Hello Everyone.
Hi, my name's Cuprum and I'm new. It's great to see that there's a community for Beast Wars and I kinda just wanted to join in on the fun.
I humbly offer up a fanfic to anyone who's willing to give it (and me) a chance.
Hope you enjoy it :)
Civil Monsters
Cheetor, Depth Charge and Rampage were out numbered, disadvantaged, and more dangerous than the Predicons could have guessed. However, stopping Megatron and rescuing the Maximals will all be rather pointless if they killed each other in the process...
------
Chapter 1: Wonderful Day
“Count your smiles instead of your tears; Count your courage instead of your fears.”
~Anonymous
------
His jaws closed on the animal’s throat and he immediately tasted blood. Using his weight, all forced on that one point, he twisted and heaved. Fighting him, the buck over balanced and came down. It tried to kick him but thrashing hooves couldn’t reach. Its eyes were wild with terror and froth was gathering around its muzzle.
It arched and emitted a soft, mellow bleat, accepting its death, before slumping and stilling.
He released his hold on it and sat back calming, waiting.
The tall swamp-grasses rustled as something large rose from the mire, water dripping off the much larger frame. Their optics met, red and green.
“Curious,” murmured the swamp-dwelling beastie, “that, in this place, monsters meet like civilized creatures… And, so called, ‘civilized’ creatures become monsters. ”
There was a mechanical ‘click’ to the left. His head swung around and he came he found a barbed mace pointed at his nose. A larger mech, maybe twice his size, was holding the weapon, face twisted into a grimace of fury and scorn.
The swamp creature chuckled. “Curious,” he said, “very curious.”
Unable to face the snarling mech any longer, he turned back to the swamp-beast.
“Civil monsters or monstrous mechs; it seems there are not many choices for creatures like us,” he continued, “Which are you, Kitty?”
He wavered, unsure how to respond.
He could still taste blood. Breathing was hard.
“Kitty cat?”
Suddenly, he knew what was happening.
“Tabby?”
He was dreaming.
“Tabby!”
Cheetor gasped and shot up.
His room, thank Primus; his bunk, his data pads, his effects. The familiarity offered him a sudden rush of comfort. He drew in on himself, shuttering, bringing his hands to his face-
Cheetor caught a glimpse of his twisted, claw-tipped, dark hands, and brought them to his chest instead. His new body was impressive, strong and frightening; it still seemed alien and malicious, even to him.
“Tabby?”
Blackarachnia’s voice was low and soothing.
He jumped.
“‘Arachnia?” Cheetor grunted, and winced when he heard how hoarse and scratchy his voice was. His pride caught up with him; Cheetor straightened up and turned to face her, debating whether or not he should stand up.
He reset his vocal-module and tried again, “What are you doing here?”
She folded her arms below her curved torso-plate, and eyed him warily. “Your shift’s up next, kitty,” she replied, “You said to wake you up half a megacycle before, remember?”
He had said that; he remembered.
He reset his vocal-module.
“Thanks, ‘Arachnia,” said Cheetor. He swung his feet off the berth and set them on the cold floor, and shivered. He tried to tell himself it was the chill.
The femme was still watching him, optics thoughtful, faceplate cool, and, in a surprisingly warm voice, she asked, “Are you okay, kid?”
Cheetor blinked, expression slack with shock and curiosity; had he just heard her right? She was asking if he was okay?
Cheetor had tried to get her attention for so long and, now that he had it, he had no idea how to react. “I’m-I’m fine!” he stuttered. He could feel the heat rising in his faceplate. Cheetor hastily stood up, putting him a head over her shorter frame. “I-I should… you know… get going… Thanks for waking me up,” he added quickly, not wanting her to think him ungrateful.
She didn’t look convinced, lip components pursed, black optics narrow.
He fidgeted.
“Alight,” she replied evenly, “If you say so. Now, get going, Tabby.”
“Yeah… b-bye,” he said, skirting around her and out the door.
Never mind that it was his room, Cheetor was glad for the excuse to get away; the last thing he needed was t be stuck in close-confines with Blackarachnia, especially after her rejection of him and the awkwardness his feelings had caused between him and her and Silverbolt.
The thought alone made him uncomfortable.
