Snarl charged them, weapons blazing.


    *


    “So what was it?” BB, seated with his feet propped up on the console, asked without looking at the returning Hellscream.

    “If you wanted to know you should have obeyed your superior officer, and gotten your wide posterior out there yourself.” Hellscream replied as he walked up, grabbed the back of BB’s chair, and yanked it away, causing the hulking robot to drop to the floor and land clumsily on his hindquarters.

    BB twisted his head and glared up from the floor at his smaller comrade and, as they’d mimicked every aspect of Dreadwing and Smokescreen’s frames, new linkage partner. “You’re gonna die for that!”

    “Shut up.” Hellscream drove two fingers through the long optic of the still seated BB, and then kicked out an arm that was propping BB up so that the larger robot fell backward. The smaller robot then lifted the chair and slammed it on the downed robot’s upper chest. “Now, as we were discussing earlier, I am your superior officer, superior intellect, superior combatant; overall, I’m just your superior.”

    “Mmmm…my optic!” BB bellowed.

    “I said shut up.” Hellscream grabbed BB’s right foot, propped it up onto the console, and then thrust his own food down into the side of the knee of the large robot, snapping it and having it bend sideways.

    “Primus! What the…”

    “I said shut up.” Hellscream, his voice higher than usual, replied simply as he took one of his rifles and drove the butt of it into the crotch plate of BB. BB grunted in agony, but finally refrained from saying anything. “Good, that’s better. Now, you’re a big tough guy, and that’s fine. Big tough guys have their place. But you disrespect me in the slightest ever again, and I’ll slag you up so bad that it’ll land you in the repair bay for months. Do we understand each other?” BB, unable to see clearly, tried to follow Hellscream’s altered voice and nod toward it. “Good, let me help you up and to a regeneration chamber then.”


    *


    “Fall back to the Ark!” Grand ordered his troops. They were fighting well and valiantly, but they were outnumbered and overpowered. Even he was having exceptional difficulty keeping from being overwhelmed by Magmatron. “Magmatron, stay back and think about the damage that could be caused by your advance!”

    “What, the death of some Maximals and me being in a position to overwrite historical errors?” Magmatron laughed as his troops, all in dinosaur mode save him, assembled behind him.

    “Don’t be an idiot!” Grand snapped back. “I’m well aware of the fact that you’ve been privy to the details of our history, specifically the VOK and what they were before they were the VOK! Kill Prime, and everyone else on Cybertron is dogmeat! Either by Unicron, the Swarm, the Quints, or something else, but whatever the case, we’ll never be brought online, so use your slagging head!”

    “I’m not a moron, Grand!” Magmatron snapped back. “The historical errors comment was just to set you off; I have no intention of killing Prime, or any Autobot. Just Maximals!” The Predacon general laughed ominously. “If you’re so concerned with preserving the safety of the Ark, you’ll stay out of the cave and keep the Butterfly Effect to a minimum!”

    “Butterfly effect?” Razorbeast’s voice came through a common communications channel. “You mean like whether a Predacon shuttle exploding in North America will cause a typhoon in Southeast Asia? Let’s test that theory.” The Snowy Wind, one of the ships that had been connected to the Nemesis, burst out of the clouds and began firing upon the landing craft that Magmatron and his team had arrived in. It took the eighth shot to obliterate the small ship.

    “Slag it!” Magmatron roared. “Slagging Megastorm can’t be counted on to do a slagging thing!” The Predacon general opened a channel to his orbiting warship, the Dinosaur. “Hellscream, come in!”

    After several seconds, a voice that didn’t quite match Hellscream’s came back. “Yes?”

    “Why the slag didn’t you provide assistance to Megastorm, or aren’t providing it to me right slagging now?” Magmatron bellowed.

    “Oh my. Well you see, BB here fell on a doorknob and needed to be escorted to the infirmary.” A voice that seemed to match Hellscream’s a bit better replied, tough a hint of mirth was in the voice. “I was away from the monitoring station this whole time. My apologies, Sir.”

    “Hey Magmatron,” Razorbeast’s voice came through Magmatron’s speaker, “I’m well aware of that destroyer you have floating above, and the moment I see readings of any large scale weapons powering up on that thing, I’m firing away at you and your Jurassic crew and taking evasive maneuvers that will more than be adequate in keeping me away from your ship’s ordinance.”

    “I doubt he’d give the command to fire anyway.” Grand announced as he marched toward Magmatron and the other Predacons. “He’s expressed the desire not to threaten the Ark, and I actually believe him in that regard, so I’m betting there won’t be any orbital shots down near Mount St. Hillary.”

    “Oh trust me,” Hellscream came through, “Maximals aren’t the only ones to appreciate the precious cargo resting there in that mountain. I won’t be firing.”

    Magmatron glared at Grand for several uneasy seconds before nodding to his troops. “Predacons, retreat.”


    ***


    “Well ladies, the question as to whether or not Jhiaxus’s vow to leave Earth alone also applied to any colonies we might have has been answered with a big, fat negatory.” The short, grizzled Marine Corp Captain in currently helmetless metal body armor announced to the forty-eight other similarly garbed Marines standing before him in the hangar of the large transport they were in. “For those of you who weren’t paying attention to the news for the last two decades, Betafert, or Beta Four for you Xenophobes unwilling to call a planet by its proper name, is our first and thus far only alien colony. Inhabited by the native Ick Velk, a small, simian-like species with human-level intelligence and a subterranean culture, they welcomed us nineteen years ago when human exploration ships happened upon them and the crew medical staff was able to create a vaccine that ended a plague that had ravaged the species for three generations and looked like it would wipe them out in just a few more. They allowed us to build cities on their surface, to raise livestock on their grasslands, access to their water, and most significantly, allowed us to build solar power conversion and Thorium nuclear power plants. While sharing some of our technology, they’ve for the most part maintained their current civilization and lifestyle, and over the last decade and a half our colonists and the Ick Velk have co-existed in an extremely beneficial symbiosis.

