Transformers short stories

[Thundermuffin]

It's weird how I can mostly only write parody or satirical material for mecha piloted by humans, but I can go dead-serious with sentient alien mecha lifeforms. But whatever.

Over at the IDW comic boards, they have monthly Transformers short story writing contests. I usually participate and thus have amassed a small stockpile of short Transformers stories.

So, I figured I may as well stick them here too, as I will continue to enter the contest every time a theme strikes that I like.

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“Drift”

-

I am many things.

I am a healer and I am a killer.

I am determined, wholly driven to do my job, fulfill my duty…and yet, I could honestly care less.

I want everyone to do better, I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them and tell them to stop giving half of themselves and just give their all.

No, that isn’t true- I want them to tone it down, I want them to relax, to not worry about every little detail, I want…to…

I don’t know what I want.

-

“DEFENSOR!” screamed Prowl. “What are you DOING??”

“Stupid gestalt confused! Not need him anyway. Got DINOBOTS!”

Grimlock answered Prowl’s question and charged forth with a battle cry. Predictably, his four subordinates emulated their commander’s action with gusto and soon five bulky Autobots, all primarily gray in color, were leaping into the fray. Prowl sighed, a reaction so commonplace to him now that it felt almost like a cliché.

Across the field of battle, the Stunticons formed-up around Motormaster and a scant ten seconds later, the terrifying visage of Menasor loomed over the combat zone.

Normally Prowl would have felt reassured knowing Defensor was on the scene. But at the moment, the amalgamation of the five Protectobots seemed like a helpless human child- cowed, stymied, halted in his tracks by a reason or reasons unknown.

A bit of occasional sluggishness was common, certainly expected in most combiners, but Defensor usually didn’t display the handicaps that plagued his fellow Autobot gestalt Superion and the Decepticons’ Devastator, Bruticus, and Menasor.

No, something was definitely amiss today, and Prowl knew the true problem lie not in Defensor’s physical components, but in the giant Protectobot’s patchwork mindscape.

Prowl just hoped that whatever was wrong, Hotspot and the others could sort it out before it was too late…

-

Why are you doing this? Why now?

Because he can’t take anymore. Because he needs to stop.

Needs to stop?? We’re in the middle of a battle- this is NOT the time to be a whiny little pacifist!

You don’t understand. You never will.

What’s to understand, you gutless wimp?? And YOU, YOU’RE helping him! You’re siding with him!

We aren’t wrong to feel the way we do.

The timing could be a little better though.

Agreed. I know how you two feel, but I can’t have this now. Not when the others are depending on us.

If not now, when? When will it end? It only ends when someone decides to make it end. And I’m deciding that now.

YOU GLITCH-RIDDEN SON OF A SCRAPLET!

Enough. Calm down. You aren’t helping.

So to hold to your ideals, you’ll condemn us to die? You’ll condemn our friends and comrades to die?

I…just want it to-

I’m sorry, but they are right. My oath is to save lives. No matter my personal feelings, I’ll have failed in that oath if we stop fighting now.

Please…I’m not strong enough to do this without you.

I’m your friend. I said I’d support you. But not like this.

Four-to-one, rust-brain. You can’t drag us down alone.

Shut your mouth and focus.

I don’t want to do this anymore. Please don’t make me…

I am sincerely sorry, but this is the last word on the matter for the time being.

-

A thunderous blow to Menasor’s chest plate signaled the return of Defensor to the battlefield. As the Dinobots began to rout the enemy anew, Prowl turned his gaze upward to Defensor’s troubled countenance.

“Are you alright?”

“No. Part of me wants to die.”

END

[Thundermuffin]

"The Trap"

-

He'd never considered himself extremely lucky by any means, but for Leniro "The Swathcutter" Rinel, this was as lucky as one could get.

A wanted being on seventeen worlds, including his home planet of Elthak, Leniro had received the news through somewhat unsavory channels. Death's Head, the widely-known and widely-feared interplanetary bounty hunter, had targeted him for termination. Leniro had initially scoffed at the claim. Surely there were bigger fish to fry in the cosmos than a lowly mass-murderer like himself. But when he was informed that Death's Head had arrived planet-side yesterday, Leniro's bluster quickly vanished.

