Been a while, huh? - Here's five separate works.
Title: What's Real? This is real.
Rating: Teens
Characters: Vortex
Continuity: Generation 1
Prompt: Feeling the Madness Inch by Inch
Author's Note: Been watching too much Criminal Minds (and it's spin-off) Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior, cause I had to wonder where VORTEX goes when he's off duty, working his trade.
The doors - actual metal doors that could seal seamlessly into the wall, not energon bars that merely blocked physical access - slid apart, revealing a wildly grinning Vortex.
“Ready to talk?” The Decepticon torturer began pulling out scalpels, clamps, hacksaws, and other medical equipment.
Vortex waited patiently for panic, fear and dread to fully engulf the trapped mech. He helped increase the other’s fear by carefully and meticulously aligning the gleaming sharply edged tools on the equipment table, giving the silent mech time to envision those medical-based weapons being used on his motionless frame.
When no words emerged from the prisoner determined to keep what secrets remained, Vortex thrust the first bladed scalpel deep into the armorless shoulder.
“The sooner you talk, the quicker this will be over,” Vortex spoke to dead audials. He used a hacksaw to cut the struts and non-essential coolant lines.
The entire time, the mech being dissected, made no sound, didn’t move a centimeter, failed to tense up.
Feeling that something wasn’t right - no mech could have an arm torn off or slowly severed without making some kind of protest - the Combaticon stepped back, looked over his work.
A madly grinning Vortex left his private interrogation champers, sealing the doors shut behind him. The opened door momentarily revealed a rusted, half-disremembered mech impaled to the rack- a sparkless frame that had no activated pump working to keep congealed fluids flowing through the frayed lines.
Title: Lost in thought
Rating: PG
Characters: Silverbolt
Continuity: Generation 1
Prompt: Is this The Way I’ll Always Be?
Summary: What separates Silverbolt from his team? More than just his phobia - cause they've got ways around that!
Silverbolt walked along the mountainous ridgeline, one optic watching his brothers as they soared, swooped, and dove through the clouds, the other optic focused on the narrow path.
He didn’t mind the occasional break from his team - after all, they were filled with the enthusiastic energy of the young, and had little use for thinking things through. As the leader of the Aerialbots, it was his duty to keep them focused and grounded.
Letting Skydive, AirRaid, Fireflight, and Slingshot go full throttle during their precious time free was a relief for everyone. It calked the team, gave them an opportunity to release some of the pent-up energy, and allowed everyone to test their skills in a way that didn’t send anyone to the medbay (or led to being captured).
So why did Silverbolt feel more burdened by the display put on by his brothers, while he sat (or stood) and watched their crazy, untested, untried antics in the air.
“Hey, boss!”
Silverbolt ducked away as Slingshot flew close enough to hit him - in doing so, Silverbolt tumbled off the beaten path and started sliding on the loose gravel.
In less time that int takes to describe the sequence of events, a falling Silverbolt transformed, shooting up, up, and away from the mini rockslide. “Slingshot!” He shouted out, still hugging the contours of the land.
“You, Bolt!” That was Air Raid, dropping twenty-pound pebbles towards his hovering leader. “Now that you’re airborne, join the party!”
Egged on by his vary rambunctious teammates, Silverbolt rose higher and increased the power to his thrusters, easily eclipsing his previous pace a thousand fold. “When I catch you, you’ll regret hitting me with rocks!”
Soon, five Aerialbots dotted the sky, all ignoring past fears and failures.
Title: Present loss
Rating: PG
Characters: Hook
Continuity: Generation 1
Prompt: Empty Towers
Summary: Sometimes, it is necessary to stop, look around, and see what has changed.
Hook gazed across the abyss separating the war-torn landscape from the once-bustling city.
It was surprising, he mused, or not so surprising that the war which had swallowed every living Cybertron had also wrecked havoc on civilian living centers and remote outposts.
Defended or defencessl, large cities had fallen.
Shielded or evacuated for solid-bunkers, Skyscrapers had fallen into enemy hands.
Now, after the last civilian had fled, the last neutral executed, all that remained of Cybertron’s pre-war legacy was ruins.
Empty ruins that were once sky-scraping towers envied by the world.
Hook shuttered his optics, returned to where he belonged - at the spark of Decepticon medical quarters.