He went straight for the galley, a roofless, lean-to structure set up near the control centre, intent on getting some energon before he went on patrol. It was was dark, of course, and empty of mechs. Cheetor didn’t bother with the lamps; his transmetal II… ‘upgrade’… had effected all of his systems, night vision included, rendering the lights unnecessary.
He rooted around in one of the cupboards and pulled out a cup. Since the Axalon’s destruction, the Maximals had been left with nothing to create cubes for their energon. Now they were using cups made from scrap metal salvaged from the wreck. They were sturdy, if rough, and all around the same size. The cup he had was large enough it could have fit comfortably in one of Depth Charge’s massive hands; he had to hold it with both of his, long fingers splayed.
For a moment, he just stared at his hands; they were slender, his tapered fingers were disproportionately long, and crafted form a dark, seamless organic-alloy. They were deceptively fragile-looking, much stronger than he was used to; he had accidently crushed one of Rhinox’s hands in a panic the day after his reformatting.
Cheetor gave himself a shake. “No,” he murmured, ending that train of thought. “Come on; snap out of it!”
He checked his internal chronometer and discovered he only had a few cycles left before his shift. “Oh, slag,” he grunted, and he stepped up to the energon dispenser and filled the cup half way. On the Axalon, they had had an entire set of systems dedicated to their energon stores. Most of it was unsalvageable, of course (that was just how their luck had been going lately). This one was a damaged, back-up dispenser that had to be manually operated, and produced a gritty, deep pink, low grade energon. It was thick and almost too sweet, even for him.
He downed the cup quickly. The energon hit his tanks and immediately gave him a surge of strength. Then he rinsed out the cup, and his mouth, with water.
Cheetor checked his chronometer again, and, from one makeshift structure to another, went to the control centre.
Rhinox was there, of course; Rhinox was always in the control centre these days. He barely spared Cheetor a glance before returning to the monitors. “Good morning, Cheetor,” he murmured, “You’ve got a patrol coming up, right?”
Cheetor nodded then realized that Rhinox would not have seen it. “Yeah,” he confirmed aloud, “in sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi.”
“That’s pretty far out,” Rhinox said, pulling up a map on another screen; their base and sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi were both highlighted in green. They were separated by a considerable amount of terrain, one of the reasons why Cheetor’s shift was supposed to take up most of the day. “Try to keep in radio contact.”
“Why? Afraid I can’t handle whatever’s out there?”
“That’d be my concern.”
Cheetor snorted, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, horn head.”
A small smile spread across Rhinox’s face, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the doors, “Go on. Get out of here.”
Cheetor grinned and stuck his tongue out that the engineer, spark lighter, before going for the heavily armored doors. Rhinox had already triggered open the door for him and there was just enough space for Cheetor to hunch his shoulders and slip through. Outside, the young Maximal drew some of the cool early morning air through his vents and cycled it through his systems before expelling it in a rush.
Hopefully patrol would help take his mind off the dream and the awkwardness concerning Blackarachnia and Silverbolt.
Rattrap was manning one of the guns. The spy waved at him sleepily. Cheetor waved back before flipping into his beast mode. “See ya later, Rattrap,” he said.
“Have fun,” the spy muttered, sarcastic even at this hour.
“You bet!” the cat replied; patrol or not, he intended to make the most of his day away from base.
Rattrap seemed mildly disgusted by his early morning enthusiasm.”Tch. Why are you still here, Spots?” The minibot waved him away. “Get goin’!”
Cheetor snickered, “See ya, rat-face.”
“I said ‘go’!”
Cheetor shook his head, still snickering, before rocking back on his hind quarters and taking off.
It felt good to run. He couldn’t fly with this new body but he was so fast and agile, it hardly seemed to matter. He was sure he was going to miss flying at some point, but for now he was falling in love with his feet all over again; in his first transmetal body he’d almost forgotten how enjoyable it was to just be on the ground.
Besides, he was now faster afoot than he had been as a flier.
Cheetor cleared the canyons surrounding the volcano and the buried Arc faster than most mechs could have managed. The rough gorges gave way to barren foothills and, further out, rolling grasslands. Anticipation sent a rush of excitement through his spark. Speed, the rush of air, the low burning in his taxed frame; this was what he lived for.
The decision to use his top speed was spontaneous; he knew he couldn’t keep it up for long, but why not see how fast and how far he could go in that limited time? There was nothing to justify it but itself and his own excitement. He lengthened his strides to great bounding leaps, and activated the booster grafted to his back.
