Transformers: Hellbound (FINISHED)

[PrimeDirective]

Anyways, so this is my Transformers fanfiction. It is a new continuity, most similar to the movie and G1 series, but with nods to several others. If it goes well, there may just be another! Hope you guys enjoy! Rated a low PG-13 for mild occasional language, and sci-fi violence.

Supplementary information can be found here.
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Prologue
The sun glared down on the tarnished streets of Iacon City. No adult Cybertronians wandered down the streets, greeting each other in passing. No hatchlings played on the sidewalks. None of the elderly sat on the titanium benches placed in alternating intervals along the roads. Those days were long gone.

Civil war had torn Cybertron and its inhabitants in two: the Decepticons, led by Megatron, and the Autobots, led by Optimus Prime. Megatron was once the pride of Cybertron. A genius, brilliant strategist, unbeatable combatant. He had entered the Cybertronian military immediately after graduating from Iacon University as valedictorian. Eventually, he had risen to the position of Supreme Commander during a war against another race of beings from a nearby star system, and then ascended to a position equal to Alpha Trion’s, with the citizens’ full support. Soon after his crowning as one half of the first Duumvirate, Megatron revealed his true intentions.

It seemed so long ago to Optimus Prime, as he stood on a balcony near the top floor of the University’s science tower, overlooking the city. That day…

He remembered it as if it had only happened the day before. Orion Pax, salutatorian of Megatron’s same graduating class, at last leading his own archaeological expedition to the Valley of the Primes, south of the Great Rift and west of the Allspark temple, where Alpha Trion was said to converse with Primus.

Elita-1 had burst into his tent, alerting him to a discovery made by Perceptor. “There’s some sort of slab. Arcee and I went to look, and it seems to be related to the legend of the Creation Matrix. Perceptor found it in that cave we had to set up supports in.”

Indeed, written on the slab was a record of the events leading to the loss of the Creation Matrix, which is said to have been given to the Original Thirteen along with the Matrix of Leadership by Primus after their creation, and was said to contain enough Energon to power Cybertron forever. Little was known about the Cybertronian Civil War, other than that Vector Prime, leader of the Original Thirteen, led his brethren into battle against one of their own, a traitor called the Fallen. According to legend, Vector Prime had launched the Creation Matrix into outer space, to prevent the Fallen from obtaining it and using it for his own nefarious deeds.

The other Matrix, the Matrix of Leadership, was never ejected from Cybertron’s atmosphere like its brother. Upon Vector Prime’s departure from Cybertron, along with the rest of the Original Thirteen, to imprison the Fallen on a distant planet, the Matrix chose its next holder, who was given the title of Prime. This tradition carried down to the present day.

Upon learning of the slab, Megatron proposed an expedition to find the Creation Matrix, based on the trajectory listed in the record on the slab. Sentinel Prime, the then-current Holder of the Matrix of Leadership, and Alpha Trion firmly opposed this move, on the grounds that Primus himself had ordered the Creation Matrix launched, and they were in no position to go looking for it.

When dawn broke the next day, Sentinel Prime had been found murdered, presumably by Megatron in an effort to gain the Matrix of Leadership, which he thought could lead him to the Creation Matrix. But Sentinel Prime, foreseeing Megatron’s next actions, left the Matrix of Leadership with Alpha Trion, who had passed it, in turn, to its next holder: Orion Pax, who was retitled Optimus Prime.

Megatron declared war on Alpha Trion, declaring him a traitor. In retaliation, Alpha Trion proclaimed that Megatron was the true traitor, and revealed that he had murdered Sentinel Prime.

Megatron and his Decepticons were mostly from the Cybertronian military. Optimus Prime and his Autobots were mostly civilians. The only exceptions were Ironhide, heavy demolitions expert, Chromia, sniper, Ratchet, medic, and Prowl, military police, who was a Decepticon defector. The rest were like Bumblebee, who had come from Mixmaster Construction, or Jazz, seven-time Champion of the Cybertron Grand Prix.

A low buzzing shook Optimus from his flashback. The space outside of the city became distorted as the plasma shields activated, coating the city in an impenetrable mask. The only ways in were the gates along the massive wall encircling Iacon, and most of those were several yards thick.

Then came the ominous thud. Thud. Thud. Optimus turned to see Arcee approaching him. “Optimus,” she said, “they’ve arrived.”

Optimus turned back to the source of the noise, one of the gates. “Megatron…” he growled. “Tell Ironhide and Chromia that they need to get that space bridge ready. I know it’s experimental, but if we can hit Megatron with it, we might stand a chance of finally ending this war.”

“At once,” Arcee said, before turning and running back into the building.

Optimus heard a grumble from a the balcony directly above. “Prime! We’re moving back a few feet now!” Ironhide warned. Gears whirred as the balcony slid back a short distance into the wall. When it stopped, Prime could see Ironhide, Chromia, and Arcee readying the space bridge.

He pressed a button on his arm, and a hologram of Elita-1 appeared. “Yes?” she asked.

“Tell the other Wreckers to get ready. Chromia and Arcee are up with Ironhide preparing the space bridge. And tell Bumblebee, Jazz, Prowl, and Brawn to get their platoons out,” Prime said.

“Right. Don’t get too banged up, or else I won’t have anything to take home,” Elita replied.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m the only one who can take Megatron one-on-one.”

“I don’t like your chances.”

“Prime out,” Optimus said, flicking off the communicator.

He reached for the rifle attached to his back, and hoisted it out in front of him and to the side, letting the butt rest in the inside of his elbow. Each thud grew louder. Prime knew that the gate wouldn’t hold much longer under this kind of stress, especially if he could hear it so clearly from so high up.

The thuds gave way to booms, and the gate exploded, sending shards of metal flying into the vacated dwellings. Hordes of Decepticons swarmed in, guns blazing, destroying everything they could.

An engine roared as Smokescreen shot into action. The small blue vehicle blazed down an empty street, and transformed in mere nanoseconds. The rat-tat-tat of machine guns reached Prime’s ears before he could see his fellow Autobot riddled with holes, just as the hologram faded. Behind his mouth plate, Optimus smiled. Smokescreen was, after all, a master of distraction.

More engines gunned as Prowl led his division into battle, ambushing the Decepticons from the side. The white robot smashed through a red Decepticon before transforming and letting loose a volley of machine gun fire. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker raced down an alley, transforming and slashing several Decepticons’ limbs off, before shifting forms and racing off again, red and yellow blurs.

“Prime, the civilians are safe below the university,” came Wheeljack’s voice over Prime’s communicator. Optimus pressed the button, and Wheeljack’s hologram appeared, just as Elita-1’s before it.

“Take every precaution you possibly can. Put all sentry drones on red alert. I don’t want Ravage and Laserbeak breaking in this time,” Prime commanded.

“Righ-” the line went dead.

“Soundwave’s above!” Chromia shouted.

“Get that bridge ready!” Prime yelled back.

A red Decepticon transformed into a streamlined jet, and took flight. Ironhide responded with a volley of missiles. “It’s Starscream!”

“Arcee, take care of the bridge, I’ll take care of Starscream,” Chromia said. Several rounds fired from Chromia’s sniper rifle, pinging off of Starscream’s armor.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Starscream, the former Imperial Guard Commander, shouted in reply.

The sound of the tower-to-air battle faded away in Prime’s ears as he watched a tank roll through the gate. His optics focused intently on this silver war machine. Surely it had been the one to blast down the gate.

One name ran through Prime’s processors.

The tank’s armor shifted, the cannon folded back and rotated 180 degrees, coming to rest under the vehicle. The side armor clamped together and unfolded into wings tipped with blades. The treads folded up and under, and the engines roared. “PRIIIIIME!” Megatron screamed, taking flight in his jet mode.