    Unfortunately, we got word four hours ago that Betafert was under attack, and the Prime Minister of the human colony has confirmed that the invaders are in fact forces of the Cybertronian Empire. We have contacted New Harbornia and made them aware of the situation, and we also mentioned that we have Hankersore here,” the Captain motioned to a twenty-six year old dark haired Lieutenant in the front of the group, “just to give them added incentive to get their metal assets to the battlefield in a hurry.” The soldiers around the young man in question nudged him and chuckled.

    “Now, we are traveling with nine orbital fighter squadrons and six battleships, which will engage the Cybertronian Imperial battleships and cut us a path to the planet. We have seven sub-orbital cruisers and five squadrons of sub orbital fighters to escort us and the twelve other troop transport ships that will take us into the heart of Vinland, the human capital of Betafert. From there we will begin the evacuation of the humans and select Ick Velk dignitaries and set up ground command to push back against the Cybertronian ground forces. We’ve been drilling for nineteen years, and now we finally get to put it all into practice. Any questions?” The Captain looked around and nodded as nobody seemed to have any. “Alright then, helmet up and prepare to snuff some sparks!”

    The human space fleet increased its speed as it continued away from Earth, and then sped ever faster as a wormhole emerged in front of it. One by one the ships disappeared through the opening and emerged on the other end over a planet that looked much like Earth, but with a pair of enormous alien warships above it. As planned, the orbital fighters and battleships shot out to engage the massive ships while the rest of the fleet darted down toward the planet of Betafert. The sub-orbital cruisers, fighters and troop transports cut through the clouds and sped over an ocean toward a continent in the distance, where the towers of a large human city, one clearly under siege, came into view. In the hangar, the Captain turned to the dozens of troops behind him and marched over to one in particular, poking his finger against the man’s outer armor just above a name plate, one which read ‘LT. L. H. WITWICKY’. “It’s been three hundred eight years, but legacy is still legacy, and killing these friggin’ Hibachi’s is in your friggin’ blood! Make your uncle proud, make your ancestors proud, and most importantly, make the Corp proud!” The Captain took a step back. “That goes for all you candyass, cornhole punching, oyster-eaters! I’m sick and friggin’ tired of having only this twat’s name associated with killing Cons! Let’s get us all some!”

    “Hooaaah!” The Marines replied in unison.

    “Twenty seconds to touchdown.” A voice announced through the speaker system.

    Outside the fighters shot out ahead to engage the intercepting flying Cybertronians and the ground troops firing up at them. The air was instantly thick with lasers, missiles, rail gun ordinance and anti-aircraft barrages. Cybertronian and human craft alike were being shredded in the air and dropping to the ground as the troop transports cut through the chaos and into the metal and steel canyons of Vinland, the heavy weapons of the troop transports raining death down on the Cybertronian ground forces in the streets below.

    “Six, five, four…”

    “Here we go ladies!”

    “Two…” With that the ship shuddered as it touched down and the rear doors spread open. That moment the Marines were quickly but cautiously charging out into the street toward the large city hall building in front of them. Several of the soldiers were laid out by weapons fire as they exited the craft, the armor preserving the lives of some while being insufficient for less fortunate others. They immediately returned fire with portable rail guns and other small arms built into the arms and shoulders of their suits, and after three hundred years of ballistics testing devoted primarily toward effectiveness against Cybertronians, this return fire cut to shreds any target it hit. The robots and Cybertronian vehicles that were in the streets surrounding the town square immediately ran or rolled for cover behind the surrounding buildings, giving the remaining Marines ample time to get into the City Hall building.

    The Captain charged in first, followed by over a dozen Marines while the rest of the group remained outside to help secure the exterior of the building. They continued down a hall when up ahead a man stepped out of a room and started toward them. “Thank God you’re here!”

    “Prime Minister Mtumbe, are you alright?” The Captain asked, taking off his helmet as he reached the Prime Minister of the colony.

    “Yes, yes, we are fine, but we would not have been if you had not arrived.” He said as he shook the Marine’s hand.

    “Good to hear sir, I’m Captain Dale Beckford with US Marine Corps Astro Reaction Team Seven.” Capt. Beckford replied and followed the Prime Minister into the room that he had emerged from, which led to a large amphitheater that was currently holding over one hundred humans and several dozen Ick Velk, ranging from two and a half to four feet in height and covered in gray fur of varying shades. There was a large communications array at the rear of the theater, just a few yards to the left of the entrance door that the Prime Minister and the Marines had entered through. Several armored Marines went directly to the array, nodding at the two civilians that were manning it, both of whom were more than happy to turn their task over to the better trained soldiers.

    Two of the indigenous creatures approached the Prime Minister and Marine Captain, one appeared older and more masculine, the other appeared to be a female adolescent. “Grrteatings, warrtiors of Eart-th. I am Trtea-itilis, High King of Betafert. This is Trtea-nelias, my daughter.” The young female shyly waved to the newcomers.

    “It’s a pleasure to meet you your Majesty, and you too Highness.” Beckford replied. “Our transport can lift this group here back to Earth. Is the secondary group still located at the sports complex in sector four?”

    “Yes, the bulk of Vinland’s population has assembled there.” The Prime Minister answered. “There are over seventy-four thousand humans there, and roughly half that many Ick Velk. The other seven cities have over fifty thousand citizens as well.”

    “Yes Sir, one thing at a time though. Let’s get you and your people out of here first.” Beckford suggested.

    “Of course.” Prime Minister Mtumbe turned and signaled various group leaders who began organizing the humans and Ick Velk for extraction, and then he turned back to the Captain. “So tell me, who will be transporting us, Sky Lynx, Omega Supreme? I’ve even heard of Metroplex’s new space cruiser mode.”