The past would keep. The wounded could not.
Title: The END!
Rating: Pg/PG 13
Warning: BYOT
Characters: Hot Shot, Blades, First Aid, Groove, Streetwise.
Continuity: Any (g1)
Prompt: Never come back
Author's Note: Not pleased with this one - but couldn't ignore the poor Protectobots! :-(
When the frames of the departed Prime was expelled from the ship’s bay, every mech still living stood in attendance, or watched through vid-screens. They watched as the only Prime that once stood between the living and the destroyers, fell towards the black hole that was to be his final resting place.
One by one, the mechs dispersed, till only five bots remained in attendance.
“An ignoble end,” Groove spoke at long last.
Streetwise kept his gaze on the fading dot that was the fallen Prime’s frame. “He would have agreed this measure was necessary.”
“Necessary?” Blades exploded. “Necessary for Prime to be the final victim claimed by Cosmic Rust? Necessary to be the last one to receive the cure for mad-rust?”
First Aid interrupted before Hot Spot could respond. “He was Prime - that’s what Prime always did: put everyone else first. It’s why we did follow him into the pit and out.”
Hot Spot looked around the empty bay. He used the gestalt communication link to say what couldn’t be said aloud: ::Maybe we should permanently join, let Defensor live while our names fade into obscurity::
The idea felt right to the others.
Before the black hole could swallow the Prime’s remains, forever, the five bots merged, letting the combined form catch one last glimpse of the mech who had saved them all. “Till we all meat again,” Defemsor rumbled, in no rush to revert to his separate components:
Title: Darkly dreaming
Rating: PG
Characters: Dead End
Continuity: G1/Any
Prompt: Kidnapped
Summary: Someone has gotten fed up with Dead End's doom and gloom predictions
Dead End emerged form stasis, expecting no one to be waiting.
Actually, he hadn’t gone into stasis expecting to online again - all kinds of things could go wrong, when he wasn’t in charge of his frame, or even online to oversee necessary repairs. Little accidents, like memory erasure (high probably), reformatted (higher possibility), incomplete or improper repairs (toss up, unless Hook was doing the overseeing), could happen and no one would care to claim responsibility.
The very last thing Dead End had anticipated - onlining, (never a given) onlining alone (slightly higher chance), never onlinging again (very high odds), onlinging with Hook overseeing the process (strong chance) - would be onlining with Breakdown crouched over his inert frame, looking intently at his optics.
“Dead End’s online!” Breakdown shouted - screamed in Dead End’s audios - even as he crawled into the nearest empty corner and shrank in himself. By wedging himself in so securely it was nearly impossible to pry him out, no one (besides his gestalt) would realize Breakdown was rocking in place.
“I know that you moron -! We’re part of the came gestalt!” To Dead End, “Bout time,” Wildrider growled.
Dead End’s astonishment and relief plummeted to new lows of despair and mental angush. Wild Rider, here, in the same room as Breakdown, with only himself in position to quell a fight or stop any slaughter that could breakout at any time.
“Where are we?” Dead End spoke, not at all relieved to hear no quiver in his voice. “Is anyone else here? What happened to Motormaster? Where’s Dragstrip? Why us three?” He ignored the increasing speed of his questions and higher tones as no answers were for coming.
At Wildrider’s look of disgust, Dead End forcefully cut off his vocalizer. “We’ve. Been. Kidnapped.” The psychotic Stunitcon enunciated.
Bodily stolen by their enemies. Relief flooded Dead End’s frame
Kidnapped. That Dead End could deal with. Autobots were not in the habit of torturing their prisoners. “When can we expect Megatron to arrange our release?” Dead End sat up, taking only a portion of his focus off the volatile Wild rider - Wildrider could (and had) attacked any mech that dared to show their backs to him, or given all their attention to something more important. WildRider, in Dead End’s processor, was an active threat even to his own teammates.
AS expected, the metal room the three Stunitcons were encased in, was bare, empty, and … door less? Dead End chanced a brief look up. The three had been casually tossed into an unclimbable pit in the ground!
“It wasn’t Autobots who took us,” Breakdown stuttered after both sets of optics were looking for means of an escape.
A visibly startled, and truly shocked Dead End spun around. Stopping to stare at a surprisingly sane WildRider.
Wildrider snarled. “Autobots never lock mechs away and loose the key”
The three of them were doomed!
