German Vocab - 1st Feb prompt
Title: Walkabout
Rating: K
Characters: Jazz, OC
T-Verse: Any/G1 - Preearth
Summary: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder shows up in different ways.
Prompt: 1 Fernweh wanderlust “an ache for distant places”
“Jazz, Redflex wants you to report to his office immediately.”
The silver mech stopped as he passed threshold. He’d just arrived on site. “Thanks CastIron.” Jazz looked longingly in the direction of the rec-room, desiring to refuel, ignored the faint grumbling in his tanks.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Reflex, commander of the Madrigal company, examined the solider before him. He nodded approvingly at the image presented: Jazz stood at attention, not lounging in the chair nearby. He tossed a datapad across the desk. “Read it.”
“Sir?” Jazz caught the datapad before it could land on the floor. He scanned the information stored within. “I don’t understand.”
Redflex stood up, towering over the slight mech. “When you first showed up, I was willing to overlook the writeups and official reprimands attached to your file, because every single one of your previous commanders agree on one thing: you are an exemplary solider - if you could curb your wanderlust.
“I need obedient soldiers under my command - and your disappearing acts mean my discipline appears to be lacking.” RedFlex watched as Jazz bristled. He waited to see if Jazz would hold his tongue, or break into a vocal outburst. When it became clear that Jazz would not speak up, Redflex continued.
“Under other circumstances, I’d recommend you be barred from further service due to your multiple AWOLs. However, circumstances being what they are, every soldier is needed - even those who vanish to the ends of the earth without warning. Thus, the transfer orders.”
This time, Jazz did speak up. “Sir, I have never been off-site during my shifts.”
Redflex growled. “Technically, an Autobot in hostile territory is ALWAYS on duty, regardless of what the schedule says. Explain yourself, soldier!”
Jazz glared, hands trembling. He made fists, relaxed the servos. “I need to see the territory myself. Maps can be altered - or outdated.”
“So you take it upon yourself to double-check the accuracy of our intelligence?’ Reflex walked around the desk, standing right in front of the silver bot. “Then it’s a good thing that the branch that wants you - in spite of all the problems you bring with you - is the Intelligence group. You are to report to Phalanx. “ Reflex’s smile bode no good. “DISMISSED!”
Jazz saluted and spun on his heel, leaving Redflex in the office. Though he’d read the orders just once, every word in that datapad was engrained in his processors. He was to leave at once, not offered any time to collect personal belongings or grab a cube.
That was the life of a soldier - even one who spent his recharge hours exploring and wandering about in enemy territory.
Jazz’s reason’s for signing up with the Autobots -long before the Kaon rebellion had gained momentum and strength from the outcasts in surrounding cities - were not the same as others who signed up later. He saw joining the military as the most expendient way to see the entire world. His spark longed to see and explore cities he’d never visited before, and figured the Autobot military would let him travel - at their expence.
Jazz hurried over to the transport. He’d heard special-ops mechs got to see more than anyone else. He found himself looking forward for the opportunity to explore - on company time, not his own - and helping the war effort would be an added bonus.
Title: Why? The best question of all.
Rating: K
Characters: Bluestreak
T-Verse: Any - prewar
Summary: Children don’t understand shunning - the reasons are usually beyond them.
Prompt: 2 Koyaanisqatsi - Life Out of Balance
Bluestreak stayed with his sparkler and kindler when all he wanted to do was go out and play with his friends. Why wouldn’t SilverSword let him go? Bluestreak looked up, saw which direction his sparkler was glaring in, turned his face that direction.
It had to have been something bad - but the only ones he saw were Praxians. Why was SilverSword glaring at a Praxian?
Praxians stuck together and welcomed tourists. They allowed visitors to their city everywhere, except in the privacy of their homes. Everybody did so. So why did Silversword hate that Praxian?
Bluestreak looked again. Saw the faces of the grown-ups. None of them were happy to see this particular Praxian. In fact, more than a few acted as if they didn’t see him.
Bluestreak squirmed and fought the hands holding him tight. Once loose, he used his shorter statue to squeeze around grown-ups, running towards the stranger. “What’s your name?”