    “Standard space troop transport I’m afraid. The Autobots have been contacted but they have not yet joined in.” The Captain noted the look of dread on the Prime Minister’s face. “It’s all happened so fast, I’m sure that they’ll be here soon.”

    “How shurt art you?” The young Princess asked meekly, looking up at the armored Marine with pleading eyes. “They art so many, so big, and so metal.”

    Captain Beckford knelt down and smiled reassuringly at the child. “Don’t worry Princess, I have no doubt that the Autobots will be arriving soon. See that man…” Beckford turned and called out to his soldier, “Lieutenant, lose the bonnet!” The man did, revealing a face smiling at the child. “Princess, that’s Lucas Henry Witwicky, which probably means nothing to you, but Optimus Prime himself is like an uncle to that guy, and there’s no way that the Autobots are going to let anything happen to him. And since he’s here with you, that means they won’t let anything happen to you either.” Hank Witwicky gave the young Ick Velk a friendly wink and a nod, which seemed to reassure the child slightly. “Now Lieutenant, how about you continue trying to get a hold of your relatives.”

    “Yes sir.” Hank replied, and marched over to the communications array.

    Just before Hank got there one of the Marines already manning it called out. “Sir, contact with the Autobots!”

    Hank reached the array and took over. He read the screen and then called out. “Prime Minister, I’m going to need to know where there would be a long stretch of relatively flat land near the city. I’d say at least a half mile stretch.”

    “The grazing pasture to the east of Vinland’s perimeter, just south of the lake.” The Prime Minister replied. “But why? There are better places to land within the city itself.”

    “They’re going to send a team through a sub-orbital hole directly onto the planet.” Hank replied.

    “Sub orbital!” Both Beckford and Mtumbe exclaimed. “That’s insane!” The Prime Minister added.

    “They’ve been practicing it in recent years.” Hank explained, trying to hide the doubt in his own voice. “Anyway, a little too late to talk them out of it, we’ve got a star convoy headed our way.”


    *


    The eastern plains of Vinland had been set up for the ranching of Earth grazing animals, primarily cattle, buffalo and sheep, creatures who’s meat was only now being enjoyed again on a large scale by humans due to the ability to raise them somewhere other than Earth, where their existence as a food source had proven to be too ecologically costly in the previous centuries. Large walls had been built to keep the native predatory animals out, and smaller fencing was used within to keep the species segregated more for human convenience than anything else. But the invading Cybertronians had obliterated large portions of the outer walls, allowing a pack of Ick Yacks, bear-like creatures larger than elephants, to gain access to the human livestock within. One Ick Yack, which was currently feasting on a large buffalo, looked up to see a Cybertronian air raider pump a pair of missiles down at it, and exploded before it was able to swallow the chunks of flesh it had been chewing on.

    The air raider banked up to swoop back toward the city, but the sky exploding in front of him sent him hurtling back. A tear in the fabric of reality cut through the view of the blue sky, and a moment later a fleet of forty ground vehicles and two helicopters led by a red and black 2323 Navistar International Omnistar Superhauler hauling a silver and black 53’ trailer with an eight foot over-cab cargo section, the wheels rotated flat so that the hover propulsors build into the hubs were propelling it and all the other vehicles out of the worm hole and down onto the grassy plain, the wheels rotating back and rear thrusters of each vehicle disengaging a moment before hitting the ground to allow them to drive in a traditional manner through the chaos of the beasts toward the city. “Magnus, take your team and secure the sports complex, and then determine a location for Metroplex to touch down and begin the evacuation!” Prime’s voice called out.

    A white and blue 2318 Mack TerrainMaster cab with a vehicle hauler attached cut out away from Prime and led twenty five of the vehicles and the green and yellow chopper to cut around the lake and head toward the northern portion of the city. “On my way, Prime!”

    The air raider that had been knocked to the ground by the emergence of the worm hole transformed and got to his feet, peering at the oncoming group of fourteen vehicles being led by Optimus Prime and raising his weapons to fire on them. A red and black 2324 Lamborghini Manzanito zipped around Optimus Prime and ignited its rear thrusters, launching it so that it covered the distance to the white and green robot in the span of a second and slammed into the invader’s mid section. The car toppled end over end, transforming into Sideswipe as it did so. The red Autobot sprung to his feet and charged at the Imperial Decepticon, the other Autobots bearing down on them, and drawing an energon irradiated blade, reached over the robot’s shoulder from behind him and plunged it into the abdomen of the disoriented invader. “Argh!” Sideswipe then yanked the blade back toward him with strength that was rarely seen in an Autobot his size, and cut the robot open from abdomen to neck. He then whipped the stunned robot around to face him and punched through the gash at the chest, forcing his fist to the spark chamber, wrapping his fingers around the outside of it, and yanking with all his might to pull it out of his chest. The Decepticon could do nothing but utter one final shocked gasp before dying.

    A stunned Sideswipe held the chamber before his optics. “I can’t believe that slagging worked!” He held it out for his comrades to see, comrades who were happy to drive right past him in an attempt to ignore him. “That’s right Femme’s, who’s out of practice?”

    “Big deal, I could’ve done that.” The white and red Augusta Westland suborbital search and rescue chopper/cruiser muttered in Blade’s voice.

    “I’m sure your brother would be very proud,” a predominantly white 2320 Buggatti Solar Pulse replied as it sped by, “but the rest of us are a little freaked out.”

    “At least he’s not wearing the guy, Jazz.” Tracks, a blue 2325 Ferrari Vanquish, added.

    “That option hasn’t been ruled out yet.” Sideswipe replied through their communications frequency as he tossed the spark chamber and transformed to set out after the group.

    “Enough!” Prime’s voice cut through. “Focus on the mission at hand. And Sideswipe, we’re all glad to see that three and a half vorns of downtime hasn’t seemed to dull your abilities, but let’s not get fancy.”

    “Or sadistic and overly brutal.” First Aid chimed in.