Leniro had dealt with bounty hunters after his hide before, but this was different. This wasn't that Autobrand-wearing blue-and-red clown or that meatbag with the fancy armor who favored disintegrations.

This was Death's Head. No one knew if he was a cyborg or a pure mechanoid, but everyone knew that he always got the job done, regardless of conditions, no matter the quarry. Leniro knew that extreme measures had to be taken to ensure his continued existence.

It took some convincing and more bribery to get the others to join him, but Leniro felt a satisfying sense of accomplishment when he took a final headcount. Nine others of varying species, all with prices on their heads, all putting aside mutual hostility for this one purpose. Leniro wasn't worried about actually following up on paying them; he could easily skip town or leave the planet after this was done. Besides, ridding the universe of Death's Head ought to be payment enough for these other wanted beings.

The trap was set, the bait dangled, and surely enough, the quarry snared. Death’s Head had come blithely, arrogantly strolling into town cycles ago. No weapons bared, no mounted tension or wary optics, he just walked into the town without a seeming care in the ’verse.

And Leniro and his cronies had emptied their weapons into the bounty hunter. Springing from predetermined hiding places, every plasma charge and armor-piercing bullet left their guns, every remote mine and un-pinned grenade went off, and every wire-guided missile had unerringly found its target. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of Death’s Head was a limbless torso covered by a shredded red cape, with a pitted, skeletal head still twitching on the bounty hunter’s neck.

After a rudimentary scan from afar for internal explosives, Leniro confidently strode up to the body. He kicked the ruined torso over, wanting to look his would-be executioner straight in the face.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” Leniro taunted. “You got caught up in yer own hype and this is what it gets ya!”

What was left of the bounty hunter’s head looked up, sparking and sputtering, and tried to make a noise.

“What was that? Got some last words, proto-frag?” Leniro leaned in closer.

“F…u…h- rrrrrr…cuh…”

“What? Speak up!”

“Fah…cnnnn…ct”

A knot of anxiety unexpectedly built up in each of Leniro’s three stomachs. “What are you tryin’ to-”

“Faaaaaaaaaacccccc…”

A sudden, unexplained fear took Leniro and he lashed out and tore the remains of the bounty hunter’s head off with astonishing ease. “SPIT IT OUT, TRASH!”

A voice called out from overhead.

“Facsimile construct.”

Leniro whirled around and saw a caped figure on the roof of a nearby oil-house, aiming a shoulder-braced rocket launcher directly at him.

“Feel honored, yes? Those don’t come cheap.”

Death’s Head fired.

END

[Thundermuffin]

“Garbage In…”

-

“SNAPDRAGON!” screeched Windsweeper.

“Huh, whut?” came the response as Snapdragon lazily turned in the direction of the irate Triggercon.

“That’s IT! That’s ENOUGH! I’ve had it!” Windsweeper raged. “I can take being forced to hole up in this filthy bunker until we raze this planet’s civilization to ash, but I CANNOT put up with THIS anymore!”

Snapdragon cocked his head curiously. “Put up with this what?”

“Like you don’t KNOW! It is slagging UNBEARABLE!”

Snapdragon folded his arms across his broad chest in annoyance. “Seriously, cut to the chase.”

Seemingly unaware of how willing Snapdragon was to just beat the fuel out of him at the moment, Windsweeper pointed with a shaking, manic finger at the door to Snapdragon’s quarters, which hung open.

“My door? Ehhhh, just easier to leave it open. Then I don’t have to hit the button when I want to go in.” said Snapdragon with a shrug.

“Your door isn’t the POINT! What drifts OUT from inside your room is!” Windsweeper ranted. “The mounds of garbage and waste you just leave sitting around STINK! And my olfactory sensors detect it all the way from DOWN THE HALL and even THROUGH MY DOOR! I swear, I can even smell it when I‘m OFF-LINE!”

Having heard the argument going on in the hallway, Skalor poked his head out from his own quarters.

“Aw, it ain’t so bad, ‘Sweeper” the Seacon offered. “I don’t notice it.”

Windsweeper’s near-crazed optics turned in Skalor’s direction.

“That’s because you are used to being a reeking, unwashed bag of refuse YOURSELF, Skalor!! But some of us have standards! Some of us take pride in our personal hygiene!”

Skalor shrugged and shrunk back into his quarters as Windsweeper turned back to Snapdragon and pointed again at the Horrorcon’s open room.