The stranger jumped, shock at being addressed.
“What’s your name?” Bluestreak asked again, ignoring the irate tones of his kindler as she called him.
“I’m called Smokescreen.” The mech reached down.
“Hi Smokescreen,” Bluestreak beamed, reaching up to shake the not-stranger’s hand. “I’m - “ his introduction was cut short as SilverSword roughly grabbed him by the scruff bar.
“We don’t talk to outcasts.” SilverSword spoke loud enough for all younglings to hear. “We don’t associate with ostracized mechs.”
“Why?” Bluestreak demanded to know in a louder voice. “What did Smokescreen do?”
“That’s enough.” BreakDancer raised her voice.
Bluestreak fell silent, watching as Smokescreen grew smaller and smaller as his sparkler and kindler carried him away. He’d been taught all Praxians were friendly - why weren’t the grownups giving that adult a second chance?
Bluestreak struggled to understand. He began by asking questions. No one answered his questions. Not even BrassKnuckles who usually had an answer.
Finally, BronzeString said it was because Smokescreen (and his idol, Enforcer Prowl), wanted Praxians to unite with all of Cybertron, instead of isolating themselves from the rest of the world.
It didn’t compute. Praxians welcomed visitors. They wanted tourists to visit. So what if Praxians didn’t step outside their city? The whole galaxy knew of their Crystal City and everything - how come Smokescreen accused his people of isolating themselves?
Title: beginnings
Rating: K+
Characters: Ravage
T-Verse: any/all - G1
Summary: Ever wonder why everyone fears Ravage?
Prompt: 3 Mutterseelenallein ‘Mother-Soul-Alone”
Ravage hunted turbofoxes at the outskirts of Praxius. The mech preferred real energon cubes to draining the lines of cybertronian life forms (desperation called for desperate measures), but when he couldn’t get the pure stuff, he liked the last of petro-rabbits better. However, if the predators were left unchecked, they could wipe outmost of the wildlife.
Ravage spotted a lone, wounded turbofox. All others he had seen in the last dozen orns were paired, making a successful strike unlikely. It looked like this single turbofox had not long to live, even if there wasn’t competition - better to be taken out quickly than allowed to suffer and deactivate slowly. Ravage waited, then pounced.
After killing the wounded turbofox, he spat out everything. Ugh the creature had contacted rust. It was unfit for consumption. He left the deactivated frame behind. If the restless young, unpaired turbofoxes were hoping to scavenge a meal, Ravage had no qualms about them finding that one. Older, wiser turbofoxes would avoid the rust-infected food. They wouldn’t get sick.
After encountering (and killing) three more rusting turbofoxes, Ravage realized the Praxians had noticed the overpopulation of predators and taken steps to reduce the next generation.
The metal feline decided to vacate the area, and move onto another city. While he was no dumb creature, most Cybetrons did not notice him at all - seeing only a carnivorous beast that needed to be eradicated or chased into the wilderness. It was the fate of too many animal-framed mecha.
The animal-framed mecha that could talk might be accepted by the general public. Or they might be fed and cared for as an “exotic exhibit”. As a whole, Cassette Players saw them for what they wereal were - intelligent Cybetrons, not mindless beasts or drones.
As he got closer to The Towers district, Ravage swerved back to the edge of the city. Nobles hunted turbofoxes and other dangerous creatures for sport - he might be mistaken as a trophy by one, and wished to avoid that fate.
Slowly, Ravage made his way to Kaon. They respected power there - and one’s killing ability. Sooner or later, one who could hear Ravage would show up. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but there only other recourse Ravage had, was to live the rest of his life in the wilderness, alone, and unable to articulate himself or be understood.
At least Kaonites could read glyphs - even if they chose to pity him for not being able to speak. Some communication could happen.
Ravage eventually settled near the gladiator pits. Turborats feasted here, and he feasted upon the numerous scavengers. No matter how many he killed, they came back the next orn in just as large a horde. The only thing that could make this better? Energon from a cube, not drained from the life forms hanging around scrap heaps.