    “He was dead before he knew he was in trouble.” Sideswipe shot back. “It doesn’t get any more merciful than that.”

    “I beg to differ.” First Aid grumbled as he sped over the grass in his 2312 Eurodyne Mobile ER mode.

    “This is headed toward a philosophical debate that we do not have time for.” Prime interrupted. “First Aid, save it for home. Sideswipe, just fight to win.”

    “No problem boss, that’s what I do.” Sideswipe replied as the group smashed through the perimeter fence, bounced over the curb, onto the street and entered the city.


    *


    “I can’t believe I missed it!” Bumblebee lamented as he sped next to Hot Rod, who was just to the right of Ultra Magnus.

    “I didn’t see it either, little buddy.” Rod replied.

    “It was pretty cool.” Bluestreak, who was on the far and to the rear of Magnus, replied. “Tore it right out with one tug. He was always the nice guy when compared to his brother, to the point where some of us considered him the antithesis of Sunstreaker, but that was never really the case; except of course when he went all psycho after Streaker’s death and kicked our fenders and became a Dinobot for awhile. But even in the best of times, Swipe really was a killing machine, a bad…”

    “Enough Bluestreak! No more talk of the opening kill, I’m sure Sideswipe will upload his visual memories to Teletran Four and have a showing in the Mess Hall.” Magnus replied. “But for now, we’ve got our own enemies to deal with!” The Autobots and the invading Imperial Decepticons began firing upon one another. Ultra Magnus transformed at sixty miles per hour and had little difficulty transitioning into a sprint, blasting away with his rifle and shoulder-mounted rocket launchers the entire time, scoring several shots against the most imposing of the vehicles against them, forcing it to transform as well and charge out to meet the enemy face to face. The robot, who it seemed was the platoon leader from the way that the other warriors of the Cybertronian Empire were expecting guidance from, sprinted out with weapons blazing to meet the slightly smaller Ultra Magnus’s charge. The two hulking robots clashed as their respective forces sped into each other’s ranks, exchanging rams and glancing blows before transforming and engaging in robot mode like their leaders.

    “I had high hopes when I saw you advancing, but you are clearly not the Prime!” The thirty-four foot tall hulking warrior growled at Magnus as he drove his rifle’s bayonet at the Autobot’s broad chest.

    Magnus sidestepped the assault, palming the weapon away from his frame and then using that left palm to chop the optic visor of the imposing robot, cracking it. He then pulled his left hand back, gripping the top of his enemy’s weapon, and spun his body around, bashing the face of the platoon leader with the underside of his rifle. “You’re kidding, right?” Another white and green robot charged the large Autobot, but Magnus used the newly stolen blade-tipped rifle in his left hand to impale the robot through the throat before thrusting his foot into the leader’s midsection, forcing him to double over. The large green and white robot raised his cracked visor up to see the opening of Magnus’s rifle leveled a mere two inches from it. “You’re not fit to carry my pinion supports, much less Prime’s.” Magnus flipped to full automatic and squeezed the trigger, obliterating the robot’s face and everything behind it.


    *


    “They’re coming!” The armored Marine yelled into the open doorway at his approaching comrades, the endless sounds of weapons fire and explosions creating a symphony of chaos all around them in the center of the city.

    Captain Beckford, Hank Witwicky and two other Marines emerged from the wide front doors of Vinland’s City Hall to see white and green Cybertronian ground forces emerging from every street that led to the center square. Those arriving were met by a vicious barrage from the defensive gun mounts that the Marines had set up upon arriving, but the numbers against them were overwhelming. The daunting odds didn’t give the advancing armored humans pause as they charged out of the building and opened fire upon the rolling metal invaders.

    From out of a set of doors on the side of the building, another group of Marines were leading the civilians, both human and Ick Velk, hastily to their transport ship for evacuation. Many of them stumbled as the ground shook violently and continued to mildly rumble as two enormous treaded monstrosities, both looking like giant alien excavating vehicles, came into view as they emerged from separate streets, trampling over their dead comrades that littered the street and headed toward the Vinland City Hall. In contrast to their smaller comrades, the ordinance of the humans had precious little effect on the giant vehicles as they veered in each other’s direction, apparently to meet and charge the front of the human defense as a team, but stopped and began transforming into eighty foot tall robots.

    “Sir, the rail guns are barely cutting into these things!” One of the Marines on the large mounted rail cannon called out.

    “Switch to magnetic grenade launchers!” Hank Witwicky called back as he opened fire on the head of the closer giant, but noted smaller ground racers taking advantage of the human focus on the giants by advancing and firing upon their position. Hank switched back to his rail gun and targeted the smaller racers now transforming into robot mode, and within moments he had completely perforated four enemy soldiers.

    “Where are these friends of yours?” Captain Beckford asked as he also fired upon the metal invaders.

    “Right there.” The armored Hank answered as he pointed to a street off to the side filled with a speeding multi-colored battalion of cars, led by a red cab hauling a gray and blue trailer.

    “Hold your fire!” Beckford ordered just as Prime burst forth from between neighboring buildings, over the nearest cross street, disconnected from his trailer and launched into the air toward the giant closer to the Town Hall. As the red cab shot skyward and began transforming, the still rolling trailer transformed as well into battle station mode, scraping across the street as it skidded toward the other giant, every one of its weapons bursting to life and laying into the farther giant as it skidded closer to it, its vast ordinance enough to cause the heavily armored eighty-foot monster to stumble back. Prime’s robot form took shape sixty feet off the ground as he careened toward the other massive robot, firing on its helmeted head with his rifle until finally tucking in his rifle and arm and slamming into its chest with his right shoulder, the impact barely causing the robot to rock back. Prime started to fall, but grabbed a metal outcropping utilized in the robot’s vehicular mode that was just above his abdomen, and used it to swing back up toward the beast’s head, once again firing at the invading giant’s head at close range. “He’s a big, agile monkey, isn’t he?” Beckford muttered, stunned by the grace exhibited by the multi-ton frame.