“Snapdragon, get all that damn garbage out of your quarters, or I swear I’ll file a formal complaint with-”

“Yeah, yeah, calm down, pal. I’ll get on it.” Snapdragon interrupted, surprising Windsweeper with his almost congenial tone. “I’ll have all the trash out of my quarters by the time you’re back from scouting duty.”

“R-really?” Windsweeper responded with a genuine sense of hope.

“Sure. Now get going. You don’t want to be late in relieving Powerdive.” Snapdragon punctuated this friendly advice with a pat to Windsweeper’s back.

“I-I appreciate your consideration, Snapdragon.” Windsweeper smiled and marched down the hall in much better spirits than he was a moment ago.

“Anytime, buddy.” Snapdragon called after him, smirking under his faceplate.

-

Approximately one solar cycle later, Windsweeper marched down the hall again. He saw Snapdragon’s door hanging open and frowned.

“Snapdragon?? Are you in-” Windsweeper paused as he stuck his head in the door and took note of his comrade’s now-spotless room. “Hm, incredible!”

“Yo, Windsweeper! Ya like?” Snapdragon called out as he came down the opposite end of the hallway. Windsweeper regarded him with a grin.

“Great job! Now just keep it that way, and we’ll have no further issues.” Windsweeper nodded approvingly at the taller Decepticon and walked past him, headed back to his own quarters. Skalor poked his head out from within his room and watched Windsweeper stride away, then turned to Snapdragon.

“You actually did it?” Skalor asked as soon as Windsweeper was out of sight.

“Wait for it…” Snapdragon ignored the question and instead stared intently in the direction Windsweeper had gone.

“EEEEAAAAAAAAIIIIAGHHHHHHHHHH!!!” A scream abruptly emanated from down the hall.

“What the-?” Skalor asked in confusion. Snapdragon merely laughed.

“That’d be ‘Sweeper finding all the garbage I dumped in his room.”

END

[Thundermuffin]

The theme for this one was "What if Repugnus somehow became the Prime?" Sooooo, "Repugnant Prime". Wacky.

-

"Vicious Cycle"

-

Megatron wheezed, oil pooling in the corners of his mouth. “G-grant me mercy, Prime, I beg of you!”

“You, who are without mercy, now plead for it?” Prime cocked his head to the side, a smirk coming to his face. “Yeah, that sounds about right for a maggot like you.”

Megatron didn’t respond, instead trying desperately to drag himself along the ground with his one good arm. He looked up; the glow of the space bridge portal was ever so close, a luminous cradle that offered life, freedom, and above all…hope. And yet…he would never make it there in time.

Surely enough, a vicious kick swung out and knocked him on his back. A large red boot stomped down on his neck, pinning him the ground.

“You’d like to get there, wouldn’t you? So close. Get through there, the computer auto-wipes the last location so I can’t follow, and you’ve bought yourself time to lick your wounds and come back stronger than ever.”

Megatron’s optics began to fail as Prime exerted more pressure on his neck, and he felt the barrel of a gun press against his forehead.

“Megatron, the first Decepticon…and now the last. Rather poetic, actually. Or it would be if I didn’t specifically make sure it was this way.” Prime looked up at the glowing, pulsing space bridge portal, the smirk fading from his face. “True poetry springs from something incidental. A minor twist of fate, Primus jolting your bearings for a cheap laugh.”

Prime looked back down at Megatron, the smirk returning to his face. “I cheated, I forced it. This isn’t poetry. This is a joke. This is just a game. But it’ll do.”

Megatron spewed bubbling, liquid Energon from his mouth. What was Prime babbling about?

“I had all the others executed beforehand. But you were supposed to be the one everyone was waiting for, the spectacle everyone wanted to see. The whole of Cybertron would have turned out to see you melt into a mass of floating sludge in the Smelting Pits. But then that’d be that.” Prime’s smirk transformed into a genuine smile. “That’s why I let you go.”

The blinding pressure on Megatron’s neck subsided, and suddenly he felt his body being dragged, being hoisted up. Prime began pulling him closer and closer to the space bridge portal.

“They’ll be here soon. So, I’ll be seeing you off now.”