No, Ravage corrected himself, relaxing near a cage (they called these underground cells something else, but slaves inhabited them, and could not leave on their own) that held a pair of gladiators. The two mechs recognized Ravage as a sentient mech, but lacked the ability to hear his mental speech. Still, the two seemed to find his ability to elude guards amusing - and gleefully gave the guards wrong directions on the rare occasions they were asked “where the pit-spawned feline had run”.
The orn those two made their escape - with his assistance (not that anyone cared), Ravage finally made contact with a cassette player. He’d seen six others, but they ignored his telepathic please. This seventh one not only heard him, but responded.
The large steel-grey mech turned his back on the black-market sale - younglings being sold alive to mecha who needed spare parts - and crouched down. “Name, Soundwave. Query: designation?”
Ravage approached the mech. Even folded in half as he was, the mech still dwarfed him by a large margin - and if the crowds gave the two a large circle of clearance, it was only proper.
“Ravage,” Soundwave acknowledged. “Hungry? Hurt?”
The metal feline hunter snarled, showing off his sharp, healthy teeth and clean claws. His intact armor flared. He knew how to take care of himself, thank you very much. To imply otherwise, was just stupid.
“Applogies, Ravage. Query: Why approach?”
Ravage sat on his haunches, yowled.
Soundwae stood up. “Follow. Soundwave, respect and companionship offered.”
Ravage followed. Soundwave had cassettes that were like him? As he made the acquaintance of Ratbat, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw, Ravage felt something he’d not felt in a long time -the spark-deep ach of loniless had disappeared. He could still seek out solitude if he wanted it, but it would not be thrust upon him simply because of who or what he happened to be.
Title: New Starts
Rating: K+
Characters: Skyfire
T-Verse: Generation 1
Summary: Belonging can come in many shapes and forms.
Prompt: 4 Heimat A place you can call ‘home’.
Skyfire awoke a second time, covered in ice. This time, though the faces removing the frozen layers were unfamiliar, he felt at ease. A quick check of the chronometer revealed it had been mere orns since his last emersion in the land of desolate rock and bitingly cold liquid.
Once free, Skyfire transformed, carrying the rescue team and equipment to their base. He wanted to meet this Prime, to see if he really did care for all creatures great and small.
Upon landing near the Ark, Skyfire waited for his passengers to disembark. Then, he transformed, stood up to his full height and introduced himself.
Optimus Prime gazed upwards. “Welcome Skyfire. We are glad to have you here. Would you prefer to refuel first, or be shown your quarters?”
Skyfire looked down. He looked at everyone who had emerged upon his arrival. He saw none of the hate, none of the faintly veiled disgust, none of the ugliness that drove him (and Starscream) from Iacon Academy so long ago.
“My quarters first, Prime.”
Optimus nodded. Turned to lead the way. “I understand you are a scientist - if you wish to use the laboratories, you will have to share space with Perceptor and Wheeljack.” Optimus gave Skyfire a tour of the Ark, speaking as if Skyfire was a welcomed guest.
It felt strange to Skyfire. While the tagalongs (every single Autobot who wasn’t on duty, it appeared), interrupted Optimus, sometimes expounding on his one-sentence descriptions of rooms, they didn’t cut Skyfire off when the mech had questions, nor did they laugh at erroneous conclusions.
The biggest surprise Skyfire found - after settling down in the rec-room to refuel (after being checked out and cleared by the medic), was that not only his quarters big enough, but that everyone truly welcomed him.
Since there were (as of yet) no chairs big enough for him, Skyfire sat on the ground and leaned gainst the wall, ready to enjoy the novelty. He belonged here. He truly did. Cybertron might have birthed him, but it had also cast him aside.
If Starscream had not been alone in accepting Skyfire - if anyone in the Academy had tried to befriend one of them - then, Skyfire might not have chosen to run away, using exploratory science as his legitimate excuse towards leaving the prejudice and hatred behind.
If any of their companions, a mentor who helped them get the coveted spot, had wished them a safe trip, or given any indication that one or both would be welcomed back, Skyfire would have probably chosen to avoid the forming storm.