    “Truck, not monkey.” Witwicky replied. “And it’s not all that surprising given that he’s estimated to be able to press way in excess of 35 times his own weight. Probably much more, but he’s unwilling to do any testing in that regard.”

    The other robot was finally pressing forward against the onslaught from Prime’s mobile command center, but the arrival of the other Autobots drew his attention. Within that group of Autobots were the Protectibots, but only for a moment as they quickly converged into one position and then Defensor was standing optic to optic against the Imperial giant. The other robot charged Defensor, but while the same size, it had nowhere near Defensor’s multi-spark enhanced strength, and was slammed heavily, but not too heavily into the side of the building behind it. “Verify the absence of humans and Ick Velk!” The Autobot gestalt bellowed out.

    Wheeljack transformed from his 2312 Lancia Stoschek X9 into robot mode and adjusted his optics to scan the building the two combatants were pressed against as well as those around them. After a quick but thorough scan of various heat-generating objects within the structures Wheeljack called out. “All clear, nothing in there but flora and the Betafert equivalent of vermin!”

    Defensor, who had been pinning the enemy giant against the building the entire time and ignoring the pointless attempts to free itself as well as the equally pointless rain of firepower being directed at him by the scores of other soldiers of the Decepticon Empire clogging the street beyond him, nodded and then delivered an uppercut to the midsection of the giant. The layers of metal armor buckled under the tremendous blow, and the giant robot gasped out in agony. Defensor then tossed the giant to the street, intentionally having it land on top of a half dozen white and green ground troops, before following it down and pounding the giant frame to shattered pieces.

    Several dozen yards away Prime was continuing his one-bot assault on the other giant, climbing upon the frame of the robot and taking shots where he could, easily evading the attempts to strike him from the giant, but periodically taking hits from the green and white foot soldier’s taking shots at him from the periphery. Prime finally sent a mental order to his command center and leapt off the giant, falling through the air toward the awaiting and shifting command center, and landing upon it as it then wrapped itself around him in a suit of armor. The general look and function of the armor was much the same as it once was, just minor aesthetics and a few other things had changed over the centuries from his original Powermaster armor. He quickly got to his feet, now standing fifty feet in height, and charged back at the larger robot.

    The other robot threw a punch at Prime, which the Autobot Commander easily side-stepped and replied to with a right cross to the invader’s side, causing significant pain to it. Though there was still a thirty-foot and many ton difference in the sizes of the two combatants, their strengths were relatively equal, and in terms of speed, fighting skill and durability, there was no comparison. Within moments the larger opponent was on the ground, struggling to crawl away, while Prime brutalized him in between well placed shots at the giant’s comrades. The giant tried one last time to gain the offensive, turning and lashing out wildly with its left arm. Prime ducked under and drove his rifle tip through the robot’s left optic, then immediately sent a flurry of armor-piercing explosive rounds into the cranial shell of the monster, killing him instantly. Prime then turned to the few hundred troops lined up against him and nodded toward them to let them know that they now his undivided attention. Those up front and possessing facial features were clearly intimidated, but despite that Prime was quite surprised to see the throngs slowly withdrawing. “Prime?”

    Prime turned toward the City Hall and called out toward the Marines. “Hold off on launching the shuttle until we figure out what’s happening!” The large red Autobot then accessed the signal from which his queried name came through and replied through the communications channel. “Yes, Magnus?”

    “Sir, we arrived at the arena and cleared an area for Metroplex to land, and as expected several battalions of the Cybertonian Empire started heading our way, but they just now seemed to stop and even back off a little.” Magnus’s voice came through. “Are you noticing anything odd on your end?”

    Prime peered at the slowly receding enemy and caught Jazz speeding toward him to his left, transforming, and observing the same thing that he was observing. He looked down at Jazz, who gave him a shrug and spoke through a different communications channel. “Prime’s fine, seems his group is backing off as well, Swipe.”

    Prime raised his wrist communicator to his face. “We’re observing much the same here, Magnus.”

    “Sorry to interrupt gentlemen,” Jetfire’s voice broke through, “but I think I might be able to shed some light on what’s going on here. I’m descending down to your position now, Prime, and the Aerialbots and I are escorting a shuttle containing an apparent high ranking officer for these guys. He just appeared behind our position, called for a truce, and ordered battleships and the squadrons to back off, which they did immediately. I’m assuming that he’s also responsible for the ground forces’ cease fire.”

    Prime nodded as he looked skyward and saw his friends escorting the reported shuttle. “Understood. Instruct him to land at my position.”

    “Sir, my scans report no heavy explosives on board, but just in case,” Jetfire cautioned.

    “It’s alright Jetfire, the Cybertronian Empire has enough resources at its disposal to kill me without resorting to trickery.” Prime replied, and watched as the Autobot jets broke off their escorting of the craft. A moment later it was on the ground and a predominantly green robot was walking down the gangplank. “Hello Rook.”

    “Ah, you do remember me.” The smaller robot addressed the Autobot Commander.

    “My time aboard the Twilight as Jhiaxus’s…guest was quite memorable.” Prime replied. “I must admit though that I’m surprised to see you alive. I had assumed that you’d been killed by the Swarm above Cybertron.”

    “I was called away shortly after the assault on Iacon began, and avoided the fate of that portion of our fleet.” Rook replied, but noted an odd look being given off by Prime, and realized what the unasked question was. “No, Jhiaxus was not with me. He went down with his ship.”

    “I don’t revel in his death, but I won’t deny my relief either.” Prime confessed. “He was one of the most dangerous individuals I’ve ever met; the universe is better off without him.” Rook finally reached Prime and the two stood silently before one another for a moment. “So, to what can I attribute your providing us with this reprieve?”

    “This planet, which we have designated Tau Epsilon four sixty two,”

    “Its designation is Betafert.” Prime corrected.