Rating: Teens
Characters: Vortex
Continuity: Generation 1
Prompt: Feeling the Madness Inch by Inch
Author's Note: Been watching too much Criminal Minds (and it's spin-off) Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior, cause I had to wonder where VORTEX goes when he's off duty, working his trade.
The doors - actual metal doors that could seal seamlessly into the wall, not energon bars that merely blocked physical access - slid apart, revealing a wildly grinning Vortex.
“Ready to talk?” The Decepticon torturer began pulling out scalpels, clamps, hacksaws, and other medical equipment.
Vortex waited patiently for panic, fear and dread to fully engulf the trapped mech. He helped increase the other’s fear by carefully and meticulously aligning the gleaming sharply edged tools on the equipment table, giving the silent mech time to envision those medical-based weapons being used on his motionless frame.
When no words emerged from the prisoner determined to keep what secrets remained, Vortex thrust the first bladed scalpel deep into the armorless shoulder.
“The sooner you talk, the quicker this will be over,” Vortex spoke to dead audials. He used a hacksaw to cut the struts and non-essential coolant lines.
The entire time, the mech being dissected, made no sound, didn’t move a centimeter, failed to tense up.
Feeling that something wasn’t right - no mech could have an arm torn off or slowly severed without making some kind of protest - the Combaticon stepped back, looked over his work.
A madly grinning Vortex left his private interrogation champers, sealing the doors shut behind him. The opened door momentarily revealed a rusted, half-disremembered mech impaled to the rack- a sparkless frame that had no activated pump working to keep congealed fluids flowing through the frayed lines.
Title: Lost in thought
Rating: PG
Characters: Silverbolt
Continuity: Generation 1
Prompt: Is this The Way I’ll Always Be?
Summary: What separates Silverbolt from his team? More than just his phobia - cause they've got ways around that!
Silverbolt walked along the mountainous ridgeline, one optic watching his brothers as they soared, swooped, and dove through the clouds, the other optic focused on the narrow path.
He didn’t mind the occasional break from his team - after all, they were filled with the enthusiastic energy of the young, and had little use for thinking things through. As the leader of the Aerialbots, it was his duty to keep them focused and grounded.
Letting Skydive, AirRaid, Fireflight, and Slingshot go full throttle during their precious time free was a relief for everyone. It calked the team, gave them an opportunity to release some of the pent-up energy, and allowed everyone to test their skills in a way that didn’t send anyone to the medbay (or led to being captured).
So why did Silverbolt feel more burdened by the display put on by his brothers, while he sat (or stood) and watched their crazy, untested, untried antics in the air.
“Hey, boss!”
Silverbolt ducked away as Slingshot flew close enough to hit him - in doing so, Silverbolt tumbled off the beaten path and started sliding on the loose gravel.
In less time that int takes to describe the sequence of events, a falling Silverbolt transformed, shooting up, up, and away from the mini rockslide. “Slingshot!” He shouted out, still hugging the contours of the land.
“You, Bolt!” That was Air Raid, dropping twenty-pound pebbles towards his hovering leader. “Now that you’re airborne, join the party!”
Egged on by his vary rambunctious teammates, Silverbolt rose higher and increased the power to his thrusters, easily eclipsing his previous pace a thousand fold. “When I catch you, you’ll regret hitting me with rocks!”
Soon, five Aerialbots dotted the sky, all ignoring past fears and failures.
Title: Present loss
Rating: PG
Characters: Hook
Continuity: Generation 1
Prompt: Empty Towers
Summary: Sometimes, it is necessary to stop, look around, and see what has changed.
Hook gazed across the abyss separating the war-torn landscape from the once-bustling city.
It was surprising, he mused, or not so surprising that the war which had swallowed every living Cybertron had also wrecked havoc on civilian living centers and remote outposts.
Defended or defencessl, large cities had fallen.
Shielded or evacuated for solid-bunkers, Skyscrapers had fallen into enemy hands.
Now, after the last civilian had fled, the last neutral executed, all that remained of Cybertron’s pre-war legacy was ruins.
Empty ruins that were once sky-scraping towers envied by the world.
Hook shuttered his optics, returned to where he belonged - at the spark of Decepticon medical quarters.
The past would keep. The wounded could not.
Title: The END!