He had not been cowardly enough to kill himself outright, choosing to make his deactivation look like an unfortunate accident. Everyone knew accidents happened all the time in the wilderness and outermost reaches of the Cybertron Empire, and such avoidable wounds could offline a carless mech. Skyfire had been less cautious than the situation called for, deliberate ignoring warning signs. He didn’t want to return, didn’t care if he deactivated alone, and unnoticed.
Skyfire had hoped the storm would have captured Starscream too, but did not realize that his only friend in the entire world would seek to live in spite of all the opposition and hatred aimed their way, day in and day out.
Title: Last straw
Rating: PG10
Characters: Starscream
T-Verse: Any/Generation 1
Summary: There’s a reason Starscream’s first rebellion against Megatron happened on earth. Only no one knows why.
Prompt: 5: Sehnsucht
Starscream had been patient. He’d been beyond patient. Now it was time to act.
Soundwave jerked his head up, scanned the faces in the audience. Something was wrong. The mech let the communication links slide and jumble as he tried to find what had changed.
Megatron noticed the movement of his spy. He glanced through the corner of his optic and looked at the telepath. Returned his full attention to the assembled troops. What had struck Soundwave so succenly that he dropped his public tasks? Any con could file data pads and keep the internal lines clear.
Starscream saw Soundwave react. He thought about waiting, decided enough was enough - and what better time to lead a successful co-opt? Starscream attacked.
Soundwave and Megatron both saw the act. While Megatron strolled forward to meet the assassin head on, Soundwave held back, scanning the processors of those around. Most of the mechs scrambled for the walls, wishing to be anywhere but in the middle of the fight.
What Soundwave found confused him. He’d never heard of (or experienced) a mutiny attempt that only one individual was involved in.
Megatron struck Starscream, pinning the mech to the floor. “Soundwave, purge the virus from my Air Commander’s processor!”
Starscream struggled and fought. He’d not been reprogrammed by the Autobots! There was no foreign code inciting him to attack. Ah, well, if Megatron didn’t want to kill him outright, there remained future opportunities to take Megatron out. After all, if foot soldiers, officers, and trine members could be replaced, so could leaders.
Soundwave hacked Starscream’s processors, scanning for any aberrations. He found something, but it couldn’t have altered the Seeker’s processors, not this much, not this quickly. He removed the microscopic stray coding, examining it as he destroyed it.
It couldn’t have been the source - except it seemed to be the only thing out of place (and where had he picked it up? When had it activated? Every mech had been clean as they emerged from stasis).
Title: Flash-Focus
Rating: Teen (PG13)
Characters: Samuel Witwicky
T-Verse: Bayverse
Summary: Timing can mean the difference between life and death
Prompt: 6 Augenblick (In the Blink of an eye)
Sam Witwicky ran. He ran, not away as he had been, but towards. He ran, ignoring the stitch in his side, because he had to hurry.
Sam ran, cradling the All-Spark cube. It almost looked like he was trying to shield it from view, but it was too big to hide.
He knew what he had to do and time was running out. Optimus’ plan would destroy the cube (as desired), but it would not save earth, could not protect this planet. Sam believed a modification, a change in targets, would save earth and more - but he had to implement it NOW.
Sam Witwicky ran, approached the Decepticon Lord Protector and raised the cube, shoving it into the gray chassis.
He fell down, exhausted, praying the move had been completed in time.
YES!
Megatron stumbled, the collapsed. Dying as the cube disintegrated.
Sam breathed easier, letting the chaos of the battle slip from conscious grasp. He’d not been too slow or late. Megatron had not anticipated being given the cube, and had helped impale himself.
Rating: K
Characters: Jazz, OC
T-Verse: Any/G1 - Preearth
Summary: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder shows up in different ways.
Prompt: 1 Fernweh wanderlust “an ache for distant places”
“Jazz, Redflex wants you to report to his office immediately.”
The silver mech stopped as he passed threshold. He’d just arrived on site. “Thanks CastIron.” Jazz looked longingly in the direction of the rec-room, desiring to refuel, ignored the faint grumbling in his tanks.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Reflex, commander of the Madrigal company, examined the solider before him. He nodded approvingly at the image presented: Jazz stood at attention, not lounging in the chair nearby. He tossed a datapad across the desk. “Read it.”