Details were swept away as his already considerable stride quadrupled in length. The wind howling passed his audials drowned out the rest of the world. Pumps and motors throughout his frame were working double time. The pressure was rapidly increasing.
He broke the sound barrier and time slowed, just for an instant. His systems did a quick, auto-reset. His audials were ringing. Then he was moving faster than the world around him.
His sensors informed him that he was traveling at nearly mach two, and a giddy thrill raced along his circuits. Cheetor ignored his rapidly depleting energy reserves and pushed himself for a few more seconds, before his frame flatly refused to keep it up. His CPU began to drone monotone warnings about energy levels, highly taxed components, overheating, and ‘initiating restrictive protocols to prevent possible damage’.
‘Override,’ he ordered.
His main computer attempted to comply, but only a few seconds later the warning returned, more insistent.
‘Initiating restrictive protocols and immediate shut down of unnecessary systems to prevent possible damage,’ recited his computer.
“Alright, alright,” Cheetor muttered, slowing. Top speed was fun, but only if he didn’t drop of energy depletion afterwards. Besides, the aching in his limbs testified to the strain and his cooling system was working double time. “Okay, time to slow down a little.”
The young Maximal eased back to a lazy lope, and checked his internal read-outs. He was almost at sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi; if he kept his current pace he’d be there in twenty cycles (give or take). Still giddy with the post-run thrill, Cheetor hopped, skipped and jumped a few paces before carrying on.
As soon as his systems cooled down, he wanted to go for another run.
* * *
It hadn’t been hard to get Depth Charge to follow him, but then again, it never was; he had just brushed the very edge of the Maximal’s sensory field, and Depth Charge had dropped everything and taken off after him.
Rampage kept up the brisk pace and checked back, not with his sensors by with his spark; he could feel Depth Charge, deep running pain and hot rage that verged on the out of control. Coupled with the lovely little taste of freedom Megatron’s newest plan allowed him, it looked as if it would shape up to be a wonderful day.
With any luck, Depth Charge would catch up to Rampage soon; Megatron had ordered him not to engage in a fight until Rampage received word, but it would hardly be his fault if the flier engaged him first.
More so, he could feel another spark approaching from the west; the Maximal cub, if he was not mistaken. That was good; not only would the youngling’s presence provide him with further ammunition against Depth Charge, but he had a personal score to settle with the cat.
Rampage chuckled, “Ah, yes; wonderful indeed.”
* * *
Megatron re-checked the small device magnetically fastened to his chest plates, the closest he would get to admitting uncertainly of any kind. His plan hinged on the operation of these devices; they had been successful in field tests but they only operated within a limited window.
He glanced at Tarantulas, hanging silently against the cliff face directly above the Maximal base, or more accurately, the Maximal guarding the doors. Megatron could only spot him because of the angle; any lower and maniacal spider would have disappeared against the stone’s uneven surface. While not on the best of terms with the arachnid, Megatron knew him well enough to be assured he had Tarantulas’ loyalty for the time being.
He had already received word from Rampage that Depth Charge had been located. Rampage was currently leading the Maximal around in circles, further and further away, and waiting for Megatron’s signal to engage the other triple changer in a fight; the crab was not pleased with having to wait but, not wishing to incite further punishment, Rampage complied.
He had seen the pussycat leave the base only cycles ago; the youngling was fond of long patrols and copious amounts of legwork, taken on for no other reason than the expenditure of his boundless energy. With those two out of the way for now, he just had to wait for Optimus to be lured out.
Megatron smirked; they were running out of time and the devices didn’t work for ever, but, with the way things looked to be heading thus far, it didn’t seem too unreasonable to hope for Optimus to act soon.
He glanced at the three Predicons stationed with him: Dinobot II was strutlessly relaxed, optics focused and unwavering, Inferno was still and stiffly at attention, blaster pointed skyward, awaiting the signal, and Quickstrike was practically buzzing with excitement, bouncing on his feet.
His smirk widened a little more. ‘Now, Optimus,’ he thought, turning back to the blast doors that protected the Maximal base and the Arc within, ‘just take the bait.’
------
------
Rereading it, I can't help but realize how cheesy this whole story is...
But I still hope some of you enjoyed it. If people do find they like it, I'll get up the next chapter soon-ish...
See you lot later!