Megatron raced over the groups of combatants, his mind set on one goal: Kill Optimus Prime. Prime looked on, nervousness creeping into his sensors. Megatron had never seemed so fast, or deadly.

Megatron transformed as he slowed down, landing on his feet at the edge of the balcony. Seven blade-tipped fingers hung from each hand, his helmet gleamed in the stark sunlight. “I’ve waited an eternity for this. It’s over Prime,” he growled.

“You’ll never win, Megatron,” Prime spat.

Megatron crouched forward, and then pounced, his legs like springs. The two collapsed on the ground. Prime could feel Megatron’s fingertips digging into his armor. He landed several jabs to Megatron’s face, knocking away a few of the Decepticon Commander’s teeth.

Megatron’s optics seemed to see right through Optimus. “This is so like you, choosing our old Alma Mater to be our final battle ground,” Megatron taunted, scratching Prime’s chest. “OH IACON! HOW GREAT THOU ART! WITH OUR MEMORY OF THEE, WE SHALL NEVER PART!” he mocked.

“This is the end,” Megatron declared, slamming his knee into Prime’s torso.

“Only for you!” Prime returned. A buzzing similar to, but distinct from, the plasma shield began above. “Goodbye, Megatron!”

A multi-colored beam of light shot from the space bridge generator and began to drag Megatron away from Optimus, who sat up to watch Megatron. “NO! Cybertron… is mine!” Megatron said, struggling against the light. “You… Can’t…. defeat me… Prime!” And he was gone.

Prime let out a sigh of relief. He stood, and picked up his rifle, which Megatron had knocked from his hand during their short scuffle. He fired off several rounds at Starscream, who promptly retreated.

“Decepticons… Megatron has been defeated! Retreat!” Starscream ordered.

The Autobots cheered as the Decepticons retreated, swarming back through the gate they’d stormed through only minutes earlier. “Great work, Arcee!” Prime shouted as he gazed down at the city.

“’Bout time you lazy Autobots got that thing workin’!” Prowl grumbled over the communicator link. His voice carried a condescending tone.

“Prowl, that machine is highly experimental technology that my physicists and I were barely able to put together,” Perceptor replied over the link.

“Let’s hope that nobody ever finds him again,” Elita-1 said.

“I do, Elita. I hope that this is the last we’ll ever see of Megatron,” Prime said.

[Minerva]

Keep up the good work

[PrimeDirective]

Chapter 1
Groups of students shuffled past Spike Witwicky as he hurriedly stuffed one text book into his locker, only to pull out another. He ran one hand through his short, dark hair, before swinging his backpack around to rest on his knee. He unzipped it and stuffed the new book inside.

“Hey, Spike!” someone called.

Spike turned to see another student, rolling down the hall toward him in a wheelchair. “Hey, Chip,” Spike said back.

“Mr. Simmons was grilling us today. We had another test over quantum theory,” Chip said.

“You know, I really just don’t see how you can understand such… advanced… physics… er, stuff. It just goes in my left ear and out the right,” Spike said.

Chip let a chuckle escape. “Well, when you start out being unable to play football with the rest of the kids your age, you tend to have a lot of free time.”

Chip was exaggerating, and Spike knew it. The wheel-chair bound honors student had been born perfectly normal. When he was only three, though, a mishap with a car seat resulted in his current paraplegic state. His back had broken, severing the nerves that controlled his legs.

“I don’t play football,” Spike offered, shutting the locker door. “Besides, the girls’d be all over you if you did. You’d have no time to hang out.”

Spike turned and started walking. Chip followed. “Dude, ‘kick me’,” he warned.

“Huh-” Spike started, as his friend’s words registered. He grabbed at the back of his neck, just below the collar of his shirt, and tore off a yellow sticky note bearing the words. He pulled his backpack up to cover the area and tossed the paper in a trash can the two passed.

“Algebra next up, you ready?” Chip asked.

“You know I’m not. You spent half the night tutoring me on four-by-five matrixes-”

“Matrices,” Chip corrected.

“Matrices, and I still don’t understand.”

Chip sighed, slightly frustrated. Although the two boys had known each other since childhood, they were almost complete opposites. Chip had always had an unusually high intellect. He had always been convinced that he was special, and he knew that he’d be able to put his skills to use one day. Spike, on the other hand, always said that there was nothing special about him, and expecting any so-called “gifts” of his to be used one day was like expecting lightning on a clear day.

Despite Chip’s continual encouragement, Spike always just shrugged it off.

They turned into their Algebra classroom, and Spike took his seat at a desk. Chip wheeled to the table provided for him by the school and removed his binder from the backpack hanging from the back of his wheelchair.

Next to Spike, a girl sat down, carefully lowering her bag to the ground, sliding the strap off of her shoulder. She brushed her blonde hair back with her fingertips, and with her other hand, pulled out a yellow folder. Her name was Carly. She was the captain of the cheerleaders, daughter of the richest people in town, and the object of Spike’s affections.

She noticed Spike’s eyes drift unconsciously toward her. “Hi,” she said quietly, subtly waving.

Spike jerked from his stupor, as the teacher walked to the marker board and began to speak.

*****

G. B. Blackrock walked hurriedly down a shaft that was part of his mining operation in the Mojave Desert. He was accompanied on either side by his aide and his secretary. Something had been found, far below the surface.

The three came to a security door. Blackrock punched a code into the number pad, and the door slid open, then closed behind them. One of the workers approached Blackrock.

“What is it?” Blackrock inquired.

“We don’t know yet, sir. Whatever it is, it’s not from here,” the worker replied.

“Age?”

“Old. It’s been here for at least fifteen thousand years. The thing itself is older. We’re still calculating.”

The four humans continued down the shaft, until they came to a large underground chamber. The aide and secretary gasped, but Blackrock remained composed.

Cart after cart stopped beneath a conveyor belt, carrying away large amounts of chiseled rock. Four workers sprayed an odd-looking blue substance at something stuck in the rock.

The thing, whatever it was, was, just as the worker described, definitely not from here. Not from Earth. It seemed almost humanoid, but it was gigantic! Two arms clawed forward at an unknown enemy, hands terminating in seven blade-tipped fingers. A helmet-like object protected the head from possible attack. The lower portion of the body was still concealed in rock. The body of Megatron gleamed a bluish color, reflecting from the super cooled gas being used to contain him.

“Have you contacted the government yet?” Blackrock asked.

“No, sir. We-” the worker began, before Blackrock grabbed him by the collar.

“Listen, you. You work for me. This thing could destroy us all if it gets out of containment. I want military support for when we transport it to the labs,” he said, his face showing his dark mood.

“And, if its friends come looking for it, look who has him? We can’t afford another lawsuit,” he added.

“Should I cancel your lecture at that high school tomorrow, sir?” the secretary asked, hurrying behind him as he walked quickly toward the mine’s opening.

“No. Those students are the future of this world, and the future of my company,” Blackrock replied.

*****

High above Earth, evil lurked.

This place was a cosmic wasteland, only inhabited by space junk, NASA’s trash, and the occasional communications satellite. Just what this dark blue Decepticon needed.

Soundwave glided soundlessly through the vacuum, searching for a suitable module to highjack. He scanned each that he passed, a malevolent claw swooping through space.

His red eyes glowed intensely as he approached a satellite marked “USAF” in bold black lettering. The light blue glow from his boosters dimmed, and he slowed himself down.