What was this? Megatron was so close to the portal now that he could feel the crackling energy spitting from the edges. With one last lurch, he could throw himself into it, to freedom. But Prime held him fast, denying him.

“You’ve twice built the Decepticons up from nothing. Third time might be the charm. And next time it reaches this point, do try to make it more sporting for me, will you?”

And with a predatory grin, Repugnant Prime tossed Megatron into the portal.

-

Autobots filled the room moments later, finding Prime sitting on the ground in front of an inactive space bridge portal. He wasn’t moving, just staring at the metal floor between his legs.

“What happened?” inquired Backstreet.

“Megatron got through the portal. Escaped. Could be anywhere now.” came the answer.

“As long as Megatron is out there, there will never be peace…” Highbrow moaned.

Unseen by anyone, Repugnant Prime grinned. “I know.”

END

[Thundermuffin]

"Broken Mold"

-

“Your name.”

Bluestreak looked up with dim optics, confused. An Autobot Security Forces officer was standing before him, clutching a data pad and intently studying the information on it. The officer’s optics never left the pad, even as he waited for Bluestreak’s response.

“E-excuse me?” Bluestreak managed to sputter out.

“Your name.” The officer repeated, without a change in tone.

“Bl-Bluestreak.”

“Bluestreak…registered merchant. Yes, I have your information as verified by the Senate’s records right here.” The officer continued on in his toneless voice, immersed in the data pad as if it were the Covenant of Primus itself. “It appears that you are the only survivor of the Praxus incident.”

The words left the officer’s mouth in the same tone, as if he were describing the weather. Bluestreak just stared as the Autobot in front of him continued to collate and catalogue data, not moving from the spot.

“In-incident??” Bluestreak whispered. The officer finally looked up at him.

“Yes.” He responded.

“They-they really did it. They burned the whole city! The whole city!” Bluestreak began, anger rising in his throat.

“Yes.” Came the toneless response from the officer.

“All my friends, Hopper, Plates, Tiptop, Amalga, everyone! They killed them all!”

“Yes.” The same damned toneless tone.

“And-and you, you call it an INCIDENT??” Bluestreak yelled.

The officer’s optics did…something…and then he looked back to his data pad and set back to work as he responded.

“Yes.”

“FRAG YOU!” Bluestreak shouted, trembling with rage. The officer didn’t respond, just kept focused on his data pad as the young civilian before him glared hatefully, arms fighting to stay down. Finally, the officer spoke.

“This happens almost on a daily basis. Eventually you run out of terms monstrous enough to describe what they are doing out there.”

“I don’t care what else has happened, this was my home. My life.” Bluestreak said in a calmer voice, trying to stifle the fury within. “You don’t know how this feels. I’m the last son of Praxus.”

The officer looked up, and while his expression didn’t change, something in his voice did.

“No, you aren’t. I hail from Praxus.”

“What?” Bluestreak’s expression turned to surprise. The officer’s head tilted slightly, as if he was recalling something.

“Several members of the Security Forces were proto-hatched in Praxus as well. Fusion, Smokescreen, Ricochet…”

The names meant nothing to Bluestreak; he shook his head and looked at the floor.

“Well, whatever. You all don’t…didn’t live there when those filthy butchers attacked. You weren’t in the Brokara Marketplace when a proton bomb hit it and killed everyone I loved. You didn’t dig yourself out from under three-hundred tons of assorted wreckage and charred corpses. And you sure as SLAG weren’t there to prevent the whole thing in the FIRST PLACE!”

The officer studied Bluestreak carefully for a moment, then spoke again.

“I saw what remained of the Helix Gardens. I…wish I could have visited there one more time beforehand.”

The Helix Gardens. A place for scholars and poets and other people Bluestreak usually found stuffy and boring. Reduced to a crater, he had been told. Inwardly, Bluestreak felt a bit of shame that he had never once took the time to go beyond the Gardens’ gates to admire the methane-suspended crystals that hung within.

A few seconds of silence passed, then Bluestreak spoke.

“I’d like to join the Autobot Security Forces.”

“Autobot Army now. And I figured you might. I’ve been working on your commission this whole time.”

Bluestreak blinked in surprise, then opened his mouth to speak again.

“What’s your name?”

“Prowl. Welcome aboard.”


END

[Thundermuffin]

"High and Dry"

-

Fizzle blinked. The smoke curling upward from within the barrel of his blaster took on a questioning shape, then slowly dispersed.