PS: one or two people passing through may know me from Fanfiction.Net. I any of you are here, it nice to see you again!
I humbly offer up a fanfic to anyone who's willing to give it (and me) a chance.
Hope you enjoy it :)
Civil Monsters
Cheetor, Depth Charge and Rampage were out numbered, disadvantaged, and more dangerous than the Predicons could have guessed. However, stopping Megatron and rescuing the Maximals will all be rather pointless if they killed each other in the process...
------
Chapter 1: Wonderful Day
“Count your smiles instead of your tears; Count your courage instead of your fears.”
~Anonymous
------
His jaws closed on the animal’s throat and he immediately tasted blood. Using his weight, all forced on that one point, he twisted and heaved. Fighting him, the buck over balanced and came down. It tried to kick him but thrashing hooves couldn’t reach. Its eyes were wild with terror and froth was gathering around its muzzle.
It arched and emitted a soft, mellow bleat, accepting its death, before slumping and stilling.
He released his hold on it and sat back calming, waiting.
The tall swamp-grasses rustled as something large rose from the mire, water dripping off the much larger frame. Their optics met, red and green.
“Curious,” murmured the swamp-dwelling beastie, “that, in this place, monsters meet like civilized creatures… And, so called, ‘civilized’ creatures become monsters. ”
There was a mechanical ‘click’ to the left. His head swung around and he came he found a barbed mace pointed at his nose. A larger mech, maybe twice his size, was holding the weapon, face twisted into a grimace of fury and scorn.
The swamp creature chuckled. “Curious,” he said, “very curious.”
Unable to face the snarling mech any longer, he turned back to the swamp-beast.
“Civil monsters or monstrous mechs; it seems there are not many choices for creatures like us,” he continued, “Which are you, Kitty?”
He wavered, unsure how to respond.
He could still taste blood. Breathing was hard.
“Kitty cat?”
Suddenly, he knew what was happening.
“Tabby?”
He was dreaming.
“Tabby!”
Cheetor gasped and shot up.
His room, thank Primus; his bunk, his data pads, his effects. The familiarity offered him a sudden rush of comfort. He drew in on himself, shuttering, bringing his hands to his face-
Cheetor caught a glimpse of his twisted, claw-tipped, dark hands, and brought them to his chest instead. His new body was impressive, strong and frightening; it still seemed alien and malicious, even to him.
“Tabby?”
Blackarachnia’s voice was low and soothing.
He jumped.
“‘Arachnia?” Cheetor grunted, and winced when he heard how hoarse and scratchy his voice was. His pride caught up with him; Cheetor straightened up and turned to face her, debating whether or not he should stand up.
He reset his vocal-module and tried again, “What are you doing here?”
She folded her arms below her curved torso-plate, and eyed him warily. “Your shift’s up next, kitty,” she replied, “You said to wake you up half a megacycle before, remember?”
He had said that; he remembered.
He reset his vocal-module.
“Thanks, ‘Arachnia,” said Cheetor. He swung his feet off the berth and set them on the cold floor, and shivered. He tried to tell himself it was the chill.
The femme was still watching him, optics thoughtful, faceplate cool, and, in a surprisingly warm voice, she asked, “Are you okay, kid?”
Cheetor blinked, expression slack with shock and curiosity; had he just heard her right? She was asking if he was okay?
Cheetor had tried to get her attention for so long and, now that he had it, he had no idea how to react. “I’m-I’m fine!” he stuttered. He could feel the heat rising in his faceplate. Cheetor hastily stood up, putting him a head over her shorter frame. “I-I should… you know… get going… Thanks for waking me up,” he added quickly, not wanting her to think him ungrateful.
She didn’t look convinced, lip components pursed, black optics narrow.
He fidgeted.
“Alight,” she replied evenly, “If you say so. Now, get going, Tabby.”
“Yeah… b-bye,” he said, skirting around her and out the door.
Never mind that it was his room, Cheetor was glad for the excuse to get away; the last thing he needed was t be stuck in close-confines with Blackarachnia, especially after her rejection of him and the awkwardness his feelings had caused between him and her and Silverbolt.
The thought alone made him uncomfortable.
He went straight for the galley, a roofless, lean-to structure set up near the control centre, intent on getting some energon before he went on patrol. It was was dark, of course, and empty of mechs. Cheetor didn’t bother with the lamps; his transmetal II… ‘upgrade’… had effected all of his systems, night vision included, rendering the lights unnecessary.