This alien claw seemed to grip the communications satellite, as Soundwave locked himself onto it. Small, clear, root-like wires snaked along the satellite’s surface, until they came to a metal panel that could be unscrewed to give authorized personnel access to the satellite’s innards, which would contain a treasure trove of information.

Soundwave’s probes simply forced the panel off, leaving the dented metal square floating aimlessly in perpetual freefall. They slithered and writhed their way inside it, and the information began to flow like water, images of battlefields, military transmissions, everything came before (or rather, behind) Soundwave’s optics. He shuddered almost as if he were one of the pathetic organic pink insects below that was injecting itself with some harmful substance as this wealth of data became his own, another mass to add to his collection.

He released his own program, a self-replicating virus to bring Earth’s entire communication field under his control. Surely, no human could break this virus. Soundwave had, after all, been developing it since the disappearance of Megatron and Starscream’s rise to leadership.

Soundwave uttered a digusted noise, which was only barely audible to even his own audio receptors in so thin an atmosphere. Starscream… what an arrogant pig. Thinking he’s so much better than Megatron… In Soundwave’s mind, no command rang truer than that of Megatron’s.

And now, at last, they had found him. Starscream, under extreme political pressure from his supporters and the supporters of the Decepticon cause, had begun a scan, for any electronic signature of Cybertronian origin. And they’d found it, along with multiple others, on a large planet (compared to war-torn Cybertron), Sol 3, locally known as Earth.

Soundwave had secretly hired the bounty hunter Lockdown to confirm Megatron’s precise location, and, by now, the bounty hunter was well on his way to the unsuspecting planet’s surface.

Not that Lockdown was as strong as Soundwave OR Starscream. By no means. Soundwave merely didn’t want to do it himself. He didn’t want to be stained or corrupted by such filth as organics. They were disgusting creatures that needed exterminating. And that would happen, as soon as the Decepticons located their long-lost leader.

[The Last Autobot]

Niiiiiiiiiiice!

[Minerva]

Very nice indeed! Looking forward to the next chapter

[PrimeDirective]

Thanks you two.

[Time Traveller]

I like the mix of past and present lore! Keep writing!

[PrimeDirective]

Thanks for the compliments, guys. These sometimes take a while, though. I don't want to force it.

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Chapter 2
Two masses blazed across the dark sky, almost unnoticed by human intelligence networks. They had been shrugged off as mere meteorites; the objects would probably disintegrate on the way down. But these two objects- beings- were specially equipped to handle the temperatures associated with atmospheric entry.

Twin bright streaks in the sky, the two Cybertronians slowed as their boosters activated, and their trajectory eased to an angle that was almost parallel to the ground. They shot over a highway constructed and maintained by the locals, keeping their distance from the ground and each other, as well as any obstacles that might present themselves. Below, a blue-and-white police car doggedly chased a yellow sports car, providing the two with a means of cover.

Not in the ordinary sense, however. Slowly, one meteorite’s pigmentation shifted to match the yellow of the speeding automobile, and even black patches were incorporated, which would shift to correspond to the racing stripes running along the vehicle’s hood, roof, and trunk. The other shifted to match the pursuing vehicle.

They continued to slow, and the descended at an easy angle. Ever so gently, they grazed the planet’s surface, turning left, away from the highway and into an open field. Finally, with a soft thump, they halted completely.

The two masses issued clicking noises, and soon whirrs, and all sorts of other mechanical noises joined the cacophony. They unfolded slowly, shifting from their entry modes, taking more humanoid shapes, bluish white reflections of the moon above dancing in the ordered chaos.

The white and blue one was up first, almost immediately. As usual, the bumbling yellow one was taking his time.

Prowl lifted his scarred white hand to his stern face, as the police car’s doors began to take shape like wings on his back. “Bumblebee, will you hurry? The Decepticons are already here, and Prime needs us to locate Megatron’s whereabouts before they do,” he growled.

“Come on, Prowl, don’t be such a jerk. Just bend over and let me see which of the Insecticons has attached himself to your undercarriage,” the young yellow Autobot retorted, still shifting into his true self.

Prowl let out a burst of air, a Cybertronian’s equivalent of a sigh. Bumblebee had studied the humans’ slang far too much before arriving. Prowl understood the importance of understanding the humans and being able to communicate with them, but the ‘bee was taking it too far. He was becoming obsessed with Earth cultures. “Bumblebee, can we not do this now? Soundwave’s already in orbit. We passed him on the way down, and I’m sure Starscream won’t be far away. After all, he’s been working his ass off trying to maintain control of the Decepticon horde. They both have.”

Bumblebee immediately understood that he’d offended his senior officer. Prowl didn’t have a very good reputation amongst the other Autobots, being a former Decepticon, even though Prime held him in such high regard. “Look, I’m sorry-“ Bumblebee began.

“It doesn’t matter,” Prowl said, rubbing his fingers against his nasal structure and squinting.

“Where do you think Megatron could be?”

“I have no idea. There’s a whole planet out there to be searched, and the machine that the Decepticons used to find Megatron’s signal was left behind on Cybertron. If we get close enough, we’ll know it, though,” Prowl replied, regaining his composure. “Once we accomplish that, we’ll signal Prime and the others to come down from Sol Four.”

“Once Prime gets here, the Decepticons will turn tail and run like the cowards they are.”

Prowl’s facial features shifted into a smile, rare for the battle-hardened warrior. Bumblebee was the youngest, only about thirty thousand Earth years old. He was naïve and brave, and so much else. Most of the Autobots had settled into their own, unshifting personalities, but Bumblebee was so complex. Perhaps this was because his perceptions of the universe were still developing, along with his ideals and intelligence. “My young yellow friend, they always have. But we can’t worry about the Decepticons at the moment. Our first priority is Megatron. Find him. Obtain information somehow. And don’t let him escape, or harm the natives. Other Decepticons come second, unless the situation calls for it.”

Bumblebee nodded his round head, as his own “door-wings” took shape. “U”-shaped structures unfolded and clamped down on both of his arms. He tested these “stingers” by channeling electricity through them. They were functioning normally. Everything seemed to check out all right.

“All systems go, how about you, Prowl?” Bumblebee asked.

“Operating at optimum efficiency,” Prowl replied.

“Well that’s just Prime!” Bumblebee said, laughing at his own joke.

Prowl wanted to smile again, but he knew that it would only encourage Bumblebee to waste more time fooling around. “We have to get going soon,” he said.

“Right,” Bumblebee said. “Umm… Prowl, where are we?”

“Area is designated as Oregon. Prime wants us to start searching with Blackrock Industries, based in a city called Los Angeles, a few hundred miles south of our position. Some transmissions intercepted by Blaster indicate that they have captured some sort of new technology,” Prowl explained.

“‘Captured’ is a weird word to use with technology,” Bumblebee said.

“Exactly. Prime wants us to investigate the ‘captured technology’ without causing any damage, so don’t drive too fast.”

“Aw, c’mon, Prowl! I’ve been practicing with Jazz for years now. I’m way better at driving now,” Bumblebee protested.

“It doesn’t matter who you’ve been training with or for how long. Drive just under the speed limit. We don’t want to damage anything or attract any attention to ourselves. Prime wants this to be quick and precise.”

Bumblebee groaned. “Fine.”

“Let’s go now,” Prowl commanded, walking toward the highway. He leaned forward, but didn’t fall. His chest rotated ninety degrees forward, forming the front of an exact replica of the police car, which was now several miles away. The rest of his body shifted, individual pieces with more organization than any human construction effortlessly spun, flipped, slid, and rotated into place, until Prowl had, for all intents and purposes, became the police car. Bumblebee followed suit, and the two pulled completely onto the now empty highway before revving their engines and speeding down the deserted road.