How long had he been standing there? How long ago had he left Maccadam’s? Couldn’t have been more than a cycle or two. Yet, between the time his blaster discharged a round to the point where the smoke in the air was no longer visible, Fizzle felt sure he had lived several lifetimes.

“Hurg-ge-hhh.”

Something made a terrible, wretched sound. Fizzle looked to his feet and beheld a pitiful sight. An Empty, a derelict Transformer; neutral by choice, empty by definition, and now- dying by degrees. It looked up and spoke a single word.

“H-help.”

In that moment, Fizzle became sharply aware of one of his tensed digits on the trigger of a standard Autobot-issued blaster. The next moment brought a slight, sudden surge in his primary fuel pump, a reminder of the lingering buzz from a particularly intense session of over-energizing. And the moment after that- by far a much worse moment than the two that preceded it, Fizzle saw the leaking, sizzling gunshot wound in the Empty’s chest.

What had happened was obvious, but Fizzle resisted the obvious for several moments after the first three, polarizing ones. Then around the seventeenth moment, Fizzle recalled everything in unforgiving detail.

He’d staggered out of Maccadam’s, clearly beyond his limit. He turned down the alley behind the bar to take a shortcut back to Autobase. A grimy hand tapped his shoulder- he spun, he fired. And the result was this sorry robot now dying at his feet- a crumbling, dirty robot that now repeated its earlier plea.

“Hel-p…”

Fizzle abruptly backed away, panicking, dropping his blaster. The euphoria of the Energon-high had now been completely overridden with terror and revulsion.

“Whoa. Hard-CORE, Autobot.”

Fizzle looked to the end of the alleyway to see three massive forms regarding him. He recognized them instantly.

Blitzwing. Astrotrain. Octane.

Triple-Changers. Decepticons all.

“Seriously, shootin’ one of these beggars? Not even I’M that harsh.” Blitzwing chuckled, unable to hide his amusement. “These Neuts probably don’t even have enough juice in ’em to feel the pain.”

The Empty made a rattling noise. “Hur…help.”

Blitzwing grinned. “Whoops, maybe spoke too soon.”

“I-I didn’t mean…didn’t mean…” Fizzle began and then stopped, common sense striking him. Explaining, justifying himself to Decepticons? Just how drunk was he?

“Enough already. Blitzwing, finish that thing off.” Astrotrain uttered in a voice that was entirely too business-like.

That thing. Fizzle glumly noted that Astrotrain had referred to the Empty as if it was an object, wasn’t alive, wasn’t currently fighting for life on the ground of a filthy alleyway. Glancing over at the three Decepticons, Fizzle realized that the smirking Octane was staring at him with no doubt the exact same regard.

“Aw, are you rattled? Does getting oiled-up make you soft, Astrotrain?” Blitzwing taunted.

“No, stupid. The fun of killing is in the immediacy of it. In that one split-second your victim realizes they’re slagged, THAT is when I’ll laugh about it. This…this is just pathetic.” Astrotrain grumbled. He gestured again at the dying Empty. “Kill it, Blitzwing, now.”

“Eh, suit yourself.”

“Yo, make sure you WATCH this, Autobot.” Octane said, still smirking. “Think of it as a visual aid. It’ll remind that we own you now. Because if you don’t want your comrades finding out about what you did here, you’re going to do exactly as we tell you.”

Blitzwing marched over and raised his foot over the Empty’s head.

“Nighty-night, Neut.”

Blitzwing brought his foot down. Fizzle felt sick.

END

[Dean_the_Young]

You know, you're killing your review count by posting them all at once...

Well written, though I have to admit I don't know who anyone is.

[Thundermuffin]

“Grind”

-

The red warrior strikes; a solid blow across my faceplate. I am initially surprised at the sensation of pain, and then elated. It has been so long…nothing but emptiness, nothing but cold.

The one who challenges me is young, full of anger and resentment. His movements are filled with a halting tension that reminds me of myself…before the dark. A surface scan of his frame indicates several ballistic and energy weapons stowed away…but he isn’t using them. He wants to beat me with his bare fists. This is humbling.

I had long assumed our descendants would grow lazy and complacent over the millennia. That without HIS leadership, we’d never evolve beyond what we were. But this division in our species, this long war they’ve fought…it has birthed Transformers that I would be proud to call brothers.