He rooted around in one of the cupboards and pulled out a cup. Since the Axalon’s destruction, the Maximals had been left with nothing to create cubes for their energon. Now they were using cups made from scrap metal salvaged from the wreck. They were sturdy, if rough, and all around the same size. The cup he had was large enough it could have fit comfortably in one of Depth Charge’s massive hands; he had to hold it with both of his, long fingers splayed.
For a moment, he just stared at his hands; they were slender, his tapered fingers were disproportionately long, and crafted form a dark, seamless organic-alloy. They were deceptively fragile-looking, much stronger than he was used to; he had accidently crushed one of Rhinox’s hands in a panic the day after his reformatting.
Cheetor gave himself a shake. “No,” he murmured, ending that train of thought. “Come on; snap out of it!”
He checked his internal chronometer and discovered he only had a few cycles left before his shift. “Oh, slag,” he grunted, and he stepped up to the energon dispenser and filled the cup half way. On the Axalon, they had had an entire set of systems dedicated to their energon stores. Most of it was unsalvageable, of course (that was just how their luck had been going lately). This one was a damaged, back-up dispenser that had to be manually operated, and produced a gritty, deep pink, low grade energon. It was thick and almost too sweet, even for him.
He downed the cup quickly. The energon hit his tanks and immediately gave him a surge of strength. Then he rinsed out the cup, and his mouth, with water.
Cheetor checked his chronometer again, and, from one makeshift structure to another, went to the control centre.
Rhinox was there, of course; Rhinox was always in the control centre these days. He barely spared Cheetor a glance before returning to the monitors. “Good morning, Cheetor,” he murmured, “You’ve got a patrol coming up, right?”
Cheetor nodded then realized that Rhinox would not have seen it. “Yeah,” he confirmed aloud, “in sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi.”
“That’s pretty far out,” Rhinox said, pulling up a map on another screen; their base and sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi were both highlighted in green. They were separated by a considerable amount of terrain, one of the reasons why Cheetor’s shift was supposed to take up most of the day. “Try to keep in radio contact.”
“Why? Afraid I can’t handle whatever’s out there?”
“That’d be my concern.”
Cheetor snorted, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, horn head.”
A small smile spread across Rhinox’s face, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the doors, “Go on. Get out of here.”
Cheetor grinned and stuck his tongue out that the engineer, spark lighter, before going for the heavily armored doors. Rhinox had already triggered open the door for him and there was just enough space for Cheetor to hunch his shoulders and slip through. Outside, the young Maximal drew some of the cool early morning air through his vents and cycled it through his systems before expelling it in a rush.
Hopefully patrol would help take his mind off the dream and the awkwardness concerning Blackarachnia and Silverbolt.
Rattrap was manning one of the guns. The spy waved at him sleepily. Cheetor waved back before flipping into his beast mode. “See ya later, Rattrap,” he said.
“Have fun,” the spy muttered, sarcastic even at this hour.
“You bet!” the cat replied; patrol or not, he intended to make the most of his day away from base.
Rattrap seemed mildly disgusted by his early morning enthusiasm.”Tch. Why are you still here, Spots?” The minibot waved him away. “Get goin’!”
Cheetor snickered, “See ya, rat-face.”
“I said ‘go’!”
Cheetor shook his head, still snickering, before rocking back on his hind quarters and taking off.
It felt good to run. He couldn’t fly with this new body but he was so fast and agile, it hardly seemed to matter. He was sure he was going to miss flying at some point, but for now he was falling in love with his feet all over again; in his first transmetal body he’d almost forgotten how enjoyable it was to just be on the ground.
Besides, he was now faster afoot than he had been as a flier.
Cheetor cleared the canyons surrounding the volcano and the buried Arc faster than most mechs could have managed. The rough gorges gave way to barren foothills and, further out, rolling grasslands. Anticipation sent a rush of excitement through his spark. Speed, the rush of air, the low burning in his taxed frame; this was what he lived for.
The decision to use his top speed was spontaneous; he knew he couldn’t keep it up for long, but why not see how fast and how far he could go in that limited time? There was nothing to justify it but itself and his own excitement. He lengthened his strides to great bounding leaps, and activated the booster grafted to his back.