*****

The tense air stifled the soldiers scrambling to set up their weapons around Sergeant White. Two unknown objects had already passed through the planet’s atmosphere, and had surely crashed by now. Whatever they were, they definitely weren’t meteorites- there had been no damage done to the descending masses. No disintegration at all.

The first two had been virtually identical to the one now bearing down on White’s troop’s position. But there had been on key difference: the first two hadn’t abruptly changed course to smash a communications satellite. How that was possible, no one knew. No natural formation or man-made machine had the capability to perform such a feat.

A rumbling reached his ears from above, so faint yet so menacing. A bead of sweat formed near White’s eye and traveled swiftly down his cheek, and dripped onto the parched ground. The harsh desert winds of the Mojave whipped up sand, and White squinted to protect his dark brown eyes. He could feel the sweat saturating his dirty blonde hair. He breathed deeply, trying to keep calm in the face of possible attack.

“Man, I can’t believe this!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Thrown out here in the desert at twilight! We’re gonna freeze our asses off!”

“Will you shut up?” another responded. “There’s probably a reason we haven’t been told what we’re doing out here.”

“Sergeant White!” called yet another.

White looked up, spotting Captain James Lars heading toward him. Lars was one of White’s most trusted officers.

Lars stopped next to his superior, and squatted down next to him. “Do you really believe it? Defense said it was possibly alien,” he whispered. Only the officers had gotten the full brief. This matter was to remain top-secret.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, we’ll have to take it into the custody of the US government,” White responded. “And if it resists, we’ll have to give it a taste of what we can do.”

Their conversation ended almost immediately as the rumbling began to grow louder. Some of the soldiers shouted obscenities and pointed in shock, anxiety, and fear at the sky, seeing the encroaching object for the first time.

Lars hurried to take his place in the command tent, ready to give out orders as White relayed them to him from his place on the front lines.

The sky shone brilliant shades of orange, red, and purple, a peaceful setting that defied the dread that was forming in each of the soldiers’ hearts.

The rumbling of the alien object seemed to penetrate into the very earth as weapon emplacements, tents, vehicles, even the soldiers themselves shook in the malevolent vibrating waves. The hairs on the back of White’s neck pricked up.

The roar grew, grew, grew, and kept growing, as the meteorite approached the planet’s surface rapidly. It was hardly even a blur when it ripped into the sand several hundred meters in west of the soldiers, throwing plumes of reddened sand into the sky and producing minor shockwaves that knocked over most of the tripods and other equipment.

A clicking was barely audible over the frightened shouts of the soldiers scrambling to hoist their weapons back into place and the clanking of the metal guns themselves. White felt each click like a deep slash through his body, somehow knowing what was about to occur.

The clicking accelerated, and was accompanied by the groaning of heated alloys, and some shrill, unintelligible shouting. Finally, over the dust, a rhombus appeared, adorned with two shining red jewels. White leaned forward slightly and squinted. Most of the shape’s details were veiled in silhouette, the sun breathing its last breaths directly behind it.

A dull thump was issued from the dust cloud as the shape raised and lowered, seemingly testing itself. It was walking.

White could feel the wind pick up ever so slightly, but it brought no relief, only the chill of sweat on his back and a horrifying revelation: the thing was HUGE.

As the sun set behind the bipedal monster, more of its appearance became visible. It was mostly dark green, with neon highlights. The rhombus was the thing’s head, planted at the top of a thick neck. An object resembling an engine block jutted out from its left arm, and the other terminated in a wicked, shimmering hook.

One of the officers in the command tent appeared with a bullhorn in hand. “We have been ordered to take you into custody. You will not be harmed unless you display hostility. Please, enter the trailer peacefully,” boomed the officer’s voice, as he indicated a semi-truck and its trailer nearby.

The gibberish clicking and beeping increased speed. As the monster continued closer, White could make out something like a mouth, moving rapidly, spitting out word after alien word in lightning-fast succession. It was talking.

The monster raised its right arm, brandishing its hook threateningly.

“Very, very angry,” White muttered under his breath with a worried look on his face.

Lockdown gazed at the jellybags in disgust and contempt. He scoffed at their tiny, pitiful weapons and lowered his hook-arm to his side. This confrontation was dragging out too long, and time was upgrades.

The clicking as the ammo belts loaded inside his left arm played like the most beautiful orchestral symphony to the bounty hunter. Only the painful burning of a new upgrade being installed was more pleasurable.

As the monster’s left arm raised toward the group of soldiers, White’s eyes widened, and he knew immediately what was about to happen.

“Open fire!” he commanded, and the rat-tat-tat of mini-guns shattered the tense, stifling air like a hammer.

Lockdown laughed condescendingly as he felt the pinging of the bullets slam into his armor and bounce off into the sand. He responded with a round of his own, tearing away at the soldiers.

White saw everything in slow-motion. Several of his own men were instantly sent sailing backwards by the hailfire. The command tent was ripped from its supports, and he could hear the screaming of the officers inside. His heart rose momentarily as he heard the thump of tank fire, but it sank again when the slug had no effect. Blood spilled on the sand by the gallon.

The hail of bullets ceased suddenly, as Lockdown began to shift the very shape of the wrist-mounted weapon. The two barrels combined into one and the individual pieces came loose but moved along the gun, extending it. He raised it once again, aiming directly for the squad of tanks, and a missile erupted from it.

The explosion of the tank deafened White, as he hurled himself to the ground and curled into a protective position to avoid flying shrapnel.

Lockdown rushed forward, retracting his gun back into his arm, and grabbed another tank’s turret gun with one hand, and firmly anchored his hook into the tank’s vulnerable underside, and grunted as he hefted the massive machine over his head before tossing it into another tank, enjoying the sound of crunching metal as both were smashed.

“Nothing like a good smashing after a long flight to work the joints,” he said, in plain English.

He tossed another tank toward the soldiers, who continued to fire upon him. It rolled, crushing everything in its path, before coming to a halt directly over the curled form of Sgt. White, who had been saved from the same fate as the others by the sandstone rock he’d fallen adjacent to.

Lockdown grunted, surveying everything he’d done. The tanks lied destroyed on the ground, dead bodies of crushed and bullet-ridden soldiers littered the battlefield, and their weaponry was shattered all over the sand. “Too easy. That flamethrower’s as good as mine,” he said, letting out a boisterous, cynical laugh. He made one last pass, stomping on the bodies of the fallen soldiers for good measure, but left the tanks alone.

“Soundwave,” he said, speaking into the communicator on his hook-arm, “I have landed and dispatched native military units. Send the data for my disguise immediately.”

“Soundwave acknowledges,” came the sinister computerized voice. “Transmitting data now.”

The data for Lockdown’s new alternate mode appeared in his heads-up display as he received the signal.

It’s almost as good as a new upgrade. These locals have style, Lockdown thought. He transformed, showing off the dark green frame, red-orange headlights, red-tinted windows, and spikes galore, as if the soldiers were still alive.

He gunned his engine, tires spinning and throwing up plumes of sand for a second, before catching and racing off through the desert, homing in on the nearest major metropolitan area.

[The Last Autobot]

Alright!!!! Go Lockdown!!!

[Minerva]

Keep up the good work!

[PrimeDirective]

Chapter 3
The chill of night had fallen over the Midwestern United States. The waxing moon shone down on semi-ripe fields of grain and corn, only a few weeks from harvest. The clear October sky was a transparent crystal, far away from the heavily-settled metropolitan areas in the east and west, and the stars twinkled against the pitch black backdrop. Nobody noticed the rogue jet high above these calm fields.

