» 'amatomneslogs' Entry: Third person. A post in the style of the logs community, it should be TWO HUNDRED words or more. Using the arrival scenario provided in the general FAQ, show us how your character will react to arriving in Atia. Please make sure your post CLEARLY DEMONSTRATES your character's personality. Show, don't tell. Show us their perceptions, motivations, what makes them tick. Dialog and introspection are a plus. Also remember to spell check.
He'd been hit. He knew that, quite clearly, as he knew the status of every part of his body, at all times. It was a glancing blow, though, with a weapon that had insufficient power to create anything beyond a tickle. It was the wild firing of a desperate Decepticon who knew its time in the universe was coming to a close. Teletraan I had detected it on the South Coast of Western Australia, doing Prime-knows-what, and Optimus had sent Cliffjumper and Hound to investigate.
And terminate. That seemed the most likely outcome. Capture wasn't going to be an option with this one, though the Autobots tried, on occasion. The Decpticons were usually too loyal to Megatron, too terrified of Starscream or too stupid to think about the possibility of switching sides. The enemy never surrendered. Cliffjumper was fine with that. He'd been a soldier for Cybertron for hundreds of thousands of years, which was a very long time no matter what form of life you consulted and how long a 'year' actually lasted on their world. He had been ending the existence of Decepticons for as long as he could remember. The only thing that bothered him, if anything could be said to bother him at all, was the final outcome when the battles were won and the war was finally over.
What would a soldier do in a time of peace?
Not that it was likely to happen soon - if ever - but it was one of the thoughts he processed periodically. That and the awareness that he consistently took risks others wouldn't and tended to place himself in the line of fire without a second thought. Cliffjumper didn't want to die, but a part of him seemed to need that edge, that sharpness of danger -
He'd been hit. He skidded in his red Porsche 924 form, flipped a few times, transformed on the third roll and landed in his bipedal format, plasma gun drawn, blue optics blazing bright. They were in a remote location, some kind of national park the Humans had established. Protected. Fragile. Optimus would have them monitoring security at boring, Human political meetings if a species went extinct because of their actions. All the more reason to end this as quickly as possible - though Cliffjumper wasn't wired that way. Was he technically stable in the circuits? That was a question for someone in a different department.
"Don't make it easy for us, Decepti-creep!" he yelled to their target, a four-wheel-drive vehicle of questionable vintage who had transformed primarily, Cliffjumper thought, because he and Hound were catching up to it. "I've been bored lately!" There was only so much on television to keep him occupied when he wasn't hanging around the base, waiting for something to happen, teasing Perceptor or ragging Hound or Brawn, generally being annoying. He needed a challenge. This Decepticon wasn't really going to be one, though. A shame.
Cliffjumper aimed and fired, then Hound was yelling 'Incoming!' He turned, looked, and found himself knocked onto his right side, hard. So, the enemy wasn't alone, after all. Maybe this was going to be fun. He rolled onto his back, gun raised...
- and the power was incredible, a surge of energy, making him feel alive, terrified, burning -
He became grounded again and realized he was on his back still, hot and drained and - panting?
The blue eyes opened abruptly - When had they closed? - and he stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. Hadn't he been in Australia, outside, in a fight with - Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. His right side felt sore, so he rolled onto his left -
An awkward body hit the floor, limbs splayed, muscles tense, mind in shock from the realization that he was inside flesh. His eyes - not his optics - were looking at a strangely decorated room that was nothing like the Autobot base and he was inside flesh. Cliffjumper struggled to stand. He managed it, with the assistance of one hand on the bed to steady him. The bed he'd just abruptly vacated. He stood and looked down at his feet, fleshy lumps supporting fleshy appendages, supporting fleshy -
He slowly lifted his hands, held them closer to his eyes and inspected them as if they belonged to someone else. At that moment, they might as well have belonged to someone else, for all the familiarity he had with them, except he couldn't deny that he was looking at parts of himself. He reached down with one hand, touched the sweaty skin, the sticky portion between his legs. What had happened? How was he flesh? Vulnerable, sticky flesh...
Cliffjumper's eyes narrowed. It was a trick. Some kind of Decepticon trick, to make him think he was weak, defenseless, useless. He wasn't flesh. Flesh needed protecting. He shook his hands, suddenly, rapidly, as if the skin would fall away to reveal his true form underneath. It didn't work. Next, he started sliding his fingers over his skin, looking for a seal, an edge, a clasp, a zipper - anything that would release him from this Human 'suit'. His search revealed nothing that would set him free.
He discovered his collar, though, and tugged at it ineffectively, repeatedly, until he was hurting himself. Exasperated, he took a step forward and nearly fell over. Everything was new, different, wrong. Slow down, soldier. Slow down... He wasn't used to going slow. He liked to go fast. One foot in front of the other, he reached the reflective surface he'd seen from across the room and stood, staring at a Human male, slender, naked, blond, blue-eyed, and so young -
Cliffjumper lifted one arm, just to be sure, and the reflection did the same. He blinked, touched his hair - I have hair... - and determined that all his sensors were on-line. They were just... different. He turned slowly and scanned the room. Furniture designed for Humans, in a style that reminded him of something from Earth's historical archives. Roman. An empire that rose and fell like so many planetary tides. There was fabric folded at the bottom of the bed. His eyes narrowed again, as if that would improve his ability to see it. So much for the zoom function... He stumbled back toward the bed and the fabric and sat down, picking up something red that might have been a top for a Human. There was something black that was... a jacket? He pulled it closer to his face and sniffed it: animal hide. Leather. There were bottoms that also seems to be made of leather and items that Humans slipped onto their feet, apparently of a running shoe design. Clothing. It looked like clothing. Like something Spike Witwicky would wear. Now there was a scattered piece of brilliant life.
And there was a gun. It wasn't a plasma gun or his gas gun or anything a Cybertronian soldier would use. It was a firearm for a Human. He recognized it as something used by some of the Human forces he encountered on occasion. It was a SIG Sauer P226 Combat, 9mm with a 'flat black earth' frame, night sights, a Nitron-finished slide and barrel, fore slide serrations, and a military standard M1913 Picatinny rail. Cliffjumper had familiarized himself with all the weapons their forces could bring to bear against the enemy. It was comforting to at least have one gun...
He looked across the room at the mirror, suddenly, as if taking himself by surprise would change what he would see. It did not. A young Human male, seated on the end of a bed, stared back at him.
I'm in flesh.
It was horrifying.
And he did what any severely-altered, terrified, angry life form might do in a similar situation. He screamed.