    “Alright, this Betafert has no exceptional value to the Empire.” Rook continued. “Yes, it’s rich in fuel sources, and the Thorium power plant the humans have constructed brings us much of the way toward final energon refinement. It also has an agreeable climate for us, and would make a most adequate colony once properly cyberformed, but we already have more of these than we can fully populate, especially since the near abandonment of our reproduction method upon the revelation of it being the root of the Swarm.”

    “So why invade?” Prime asked, folding his arms.

    “Because what we do is not just a means for expanding our empire, it’s a way of preempting the damage that an organic species can and will cause once given adequate time to evolve and develop technologically.” Rook explained. “Right now your humans extend their hands in friendship because they have no other option. But in time they will develop the means to enable their hands to smack you down and keep you bound in servitude.” The smaller robot took in Prime’s dismissive look and met it with a genuine smile. “You don’t believe me, and that’s understandable. And in light of the arrangement that Jhiaxus made to avoid Earth, an arrangement that we will continue to honor, I sincerely hope that your faith is deserved. But make no mistake, the seeds of evil are in all organic creatures. For proof of this, you need only turn your optic to the Home World and watch what is soon to unfold.”

    Prime’s optics narrowed. “Cybertron is no longer any of our concern.”

    “Maintain that attitude, and it truly won’t be.” Rook replied. “I can appreciate your self-sacrificial attempt to allow your Cybertronian brethren to make their own mistakes, learn from those mistakes, and then come begging for your return, but it is an attempt that will likely fail at. They have certainly made their mistakes, but whether or not they’ll get a chance to learn from them is becoming more and more doubtful. They’ve allowed themselves to become vulnerable to an ancient enemy, who will be able to overwhelm them in their current state. You were there to help ensure that the coward failed, but you were absent when the misguided hero succeeded, a success which will return Cybertron to a state of enslavement.”

    “The Quintessons?” Prime questioned.

    Rook shrugged. “What does it matter? Cybertron is no longer any of your concern.” The white robot turned and strode back to his craft. “Both Earth and Betafert are safe from us; just make sure that we will remain safe from them.”


    ***


    Liquid dripped off of slick tendrils, more following it from the cut vines that it was flowing from. The wing-headed red robot wielding the machete paid little attention to the squirming of the cut foliage, instead peering around at the endless rows of shelving within the vast, dimly lit subterranean facility. He stopped as he caught sight of a large metal crate, the front of it cut open and its contents missing, and allowed himself a chuckle. His mild laughter caused the entities on the other end of his open communication channel to question him. “Hook, have you found it?”

    “No Sinker, I merely came across the vault from which Megatron stole the Golden Disk.” Tripredacus Council member Hook snickered back.

    “You can laugh about it all you want while reminiscing of it AFTER you’ve procured what you’re there to procure!” Another voice cut in. “They may be too busy to deal with this now, but it won’t be long before they return and secure this facility.”

    “You do not need to remind me of my task, Line!” Hook snapped. “I can sense what I’m after up ahead. I believe I see the vault now.” The red, elegant robot replied as he approached a more modest vault than the damaged one from which the Golden Disk had been stolen years before. “Yes, I can feel it within.”

    “Then get it!” Line replied.

    Hook withdrew a small, oddly shaped welding tool and ignited it. He then turned it toward the door and began cutting around the lock. Within moments the small, but extremely effective tool had cut a hole large enough for Hook to reach in and disengage the lock, allowing the door to swing open. The red Predacon marched into the vault and found a transparent container, one roughly the size of his torso, filled with a glowing green substance. “Yes, it is ours! Angolmois!”


    *


    “Good, now take it and get out of there!” The long faced robot spat into his communicator as he and a more robust robot made their way through the deep caverns of reformatted, subterranean Cybertron, irritated and exhausted from what was clearly a long and arduous journey. “How far down do you think it is?”

    “Quite far, Line.” The thicker, more powerful looking robot replied. The red of the two robots contrasted against the greens and browns of the walls and foliage around them as they lit the way deeper into the cavernous depths. “But I believe that we are finally getting close. I can sense something…something that doesn’t seem right.”

    “I hope that you’re right,” Line grumbled, “the absence of the Predacon leadership will look extremely suspicious, and any Maximal with half a brain will assume that we’re doing exactly what we’re doing. Hook’s quarry might be something they wouldn’t suspect, but this attempt to steal evidence is something they’ll be sure we’d be up to, Sinker.”

    “Well then,” Sinker replied as he slashed through some very thick foliage, “like with Hook, I suggest we find what we’re after and depart without a trace of our presence here.” The foliage proved to be very resilient, the slashed vines re-growing almost instantly to maintain the near-impenetrable obstacle. “Yes, we must certainly be close; the resistance to our continuation is proving to be most formidable.”

    “Move!” Line barked, reaching into the gray-white robes slung over his shoulders and covering the front of his torso, and withdrawing from a hidden compartment in his frame a slender sword, one which began irradiating a glowing energy over its long, impossibly sharp length as he brought it to position before him. Sinker stepped aside and Line proceeded to slash the innumerable tendrils, the glowing energy seeming to almost cauterize the flora, not only keeping them from re-growing, but killing the vines. “Whatever entity is at work here, its power does not hold sway over the works of our master.”

    “Yes, that would certainly explain why we were spared from that pathetic reformatting that plagued the rest of the planet.” Sinker agreed as he followed after his comrade, a comrade who stopped suddenly, nearly causing Sinker to walk into him. “What is it?”

    “I’ve found something.” Line replied as he look down upon the tendrils that he had cut away with his last slash, all laying upon something that came up to his waist as opposed to falling to the ground. Line brushed them off of what they were covering to reveal a large, orange foot. Line began slashing furiously at the foliage all around the frame to find that it was the Optimal frame of Primal rebuilt and modified at the end of the Beast Machines Conflict. Line wiped the cut vines away from the robot’s face. “Megatron.”