Most jets didn’t fly at night, but this was no ordinary jet. It was light gray, with red accents around the wings, some blue along the bottom. Double “S” markings were embossed on the dorsal stabilizers. The wicked, purple Decepticon insignia adorned both wings in the center, both top and bottom. Starscream.

The current Decepticon Commander sailed through the air, almost silently. He’d modified his disguise ever-so-slightly to be practically unnoticeable by audio until he was right up on his target. This capability was just another aspect of himself that he adored.

By now, Starscream knew, Lockdown had landed and was searching for information on the whereabouts of Megatron. Starscream cursed in his native language, at the thought of Megatron being found. It was highly unlikely that Megatron was even alive after so long, but if he was, Starscream was determined to get to him before Soundwave or his minions could, and strike him down before he could be brought back online.

There was nothing to stand in his way now, though. Soundwave wasn’t much of a fighter. That’s why he always stayed behind the scenes. And Lockdown would get his upgrade, all right. With a laser blast through his spark.

But the Autobots did present something of a challenge. Optimus Prime was surely not far away, and that meant that bumbling yellow twerp, the traitor, their doctor… and Ironhide would be close by too.

“Ironhide…” Starscream growled.

*****

Warriors clad in green and white took their positions on the battlefield. They lined up along an invisible divider, almost mirrored by their red and yellow opponents. A teammate in the middle of the line held in his hands a small brown, round object.

Their goal was simple. Deliver this object to the designated drop zone on the opposite side of the field. Their opponents would do anything they were able to prevent them from achieving this. Their helmets gleamed under bright lights, as the tension in the air built. Only a few seconds remained before they would be unable to accomplish it.

The commander barked orders and took his position, as the teammate with the ball tossed it back between his legs to him.

The warriors broke formation, smashing into the opposing team, and one managed to break through. He ran, ran as fast as he could, and the commander wound up and shot the ball off through the air. The intended receiver twisted his body, and the ball landed firmly in his hands. He continued to run, leapt over a member of the opposing team, and kept running, until he reached the drop zone, and tossed the ball at the ground, and did a short dance as the referees blew their whistles.

Carly leapt into the air in her matching green and white outfit, swinging her pom-poms wildly, screaming, “Go Warriors!”

Above her on the home side of the field, the bleachers came alive with cheering spectators, throwing their arms up into the air and shouting with the squad of cheerleaders. At the bottom of the stands, Spike stood and shouted along with everybody else, and Chip whistled.

The voice of Ronald “Sparkplug” Witwicky echoed across the stadium, “And that’s the game, folks! Archer High Warriors: 31, Weston High Joes: 27! Warriors improve to 7-2 with one game remaining in the regular season! Come back next time to see the Warriors face off against the Edlund Ticks! This is Sparkplug Witwicky, signing off! Good night, everybody!”

“You wanna go to the fifth quarter at Frieda’s?” Spike asked Chip.

“Sure,” Chip replied.

“All right, I gotta go make sure it’s all right with my dad first.” With that, Spike turned and ran up the stairs, passing between the rising and leaving spectators, arriving at the door to the press box right as his father exited.

“Hey son, good game, huh?” Sparkplug said.

“Uh, yeah. And what is it with the Sparkplug thing, dad? I mean-“

“Aw, son, you know my policy. Who’s gonna know who Ronald Witwicky is, huh? I mean, it’s on the sign: ‘Sparkplug and Son Automotive’. I’m Sparkplug, you’re son.”

“I know, I know. There’s a fifth quarter over at Frieda’s, and me and Chip wanna go.”

“All right. Just be home by midnight.”

“Thanks, dad!” Spike said, before turning to run back down the stairs.

“All right, Chip, we can go, but we’ve only got an hour and a half,” he said, looking at his watch.

“Can that jalopy of yours get us there in time?” Chip teased.

“I’ll show you jalopy,” Spike retorted, rolling his eyes.

Soon, they approached the blue car, which was parked in one of the handicapped spaces. Chip’s handicapped tag hung from the mirror in plain view. “Let’s get going,” Spike said as he pressed the button on his remote, with the accompanying beep indicating the doors had unlocked.

*****

She hated herself. She hated this truck, the mirror she glared at, and the boy in the driver’s seat with one arm holding the steering wheel and the other around her. She hated her whole situation, wished she could just get out of it.

He smelled of body soap, and was slightly damp after showering. True, he’d just helped achieve Archer High’s highest score ever in a football game, but he just… he seemed like an animal. He didn’t think, he didn’t talk, and he was a jerk. And now, she was going with him to the party at Frieda’s Restaurant and Grill. No telling what he’d try on her. He’d already told her that he thought she was “hot” in her cheerleading outfit.

“So, babe… How long have we been together now,” Trent said, giving her a wink.

Disgusted, Carly replied, “Let me out of the car.”

“What?”

“Let me out. Now.”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere. We’re going to the party, you ungrateful little whore!”

Carly sighed in disgust. He’d finally done it. He’d gone as far as she’d been afraid he’d go, and that ended it. That was it. She wanted to preserve what was left of her dignity.

“Fine. I’ll go to the party, but don’t expect me to even acknowledge your existence.”

Trent frowned at Carly’s words. Nobody he knew talked like that. At least, nobody he paid any attention to.

*****

Starscream flashed a toothy grin as he descended in his true form. Boosters on his back slowed his fall, and when he touched down, they shut off.

He was surrounded by all types of militaristic vehicles, and a field of concrete. They were bleached black and white in the dead moonlight, but they were all familiar to him. Most of them were similar to many Cybertronian inventions.

But one vehicle in particular reminded him just how vicious Megatron was. The jet stood idly in a nearby hangar, nose just barely hanging out the open corrugated steel door. A wave of some horrific version of nostalgia overcame him, and suddenly, he was back in the lab at Kaon.

Carcasses of failed experiments littered the floor. Megatron frowned as he worked across the operating table from Starscream. Between them lied a light brown body with purple accents dashed in several places. The test subject moaned, stirring to life.

“Starscream, EMP,” Megatron commanded.

Facetiously obedient, Starscream complied, lifting a small rectangular box from the table, punched in the settings, and a yellow wave of energy left the opposite end of the box and enveloped the body of the Decepticon Blitzwing.

The monotonous beeping of the spark-monitor began to slow, and Megatron’s optics widened. “No! I will not fail again! The power of flight will be mine!” he shouted, slamming his fists into the table.

“Bugbite! We need jumper cables, stat!” Starscream commanded.

The diminutive gray Decepticon entered the bluish-gray OR carrying a set of cables in his hands, grumbling under his breath. “Here,” he mumbled.

Megatron jerked the cables from his subordinate, clamping one end of each cable to Blitzwing’s open spark compartment, and forced open Bugbite’s, clamping the other end into him. Bugbite began to mutter something, but thought better of it and shut his mouth. His knee joints shuddered as he felt part of his own life force draining, but quickly, the spark-monitor’s beeping stabilized, and Megatron detached the cables.

“Starscream, put the EMP generator down and get back to work,” Megatron growled.

Starscream gave Megatron a quick glare before complying. The Decepticon leader worked quickly, all seven fingers on each hand working with precision, blades retracted. It was all Starscream could do to keep up with only five fingers on either hand. But his pride, or perhaps arrogance, would not let him fall behind his superior.

“Come on, come on,” Starscream mumbled, connecting wires in Blitzwing’s chest compartment. Almost everything was finished; if Blitzwing survived, the triple-changer project would be a success, and Megatron himself would be able to undergo the process. Blitzwing himself was practically a precursor to what Megatron wanted: the tank treads on the Decepticon warrior’s legs, the wings folded and stored behind his body. Tank and jet. Perfect for raining terror down on the Autobots from above while also being able to take heavy fire in stride and simultaneously being able to deliver it… The jet was a perfect complement to Megatron’s tank alternate mode.