Rating: Pg/PG 13
Warning: BYOT
Characters: Hot Shot, Blades, First Aid, Groove, Streetwise.
Continuity: Any (g1)
Prompt: Never come back
Author's Note: Not pleased with this one - but couldn't ignore the poor Protectobots! :-(
When the frames of the departed Prime was expelled from the ship’s bay, every mech still living stood in attendance, or watched through vid-screens. They watched as the only Prime that once stood between the living and the destroyers, fell towards the black hole that was to be his final resting place.
One by one, the mechs dispersed, till only five bots remained in attendance.
“An ignoble end,” Groove spoke at long last.
Streetwise kept his gaze on the fading dot that was the fallen Prime’s frame. “He would have agreed this measure was necessary.”
“Necessary?” Blades exploded. “Necessary for Prime to be the final victim claimed by Cosmic Rust? Necessary to be the last one to receive the cure for mad-rust?”
First Aid interrupted before Hot Spot could respond. “He was Prime - that’s what Prime always did: put everyone else first. It’s why we did follow him into the pit and out.”
Hot Spot looked around the empty bay. He used the gestalt communication link to say what couldn’t be said aloud: ::Maybe we should permanently join, let Defensor live while our names fade into obscurity::
The idea felt right to the others.
Before the black hole could swallow the Prime’s remains, forever, the five bots merged, letting the combined form catch one last glimpse of the mech who had saved them all. “Till we all meat again,” Defemsor rumbled, in no rush to revert to his separate components:
Title: Darkly dreaming
Rating: PG
Characters: Dead End
Continuity: G1/Any
Prompt: Kidnapped
Summary: Someone has gotten fed up with Dead End's doom and gloom predictions
Dead End emerged form stasis, expecting no one to be waiting.
Actually, he hadn’t gone into stasis expecting to online again - all kinds of things could go wrong, when he wasn’t in charge of his frame, or even online to oversee necessary repairs. Little accidents, like memory erasure (high probably), reformatted (higher possibility), incomplete or improper repairs (toss up, unless Hook was doing the overseeing), could happen and no one would care to claim responsibility.
The very last thing Dead End had anticipated - onlining, (never a given) onlining alone (slightly higher chance), never onlinging again (very high odds), onlinging with Hook overseeing the process (strong chance) - would be onlining with Breakdown crouched over his inert frame, looking intently at his optics.
“Dead End’s online!” Breakdown shouted - screamed in Dead End’s audios - even as he crawled into the nearest empty corner and shrank in himself. By wedging himself in so securely it was nearly impossible to pry him out, no one (besides his gestalt) would realize Breakdown was rocking in place.
“I know that you moron -! We’re part of the came gestalt!” To Dead End, “Bout time,” Wildrider growled.
Dead End’s astonishment and relief plummeted to new lows of despair and mental angush. Wild Rider, here, in the same room as Breakdown, with only himself in position to quell a fight or stop any slaughter that could breakout at any time.
“Where are we?” Dead End spoke, not at all relieved to hear no quiver in his voice. “Is anyone else here? What happened to Motormaster? Where’s Dragstrip? Why us three?” He ignored the increasing speed of his questions and higher tones as no answers were for coming.
At Wildrider’s look of disgust, Dead End forcefully cut off his vocalizer. “We’ve. Been. Kidnapped.” The psychotic Stunitcon enunciated.
Bodily stolen by their enemies. Relief flooded Dead End’s frame
Kidnapped. That Dead End could deal with. Autobots were not in the habit of torturing their prisoners. “When can we expect Megatron to arrange our release?” Dead End sat up, taking only a portion of his focus off the volatile Wild rider - Wildrider could (and had) attacked any mech that dared to show their backs to him, or given all their attention to something more important. WildRider, in Dead End’s processor, was an active threat even to his own teammates.
AS expected, the metal room the three Stunitcons were encased in, was bare, empty, and … door less? Dead End chanced a brief look up. The three had been casually tossed into an unclimbable pit in the ground!
“It wasn’t Autobots who took us,” Breakdown stuttered after both sets of optics were looking for means of an escape.
A visibly startled, and truly shocked Dead End spun around. Stopping to stare at a surprisingly sane WildRider.
Wildrider snarled. “Autobots never lock mechs away and loose the key”
The three of them were doomed!