    “Excellent.” Sinker stated as he examined the battered and scorched frame.

    “Now let’s find the corpse of Primal and be done with this place.” Line began slashing in his search.

    “Wait!” Sinker called out as he pulled a scanning device from a compartment on his torso. After reading the results of his third scan, he looked up to his fellow Tripredacus Council member and shook his head in astonishment. “He lives. The spark is weak, and will likely expire in a matter of days, but as of now it remains pulsing.”

    Line turned his head as he pondered this development. “This is good, I suppose. We can question him, get the details that will help us cover this up before the Maximals know that they should be looking for these things, as well as any information that we could used to strengthen our position, and then eradicate him and his mortal remains. Come, we should go now!”

    “What of Primal?” Sinker asked.

    “Let them find him.” Line replied. “We cannot cover up that he was here, nor should we wish to. Waspinator’s report, as well as those of the Maximals that we managed to get access to, confirm that Optimus Primal had become delusional, misguided, and obsessed with this quest to restore Cybertron to its fictitious organic roots. We may not be able to cover up Megatron’s involvement, but the less physical evidence of his actions left for the Maximals to find, the less ammunition they will have to use against us.”

    The two Predacon leaders began dragging the nearly dead form of Megatron, still a staggering twenty-six feet in height and nearly as wide, back from whence they came, oblivious to the fully concealed technorganic frame of Optimus Primal buried behind a wall of vines, or of another technorganic fist punching through the same wall of vines several yards away from Primal. The constrictive vines easily drew the hand back within their confines a moment before Line turned to see what had caused the barely perceptible noise. “What?” Sinker asked.

    Line scanned the wall of foliage for another moment before turning back around and continuing the dragging of Megatron’s frame. “Nothing. I thought that I had heard something, but it’s just the shifting of this accursed vegetation.”


    ***


    “So, whaddaya want done with the bodies?” The voice of Rumble came out of the glowing blue technorganic frame standing over a pile of dead Cybertronians, his new frame just a few feet shorter than the one that he had occupied three hundred years before.

    “Lazerbeak, frame disposal.” Soundwave ordered to the black winged robot standing behind him in the vast civilian broadcast command center where Soundwave had been working since the end of The Great War. Laserbeak transformed into a black vulture and proceeded to fly the bodies out through a hole in the ceiling one at a time. “Open channel to designated coordinates.” Soundwave commanded, a command immediately obeyed by the red-hued Frenzy.

    “Channel open Boss.” Frenzy replied, his excitement barely contained.

    “Decepticons, come in.” The former Decepticon announced through the newly opened channel.


    *


    The small mechanical device hovered motionlessly in the void of space, apparently as inert as it had been for the last three hundred years. But a red light suddenly lit up on it, and several minutes later a worm hole tore through space to allow Blast Off, still disguised as a twentieth century space shuttle, to emerge and approach the small object. The Decepticon remotely linked to the object. “Hello?”

    “Transmission ID code S, W, four, two, seven, eight, one, four. Confirm reception ID.” Soundwave’s emotionless voice came through the comms channel.

    “C, O, M, B dash B, O, three nineteen.” Blast Off replied. “You have the details of where to find Brawl’s spark and memory core?”

    “Forward signal to Decepticon base.” Soundwave ordered, ignoring the inquiry.

    “Aye, aye sir.”


    *


    Scrapper walked over to the elaborate communications display within the vast technologically advanced control room, casually glancing to the larger control display on the far side of the room that was currently in use. The Constructicon noted the blinking light on the terminal that indicated a transmission was waiting, and pressed a button to the side of the light that caused a large, transparent case to descend around him and the console. He finally flipped a switch to open the channel for the waiting call. “Hello Soundwave.”

    “Greetings Scrapper.” Soundwave replied. “I have news. Cybertron has undergone a transformation that has led to a state of chaos and confusion.”

    “Yes, my old friend, I know.” Scavenger chuckled as he turned toward the other end of the room, where the Quintesson Hadelac was nervously hovering before a large view screen displaying Apolonicus. To the side of the larger terminal, out of the sightline of Apolonicus, stood Sixshot, his massive frame standing imposingly as he glared at the scared but compliant Hadelac, who was barely doing an adequate job of hiding his anxiety from his Quintesson comrade. Through a window outside, Alicons were busy loading weapons into a gigantic purple warship while other Decepticons stood by overseeing them, forcing them to do their bidding. “Quite frankly, we’ve been expecting your call.”
     
  5. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    wow.......the Garbolicanopsil is Primal !!!!

    Nice touch in pointing out the discrepancies in BW and BM !
     
  6. Rotorstorm

    Rotorstorm Wreck n’ rule

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    you really didn't like BM Rattrap did you :lol 

    glad to see this is not dead, the Autobots new frames threw me a little but mostly it was very good,lots of things going off at once too. Took me about 2 hours to read :lol 

    Oh yeah, I'm currently working on compiling season 3 into a word document (already done season 1 and season 2 is being done by someone else) Was just wondering if you want the Armada kids and Crimson Siren and the like to still be in it.
     
    Last edited: Apr 2, 2011
  7. ShiroPrime

    ShiroPrime blargh

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    Crap, you're STILL not done with this? Ah well, all the better; your writing doesn't cease to amaze Petey, I'm serious when I say you should get into some novelist line of work. Though you may not not necessarily publish Transformers-related stories, I would gladly read any work you write.












    .
     
  8. darksage78

    darksage78 Maximal

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    You have no idea how happy I am to see this. Of course like many others I thought you were done. I can't wait to see where you're going to take this. I LOVED THE Truck not Monkey hahaha, not forced at all =D and "It seemed almost like it was just one, never ending chase scene" is the best one line summary of Beast Machines ever. I'm also eagerly awaiting to see how you juggle the telling of the story on multiple fronts this time round, giving me the feel of the last stretch of season 4 again.