At last, all the wires in Blitzwing’s chest had been reattached and directed in the correct paths. The Decepticon’s optics flashed red, and, once Megatron shut his chest compartment, he rose from the table, ripping out the wires providing spark support. He extended the dual blades on his wrist, brandishing them, and then retracted them. “I feel… powerful!” he said.

“At last, we have succeeded! Now, I shall undergo this surgery, and conquer the Autobots as both jet and tank!”

“I would expect such an all-knowing leader to know that speed and the power of flight are superior to such a sluggish vehicle, and that he could, at any time, scan a fighter without going through such a complicated ordeal as you’ve put us through, Megatron,” Starscream spat.

“Starscream, you’re an idiot! How many times have you been shot down in battle, and had to have Bugbite repair you?” Megatron retorted.

Starscream shrank back against a wall. “Once… twice maybe,” he answered in a small voice.

“Seven, sir,” Bugbite grumbled.

At this, Starscream returned himself to the present. It had embarrassed him to admit it, but… maybe Megatron had been right. But Starscream still preferred speed… And maybe he was only the slightest bit afraid of undergoing the procedure himself.

*****

The sound of sizzling meat and talking and glasses clinking drowned out the four televisions positioned around Frieda’s. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted into the entrance area from the smoking section, mixing with the scent of cooking meat and frying oil.

Spike scanned the crowd as he entered the restaurant, with Chip directly behind him. He noticed Carly and Trent arguing with each other through the smoky air on the opposite side of the room. He stopped abruptly, and Chip wheeled right into him, and he fell.

Some of the patrons laughed at his clumsiness, others ignored him, but he just shrugged it off and got back on his feet. “Spike, you can’t stop like that right in front of me,” Chip said.

Spike walked toward Carly, not hearing his friend behind him. “Spike, what are you doing?” He tried to grab Spike’s arm, but Spike jerked away, continuing toward the two arguing partygoers.

The moment he got close enough to hear what they were saying, he noticed the tears running from Carly’s blue-green eyes.

“I can’t believe you won’t do this for me,” Trent was saying.

“I can’t believe you expect me to,” Carly spat.

“Come on, you’re making a scene!”

“I told you I’d go to the party, but I didn’t say anything about what I’d do!”

Spike squeezed in between them. “Hey man, she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

“And what do you have to do with anything?” Trent demanded, puffing out his chest.

Any other teenage boy would’ve shied away at the sight of the Archer High quarterback looming over him, but Spike wouldn’t back down.

“So what if I don’t have anything to do with your sexual frustrations? Carly obviously doesn’t like dumb guys.”

“You tryin’ to say somethin’, little man?” Trent said, threateningly lowering his face to Spike’s.

“What- what if I am?” Spike said, glaring directly back at the massive quarterback.

Trent’s fist delivered his retort by itself. A right hook sent Spike flying left to the floor. Carly was immediately hunched over him, checking his pulse and making sure he was breathing.

“What the hell, Trent?” she shrieked. “You’re a monster!”

“Come on, we’re leaving!” Trent said, leaning over with his hand reached out.

“No,” Carly said, producing a can of pepper spray from her purse. “Don’t make me use this!”

Trent’s eyes widened and he took a step back, holding his hands out in front of him defensively. “Hey now, we don’t want to do anything stupid, right?”

“Give me a reason not to,” Carly said. She growled, flicking the lid off with her thumb.

Trent shook his head, but turned and started to leave anyway.

On the floor, Spike opened one eye. “Is he gone?”

Carly laughed. “Yeah, he’s gone. But you might want to get your right eye under some ice. It’s starting to look puffy.”

“I figured, considering I can’t open it.”

“We… we should go,” Carly said. “Trent’s friends’ll probably be here in a minute.”

“Um… Okay.” Spike dug in his pocket for a moment, producing his car keys. “Let’s go.” He grunted as Carly helped him stand up, and the two turned toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Chip asked as they passed him.

“Home. Fast,” Spike answered.

They left the doors and walked into the grayscale world under the moon. Wisps of smoke from inside the building escaped as the doors swung shut. Spike unlocked his car and the trio immediately started toward it.

They came at them from the right. Two of Trent’s friends shouted as they charged at Spike, Chip, and Carly. “Oh, not again,” Spike said, tenderly touching his swollen eye.

“You two get in the car, fast!” Carly shouted. Spike nodded, and ran toward his car with Chip’s wheelchair in tow.

“You want a piece of me?” they heard Carly shout.

Spike opened the passenger door, and, as Chip climbed in, folded up the wheelchair and stashed it in his trunk. He slammed the trunk shut, or so he thought, as it rose up slightly as he started back toward the driver’s side door, stopped, and slammed it once again. Spike stood there for a minute, making sure it was closed this time. It didn’t rise up again, so, satisfied, Spike bolted for the door, opened it, slid in, slammed it shut again, and yanked his seat belt into its buckle.

He barely registered the screams of the two attackers before Carly sped into the back seat behind Chip.

“What’d you do?” Spike said, twisted around in his seat to get a look at her. She was sliding a black, rounded object into her purse. “Did- did you tase them?”

“Spike!” Carly replied.

“What?”

“Start the car!”

“What she said!” Chip chimed in.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Spike said as he turned back to face forward, shoved his key into its slot and turned it. The engine immediately turned over, and Spike backed out of his parking spot, careful not to run over the two spasming bodies in the lot, and left the restaurant.

[The Last Autobot]

You ungrateful little whore!






*lulz*

[Minerva]

Keep up the good work!

[Time Traveller]

Too bad they hadn't hired you for the modern movie... It's a great update, mixing old with new!

[PrimeDirective]

Thank you, TT! Thanks to Minerva and TLA, as well! And if you're wondering, yes I realize the language got a little rough here, and there will be a few more rough spots, but once the action picks up, it smooths out and becomes more family friendly. In my universe, the transformers rarely EVER curse, and I didn't even realize I'd had Prowl use "ass".

[The Last Autobot]

I can't wait till I show up....hehe...

[PrimeDirective]

You'll not be showing up in this story.

Sequel, man, sequel.

[PrimeDirective]

Chapter 4
Cool wind stirred the coarse sand. Captain White’s eyes slowly opened, the bluish sunlight gleaming off of them. He groaned, picking himself up off the ground and let out a yelp when his head slammed into something hard directly above him. He rolled over, holding the painful back of his head tenderly, and looked at what he’d hit.
Nothing. There was nothing there. But wait- White reached out, and felt cold metal on his fingertips. The tank that had hidden him from… from that thing’s attack. This tank had saved his life.

Or had it? White clambered from his spider hole, staying low, and scanned the surrounding area. Nothing. Nothing but the twisting columns of wind-blown desert sand in the cool morning air. The monster was gone, and the wind had destroyed any trace of it ever having been there.

He needed to get help. His entire body ached, and there was no way to tell if he was hemorrhaging or had fractured any bones. He slowly rose to his feet, careful not to let the blood rush from his body. He didn’t want to black out and fall, especially not now.

He held up his hands to his mouth, and shouted, “Is anybody alive?!”

No reply came. There was no sound, nothing he could hear.

“Hello!? Can anybody hear me?”

Again, he heard nothing. His heart sank, and he squat down, leaned forward, and expelled the contents of his stomach. He retched several times before finally standing and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

He could see them now, scattered about the battlefield. Goosebumps erupted across every inch of his skin, as he slowly approached one. The body of this soldier was riddled with bullet holes, the chest was crushed, and bones extended through the torn skin in places.