I chance a look over at my compatriot. The red badges attack again and again in their alt modes, trying to wear him down, but he stands fast. I’ve never particularly liked him, his cruelty and sadism…but he has my respect as a warrior.

My opponent doesn’t miss the moment of distraction and nearly unhinges my jaw with his next blow. Given moments, the jaw will reset itself…a “gift” bestowed by the place of my death and rebirth. I, however, find it a damper on an otherwise enjoyable bout. I can fall, but I will rise again. My opponent can only fall once.

Damn it all. As if to remind me of another handicap, there is a sudden wrench in my gut. With effort, I ignore it and throw another punch. We will hold our position. It will happen soon. And then, I will truly be able to call this fierce warrior before me my brother. In this, the hour of the great Expansion…

END

[Thundermuffin]

"No Planet For Old Mechs"

-


The lion stood alone, on a cliff overlooking the recently-christened “New Cybertropolis”. What had once been a sleek, glittering city of metal was now covered in patchwork vegetation, irregular and disordered.

As the lion’s eyes traveled over the now months-old landscape, he found himself growing increasingly irritated. His mind demanded order, structure, evenness. But he could not find it from up here. All the city’s scattered vegetation seemed almost like stains on a once-glistening armor plate. It was simply and clinically…wrong.

A brief gust of wind and one of his expected companions arrived; an enormous bald eagle. The lion turned from his solitary viewing to greet his friend.

“Ironhide’s about a minute behind, as expected. The one thing he can never quite manage to do is get faster.” the eagle intoned, smirking. He turned his head to the view of New Cybertropolis, keen eyes taking in the sight. “Well? What do you think, Prowl?”

“They said looking through your beast mode’s optics, you’d appreciate it more, but I still really don’t see it.” Prowl admitted, even as the visage of a lion vanished and he stood on two feet again, his robot mode gleaming in the sunlight.

“Normally, I’d just shake my head and say “Same old Prowl”, but I can’t deny a certain sense of empathy.” the eagle responded, as he himself transformed.

“Silverbolt…” Prowl began with a sigh. “You make it sound like I never change.”

“That isn’t necessarily bad. To not change.” Silverbolt said with all seriousness. “Like I said, I get it.”

“Sometimes things change beyond your ability to adapt, that’s all it is.” a voice boomed out from behind the conversing Maximals.

“Ironhide, I take it your mind is made-up too?” Silverbolt spoke to the approaching elephant, as it transformed into the third member of the Maximal Imperium.

“Yeah…yes. It’s time.” Ironhide spoke with a painful bluntness.

“I do have to say, whenever one of those young upstarts addresses me as a “Maximal Elder” or sticks “The Right Honorable” in front of my name, I start to feel as old as you.” Silverbolt joked, attempting to keep the mood light.

Ignoring the playful jab, Ironhide looked straight to Prowl. “Let me make it clear. We aren’t gonna go around pickin’ fights on different planets like Grimlock does.”

“I’d be insulted with the comparison if I thought you weren’t legitimately concerned, but no, we’re definitely not doing that.” Prowl spoke plainly. He then turned to look Silverbolt in the optics. “Last chance. I know you have your doubts.”

“It’s hard…but I agree. This place is just too… ” Silverbolt trailed off, suddenly distant.

“Alien?” Prowl offered. Silverbolt slowly nodded.

“It’s funny. We operated off Earth for awhile. We’ve staged many campaigns on other primarily-organic worlds too.”

“The blink of an eye is still the blink of an eye, no matter how long it takes. Especially when it comes to our species.” Ironhide said, tinged with sadness.

“Then there’s one final thing to do to ensure our feelings match.” Prowl announced.

The other two nodded. Prowl leapt into the air, condensing and folding into a head with a flowing mane of hair. Silverbolt followed, encompassing Prowl in his wings, becoming a helmet and backpack. And finally, Ironhide appeared to come apart at the seams, swallowing his two smaller comrades and forming a protective coat and limbs around them.

Their thoughts splashed together like three lakes becoming an ocean, cool resolve washing over. And as Magnaboss took another look out over the city of New Cybertropolis, the course of action was instantly clear.

“It is agreed. We leave.”

END