    Let me be the first to say I think it'd be hilarious if the 3 Silverbolts met in person. Especially since the original Silverbolt is still alive! It was nice to see the return of the G1 bots, especially those who sorta faded into the background in the latter seasons. More Jazz, Jetfire and Sideswipe please. I was also intrigued by the return of Rook, I'm already suspicious as to the role the Cybertronian Empire will play this time round. Perhaps the humans will present more antagonistic forces this time akin to Mech in Prime. I felt that was the one side of the story you left out during their time on Earth.

    So many questions regarding to how you're going to take this. I really hope you don't intend to revive Megatron II but if it sheds light onto how you handle the "shift" in their characters as Arcee alluded to then by all means unless my theory is right about that fruit. The Hook, Line and Sinker thread will be very interesting to follow too, I wonder if the Insecticons that they overthrew are planning their revenge either on their own or realigned temporarily with Soundwave and the original Megatron. Simply put I cannot wait to see more. You da man Pete!
     
  9. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    qestion Petey, why bring back BW Optimus and Megatron? They were both used to reformat Cybertron.

    ever thought of having pictures of certain scenes in your story? I think it'd be cool
     
  10. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Honestly, leaving them dead would probably be better, but there's a character that I wish to feature somewhat prominently, and while coming up with potential backstories/character profiles for this character the one I liked best required the presence of one of these deceased characters to not be so deceased. And if one lived, perhaps the other could, and when thinking about that I kind of came up with a role that guy could play.
     
  11. Rotorstorm

    Rotorstorm Wreck n’ rule

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    Just a thought, was Alpha Trion caught up in the reformatting of Cybertron and one of the sparks captured? If so I wonder what he did post reformatting? Following having seen this before he would want to try to contact those who could protect the planet from the Quintessons.
     
  12. darksage78

    darksage78 Maximal

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    Good point Storm, but I'm more interested in seeing what machinations A-7 is up to. I have a SNEAKING suspicion that he intervened, possibly the cause of Megatron II's personality alterations.

    But petey, is there a reason A-7 and A-3 couldn't have just destroyed the Oracle shell program after what happened to A-7 and Custodex? Or is it like somehow hardwired into the planet?
     
  13. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Alpha Trion was on Cybertron, was caught up in the reformatting, and will play a big role in this story line. He'll be in a reformatted body (of which there was a toy - a convention exclusive that may or may not have been made I think, but I've seen pics of it and am going with it). As for contacting anyone, yeah that would make sense, but perhaps he might think he could handle the problem on his own.

    BW Megatron's personality shift is more a case of resisting an initial external influence, and upon realizing that he wasn't going to be manipulated, and the entrance of someone who might be able to be prodded into doing its bidding, the 'manipulator' pushed in the other direction with Megatron (who didn't recognize it as an external influence any more because it pushed with him, against the initial wishes) so that Megatron, instead of being a champion for the Garb/Oracle, would be a foil to the new champion.

    I didn't do much watching of BM for researching this (saw much of it back when it originally aired, but that was a long time ago), but I did rewatch a little on youtube, and noticed that the Oracle could appear and disappear at will. So while Alpha Trion would love to destroy it, he probably had trouble locating it; at least until it was acting as the source of the reformatted planet again.

    I hope this helps. Gonna get back to my frozen peas now - just got vasectomized today, and the local anesthtic is starting to wear off. Good times!
     
  14. Anodythe

    Anodythe Well-Known Member

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    TMI dude...TMI. Hope you're feeling better!
     
  15. darksage78

    darksage78 Maximal

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    Wouldn't he seek to switch out of the bod ASAP like Arcee? It would seem he'd be all to familiar with what happened to A-7.

    I hope you still go into depth about this in story. It would be interesting to see as to how the influence targeted and tried to sway him.

    You should check out that episode where they referenced the Hate Plague unless you plan to incorporate it in that year gap between Prime's death and Magna Prime's rule somehow.

    Yikes, hope you get an adequate amount of time off from work. Maybe you could use some of it to brainstorm and hammer out another chapter =D
     
  16. Rotorstorm

    Rotorstorm Wreck n’ rule

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    The hate plague is an interesting idea actually, whilst you referenced the plasma energy chamber you didn't seem to include the hate plague despite it being referenced. Maybe it took place following the Autobot and Decepticon banishment from cybertron.

    Hope you're not aching as much as it can do mate.
     
    Last edited: Apr 9, 2011
  17. JLBarnett

    JLBarnett Well-Known Member

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    awesome, more Transformers Version 2.0.

    But they don't need to move the Decepticon ship, though I guess the battle could be used to stop it from happening. Remember, the Decepticon base in the original cartoon was the ship that crashed at the end of More Than Meets the Eye. The original ship wasn't found till later. It had the Heart of Cybertron in it.
     
  18. ARCTrooperAlpha

    ARCTrooperAlpha Well-Known Member

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    Hate Plague seems like a good idea, but how to cure it without opening the Matrix if it can affect Transformers?



    Problem, the Nemesis in this story was the one that crashed into the sea. Later, incorporating Beast Wars (and some mass ship moving), it ended up in the mountains; just like the ship in the original cartoon. The other ship (Victory) was never built.


    Petey, hope you feel a lot better after vasectomy !
     
  19. darksage78

    darksage78 Maximal

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    Any chance of an update Petey? Eager to see how you bring the old school TFs and the Beast Warriors together =D
     
  20. Black Oracle

    Black Oracle Black Convoy's Dark Angel

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    Wow, just looking at the latest update, this is pretty awesome! It's so nice to see various BW characters, show and non-show, appearing in this. Reminds me a little of the IDW BW comics (which I really wish they'd do more of!). I have a nostalgic fondness for the BW 2 and Neo series, so it pleases me to see their characters in this, especially Optimus Grand (Big Convoy) and Atrox (Lio Convoy) who are faves of mine. How many continuities are being brought together here? Glad darksage78 recommended this to me!