He wanted to throw up again at the sight of the mangled remains of his fellow soldiers. He leaned forward and retched violently, but there was nothing remaining in his stomach.

“I’ve got to get help,” he muttered to himself determinedly.

He turned back to the tank, hoping against hope that the communication systems were still functioning. He climbed up the side of the wayward tank, trying not to think about what was inside. He laid on the slanted top of the war machine for a moment before standing, arms out to either side to steady himself. Once he regained confidence in his balance, he dropped his arms back down to his sides, and stepped cautiously over shreds of the tank’s treads, shrapnel, and loose wiring.

He dropped to his knees at the hatch, and pulled it open, shielding his face from the death-scented air. He winced as his eyes adjusted and he was able to see the two operators, jumbled against the floor. One was strapped into his seat, but his head was missing; he was obviously a victim of the monster’s guns. He dropped inside the tank, falling to his knees, then stood back up.

There it was; the red light blinked on the radio transmitter. Hopefully, it would still be able to transmit despite the damage to the entire vehicle.

White unlatched the seatbelts holding the dead operator back, and the body crumpled to the floor. White squinted his eyes, trying to focus his mind on getting help. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he repeated to himself.

He grabbed the receiver, pressed the talk button, and began talking. “Mayday, mayday, we’ve been attacked. Send help now. There are few survivors, and they may be in danger. We need medevac now!”

He felt the vibrations of noise emanating from the receiver the instant he let off the talk button, but he heard nothing. He sighed, and tried again. “If anybody can hear me, please, we need medevac immediately.”

Again, he heard no reply. He sighed in disappointment and climbed out of the tank. In the west, the dust was stirring. “Sandstorm?” he said to himself, jumping to the ground.

Five black shapes burst through the red dust, hovering low above the ground, intent on their target. Another red and white shape followed suit.

“Air force…” White ran to the remnants of the command tent and grabbed a sheet of torn fabric. He reached in one of his pockets and pulled out a lighter. “And they said smoking kills you.”

He dipped one end of the fabric in a puddle of oil leaking from the tank, flicked the starter on the lighter, and set the saturated fabric alight. The makeshift torch was hopefully enough to attract the attention of the approaching squadron of helicopters.

As the helicopters neared, White noticed that they made no sound. That was odd. He cocked his head to one side, squinting in the dust storm kicked up by the revolving blades, and listened intently, but he heard nothing. He couldn’t hear the motors’ humming slow, couldn’t hear the men shouting orders as troops exited the vehicles.

One approached him, holding out his hands and leaning forward slightly, knees bent. The trooper looked like he was trying to keep something calm. He moved his mouth in regular patterns, but no sound came out that White could hear. Finally the man was in reach, grabbed White’s shoulders, and opened his mouth in wide, exaggerated syllables.

And then it hit White. He was deaf.

He pointed at his ear, made circles in the air with his index finger and shook his head. The man turned toward the idle helicopters and started toward them. He gestured to White to follow him. White complied, and the trooper led him directly to the medical helicopter.

*****
Spike held the phone in front of him, eyeing the numbers and letters on the screen. Highlighted was the name “Carly”. The morning light filtered through the windows of his bedroom, and he barely heard the droning of a reporter on the television.

“This is Walter R. bang! Path here. Moments ago, we pow! received word of an attack on a zoom! military convoy in the womp! Mojave Desert. This is likely the work of kaboom! terrorists, according to Head of Homeland Security bang! R. H. Nox. We do have at least one confirmed bam! survivor, and the military had stated that rescue operations are crash! on the way. However, we were kaboom! not told the precise location of the convoy at the time of the woosh! attack, nor what units were sent for zoom! search and rescue or how many. Stay tuned to bang! News Seven at Nine and we will keep you clang! updated. Back to you, Tom,” the man said.

Spike sighed. “Considering the alternative…” he said, pressing the green button on the keyboard. The phone’s screen switched to a group of warped rectangles rotating around a central point on a white background with the letters “Connecting. One moment please,” in bold yellow.

Spike held the phone to his ear and listened to the dial tone. A few seconds later, Carly’s voice came across clearly. “Hello?”

“Hey, Carly, this is Spike.”

“Oh, hi. How’s the eye?”

“Better. My mom laid me down on the couch and held an ice pack over it while she cried.”

“That bad?”

“You haven’t met my parents.”

“My dad has. He worked for your dad for a while at Sparkplug and Son.”
“I didn’t know that.”

“You learn something new every day.”

“So… what went on with you and Trent last night?”

“Oh, the usual. He wanted something, and I wasn’t about to give it to him.”

“There’s more than that.”

“You know too much,” Carly joked, and laughed. “I’m just tired of surrounding myself with people like that. I feel like I can’t be who I want to be because of the way I scratched and climbed to popularity back in Junior High.”

“Huh…” Spike said. “You know, I think you should just be you.”

“You… don’t think I’m shallow?”

“No… uh, I think that… there’s, uh, more to you than meets the eyes,” Spike replied, wincing at his own joke.

Carly laughed over the phone. “That was corny.”

“Sorr-“

“But sweet.”

Spike sighed in relief.

“You know, I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this. We’ve barely just become friends.”

“Well, maybe you feel like you can talk to me,” Spike suggested.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. You’re not like Trent. You’ve got a brain.”

Spike laughed, and sat down on his messy bed. “So, uh, speaking of talking to me, I though that… maybe you’d like to uh, talk over- over lunch?”

“I’d love to, Spike, but I can’t right now. We’ve got an Algebra test Monday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Studying?”

“Wish I wasn’t. I really would like to talk to you. You’ve got an honest air.”

“Honest air?”

“Just a feeling I get.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I’d better let you go so you can get back to studying.”

“Okay, bye,” Carly said.

“Bye.” Spike pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the red button, ending the call. He laid back on the messy bed, and said to himself, “She totally digs me.”

Then the doorbell rang. A few seconds later he heard his mom call, “Spike! Chip’s here!”

Spike jumped to his feet, opened his door and stepped out into the hall. He walked down toward the living room, the hardwood floors creaking under his bare feet. As he entered the living room he greeted Chip with a high five. “Come on back, man,” Spike said, smiling.

“I’ve got something big to show you,” Chip responded.

Spike tried to hold back his laughter, but a chuckle escaped.

“What?” Chip asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Spike replied as he led his friend back to his bedroom.

“Shut the door,” Chip instructed as the two entered the bedroom.

“Okay, okay. What is this,” Spike said as he threw the door shut.

“Lemme show you,” Chip said, pulling his laptop out of the black bag hanging from his wheelchair. “And shut the curtains, too.”

As soon as Spike had pulled together the curtains over both windows in his room, Chip placed the small computer onto Spike’s desk next to his T.V. and booted it up. He clicked on an icon reading “Blackrock Industries Feed”.

“Watch this. They’ve been talking about some big news since five this morning,” Chip explained.

“Chip, I thought you said you weren’t gonna hack anymore?”

“Just Government feeds. Don’t want to get my parents in trouble with the FBI or something.”

“And you’re not afraid Blackrock will sue you?”

“I don’t think he’s such a bad guy. And he could probably use my skills in the future for industrial espionage or something.”

“Chip, neither of us even know the guy-“ Spike began, but Chip shushed him.

“Here it comes…”

Spike and Chip watched intently at the screen. A window came up asking Chip for a password. The wheelchair-bound genius typed in a few keys, pressed “Enter”, and the window disappeared, to be replaced by a new one reading, “Insert Antenna Now.”