Details were swept away as his already considerable stride quadrupled in length. The wind howling passed his audials drowned out the rest of the world. Pumps and motors throughout his frame were working double time. The pressure was rapidly increasing.
He broke the sound barrier and time slowed, just for an instant. His systems did a quick, auto-reset. His audials were ringing. Then he was moving faster than the world around him.
His sensors informed him that he was traveling at nearly mach two, and a giddy thrill raced along his circuits. Cheetor ignored his rapidly depleting energy reserves and pushed himself for a few more seconds, before his frame flatly refused to keep it up. His CPU began to drone monotone warnings about energy levels, highly taxed components, overheating, and ‘initiating restrictive protocols to prevent possible damage’.
‘Override,’ he ordered.
His main computer attempted to comply, but only a few seconds later the warning returned, more insistent.
‘Initiating restrictive protocols and immediate shut down of unnecessary systems to prevent possible damage,’ recited his computer.
“Alright, alright,” Cheetor muttered, slowing. Top speed was fun, but only if he didn’t drop of energy depletion afterwards. Besides, the aching in his limbs testified to the strain and his cooling system was working double time. “Okay, time to slow down a little.”
The young Maximal eased back to a lazy lope, and checked his internal read-outs. He was almost at sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi; if he kept his current pace he’d be there in twenty cycles (give or take). Still giddy with the post-run thrill, Cheetor hopped, skipped and jumped a few paces before carrying on.
As soon as his systems cooled down, he wanted to go for another run.
* * *
It hadn’t been hard to get Depth Charge to follow him, but then again, it never was; he had just brushed the very edge of the Maximal’s sensory field, and Depth Charge had dropped everything and taken off after him.
Rampage kept up the brisk pace and checked back, not with his sensors by with his spark; he could feel Depth Charge, deep running pain and hot rage that verged on the out of control. Coupled with the lovely little taste of freedom Megatron’s newest plan allowed him, it looked as if it would shape up to be a wonderful day.
With any luck, Depth Charge would catch up to Rampage soon; Megatron had ordered him not to engage in a fight until Rampage received word, but it would hardly be his fault if the flier engaged him first.
More so, he could feel another spark approaching from the west; the Maximal cub, if he was not mistaken. That was good; not only would the youngling’s presence provide him with further ammunition against Depth Charge, but he had a personal score to settle with the cat.
Rampage chuckled, “Ah, yes; wonderful indeed.”
* * *
Megatron re-checked the small device magnetically fastened to his chest plates, the closest he would get to admitting uncertainly of any kind. His plan hinged on the operation of these devices; they had been successful in field tests but they only operated within a limited window.
He glanced at Tarantulas, hanging silently against the cliff face directly above the Maximal base, or more accurately, the Maximal guarding the doors. Megatron could only spot him because of the angle; any lower and maniacal spider would have disappeared against the stone’s uneven surface. While not on the best of terms with the arachnid, Megatron knew him well enough to be assured he had Tarantulas’ loyalty for the time being.
He had already received word from Rampage that Depth Charge had been located. Rampage was currently leading the Maximal around in circles, further and further away, and waiting for Megatron’s signal to engage the other triple changer in a fight; the crab was not pleased with having to wait but, not wishing to incite further punishment, Rampage complied.
He had seen the pussycat leave the base only cycles ago; the youngling was fond of long patrols and copious amounts of legwork, taken on for no other reason than the expenditure of his boundless energy. With those two out of the way for now, he just had to wait for Optimus to be lured out.
Megatron smirked; they were running out of time and the devices didn’t work for ever, but, with the way things looked to be heading thus far, it didn’t seem too unreasonable to hope for Optimus to act soon.
He glanced at the three Predicons stationed with him: Dinobot II was strutlessly relaxed, optics focused and unwavering, Inferno was still and stiffly at attention, blaster pointed skyward, awaiting the signal, and Quickstrike was practically buzzing with excitement, bouncing on his feet.
His smirk widened a little more. ‘Now, Optimus,’ he thought, turning back to the blast doors that protected the Maximal base and the Arc within, ‘just take the bait.’
------
------
Rereading it, I can't help but realize how cheesy this whole story is...
But I still hope some of you enjoyed it. If people do find they like it, I'll get up the next chapter soon-ish...
See you lot later!
PS: one or two people passing through may know me from Fanfiction.Net. I any of you are here, it nice to see you again!