Chip twisted in his seat, and produced the requested antenna from the same black bag, as Spike leaned in over Chip’s shoulder. Chip inserted the antenna into a slot on the side of the computer.

Finally, a stream of text began to scroll across the screen. “Subject will be transported to Blackrock Industries Headquarters this Tuesday. Subject will be contained in a super-cooled, airtight trailer pulled by one of our most trusted drivers. Subject is highly valuable, and may be able to be reverse-engineered for extreme technological gains. Subject is also possibly highly dangerous, so take extreme caution.”

“Whoa,” Spike said.

“I think I have a few questions to ask Mr. Blackrock at his presentation Monday,” Chip said.

*****

Lockdown clutched at an invisible neck. “No!” he shouted, as the feed from this “Blackrock Industries” faded. His HUD displayed the words, “Signal faded.”

Lockdown tapped a few buttons on his arm. A hologram of Soundwave still attached to the military satellite appeared. He squatted down, hiding from passersby on the nearby highway, the thick trees concealing him from view. “Soundwave, this is Lockdown. I had a feed detailing the location of Megatron, and where I can find him, but the signal faded.”

“Signal not faded. Signal intercepted,” Soundwave replied coldly.

“Who intercepted it?”

“Identity: unknown. Confirmed non-Autobot. Location: Settlement designated Archer, north-east of Settlement Los Angeles.”

“Archer? According to my maps, it’ll take a day to get there. But I’ll get the information from these hackers, Autobot or not.”

“Do not fail the Decepticons, Lockdown,” Soundwave threatened.

“Don’t get your exhaust pipes in a twist. I’ll get your Megatron back to you, or my name’s not Lockdown. Have I ever failed you before?”

“Heads of Alpha Quintesson still in possession of Shockwave. Proceed.”

“Lockdown out,” Lockdown said, ending the conversation. He emerged from his hiding spot in his disguise. His engine gunned as he pulled out onto the vacant highway, and he turned in the direction of Archer, California, intent on obtaining his goal.

“I haven’t failed a job yet,” he growled to himself, before speeding off down the highway.

*****

Prowl tapped a button on the side of his head, and an antenna retracted into his armor. “You heard Soundwave,” he growled. “Move out.”

Bumblebee complied, converting into the yellow sports car while Prowl simultaneously converted into the blue-and-white police car, and the two pulled out onto the highway.

“It’ll take a day or so in this form. We’re in northern California right now. Archer’s in central California,” Prowl said.

“Aw, but Prowl! That’s practically forever!”

“What would Prime do?”

Bumblebee fell silent, aside from the humming of his engine. He knew Prowl was right.

“I won’t let it happen again,” Prowl muttered to himself.

It was there, in Tyger Pax. Bombs exploded, smashing structures into scrap. Shrapnel sailed through the air, shredding streets and fleeing civilians. The sky was dyed a bloody red by infernos raging throughout the city. Prowl bore his Decepticon symbol proudly, firing his rifle at approaching Autobots.

Their leader transformed, revealing the awe-inspiring form of Optimus Prime. “Autobots! Halt their advances!” he commanded.

A white Autobot transformed into his own true form covered in red and blue armor, and swept forward, swinging a massive hammer into a Decepticon, whose chest plate shattered at the impact. He jabbed the hammer into the air toward the Decepticon ranks, and it began to emit a sizzling sound. Lightning arced and crackled from the dark blue and silver weapon, drying the air.

Above, the black and purple Skywarp screamed. “It’s Ultra Magnus!” He converted into his fighter mode and shot into the air above the battlefield, shaking in fear all the way.

Thundercracker’s face fell into his palm. “Idiot,” he growled. The blue Decepticon shot forward over the Autobot, boosters glowing white-hot and emitting the all-too-familiar sonic booms. The seeker fired downward into the crowd of Autobots, who scattered and engaged the Decepticons.

Megatron converted into his true form from his tank form, and blasted a hole in the street with his massive arm-mounted cannon. He dove into the hole, down into the sewers beneath the city. Prowl followed his leader, bravely following him wherever he would go.

“Megatron, where are we going?” Prowl asked.

Megatron turned to him in the darkness, eyes glowing red. “To our goal. This is a shortcut.”

Prowl followed Megatron through the maze of underground passages for what seemed like hours, determined to impress the Decepticon leader. Finally, they approached a stairwell leading to the city above.

The chaotic cacophony of battle sounded all throughout the Cybertronian city as Prowl followed Megatron up to the surface. In front of them stood a building, one side covered in the Autobot insignia. The rectangular structure’s guards had left their posts to help fight off the invaders.

“Excellent,” Megatron said, balling his hand into a fist and rubbing it with the other hand. “Prowl, you have proved your loyalty by following me all the way here. Now you will prove your worthiness by destroying this Autobot nursery!”

Prowl shrunk back at his leader’s words. “Nursery?” he asked, stunned. His mouth hung agape and his eyes wide. “As in, where hatchlings are educated and raised?”

“Prowl, you’re not an idiot. What other purpose do nurseries on Cybertron serve?” Megatron taunted.

That was when Optimus Prime reached them. “Megatron, don’t do it!”

Megatron turned to his arch nemesis. “Oh, I’m not going to do it,” he growled, indicating Prowl, who was stepping forward and preparing his shoulder-mounted missile launcher to fire.

Prowl shook with agitation. Megatron was his leader! But these were hatchlings and nurse-bots! Megatron would restore greatness to Cybertron! But without hatchlings, there would be no future for Cybertron! The humming of his missile launcher pierced into his audio sensors, furthering the internal conflict.

Prowl’s spark tightened. His joints jerked. He closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again, opened them again. He expelled a burst of air, not hearing the arguments of either Prime or Megatron.

He turned, determination evident on his face. “No.”

Megatron looked at Prowl, enraged. “WHAT? YOU DARE DEFY ME?”

“I will not sacrifice our future. These are hatchlings, for Primus’ sake!” Prowl shot back.

“You know the price for treason, and this, traitor, is most certainly treason!” Megatron spat, adding extra venom to ‘traitor’. Megatron raised the arm attached to his cannon, charging his most infamous weapon.

“No, Megatron, don’t!” Prime shouted.

“Prime, back away!” Prowl shouted, as he heard once again the humming of his launcher.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Megatron shouted.

“I would,” Prowl retorted.

The missile fired, and Prowl saw it all in slow motion. The instant the missile reached Megatron, the micro-fusion cannon fired. But the blast of the missile sent the Decepticon leader into a backwards tumble, and the burst of energy from his cannons missed high, exploding against the outer wall of the nursery.

Prowl turned back toward the building. “No,” he whispered to himself. He could hear the screaming of the nurses inside as the wall collapsed, the crunching of smashed metal, the booming as it all came down. He fell to his knees, horrified. He paid no attention as Megatron climbed back to his feet amongst the debris from Prowl’s missile. He didn’t hear Megatron swear revenge. He didn’t see Megatron convert into his fighter jet form and blast off into the sky, to lead the Decepticons into retreat.

Prime approached Prowl and placed his hand on the now-former Decepticon’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, soldier.”

Shaken from his stupor by the Autobot leader’s words, he stood and faced the red and blue form. “I want to be an Autobot, sir.”

Prowl’s thoughts returned to the present, as he faded back into his body. Worn, scratched Prowl, with the slashed Decepticon symbol on his hood, and a smaller Autobot symbol beneath it.

[Minerva]

“This is Walter R. bang! Path here [...]"

Hehe! Very clever!

Another great chapter! Looking forward to the next!

[PrimeDirective]

I hoped you guys would be able to catch that. I realized too late that I hadn't included Warpath in my list of Autobots for the series, so I had to include him somehow.