“Sir?” Jazz caught the datapad before it could land on the floor. He scanned the information stored within. “I don’t understand.”
Redflex stood up, towering over the slight mech. “When you first showed up, I was willing to overlook the writeups and official reprimands attached to your file, because every single one of your previous commanders agree on one thing: you are an exemplary solider - if you could curb your wanderlust.
“I need obedient soldiers under my command - and your disappearing acts mean my discipline appears to be lacking.” RedFlex watched as Jazz bristled. He waited to see if Jazz would hold his tongue, or break into a vocal outburst. When it became clear that Jazz would not speak up, Redflex continued.
“Under other circumstances, I’d recommend you be barred from further service due to your multiple AWOLs. However, circumstances being what they are, every soldier is needed - even those who vanish to the ends of the earth without warning. Thus, the transfer orders.”
This time, Jazz did speak up. “Sir, I have never been off-site during my shifts.”
Redflex growled. “Technically, an Autobot in hostile territory is ALWAYS on duty, regardless of what the schedule says. Explain yourself, soldier!”
Jazz glared, hands trembling. He made fists, relaxed the servos. “I need to see the territory myself. Maps can be altered - or outdated.”
“So you take it upon yourself to double-check the accuracy of our intelligence?’ Reflex walked around the desk, standing right in front of the silver bot. “Then it’s a good thing that the branch that wants you - in spite of all the problems you bring with you - is the Intelligence group. You are to report to Phalanx. “ Reflex’s smile bode no good. “DISMISSED!”
Jazz saluted and spun on his heel, leaving Redflex in the office. Though he’d read the orders just once, every word in that datapad was engrained in his processors. He was to leave at once, not offered any time to collect personal belongings or grab a cube.
That was the life of a soldier - even one who spent his recharge hours exploring and wandering about in enemy territory.
Jazz’s reason’s for signing up with the Autobots -long before the Kaon rebellion had gained momentum and strength from the outcasts in surrounding cities - were not the same as others who signed up later. He saw joining the military as the most expendient way to see the entire world. His spark longed to see and explore cities he’d never visited before, and figured the Autobot military would let him travel - at their expence.
Jazz hurried over to the transport. He’d heard special-ops mechs got to see more than anyone else. He found himself looking forward for the opportunity to explore - on company time, not his own - and helping the war effort would be an added bonus.
Title: Why? The best question of all.
Rating: K
Characters: Bluestreak
T-Verse: Any - prewar
Summary: Children don’t understand shunning - the reasons are usually beyond them.
Prompt: 2 Koyaanisqatsi - Life Out of Balance
Bluestreak stayed with his sparkler and kindler when all he wanted to do was go out and play with his friends. Why wouldn’t SilverSword let him go? Bluestreak looked up, saw which direction his sparkler was glaring in, turned his face that direction.
It had to have been something bad - but the only ones he saw were Praxians. Why was SilverSword glaring at a Praxian?
Praxians stuck together and welcomed tourists. They allowed visitors to their city everywhere, except in the privacy of their homes. Everybody did so. So why did Silversword hate that Praxian?
Bluestreak looked again. Saw the faces of the grown-ups. None of them were happy to see this particular Praxian. In fact, more than a few acted as if they didn’t see him.
Bluestreak squirmed and fought the hands holding him tight. Once loose, he used his shorter statue to squeeze around grown-ups, running towards the stranger. “What’s your name?”
The stranger jumped, shock at being addressed.
“What’s your name?” Bluestreak asked again, ignoring the irate tones of his kindler as she called him.
“I’m called Smokescreen.” The mech reached down.
“Hi Smokescreen,” Bluestreak beamed, reaching up to shake the not-stranger’s hand. “I’m - “ his introduction was cut short as SilverSword roughly grabbed him by the scruff bar.
“We don’t talk to outcasts.” SilverSword spoke loud enough for all younglings to hear. “We don’t associate with ostracized mechs.”
“Why?” Bluestreak demanded to know in a louder voice. “What did Smokescreen do?”
“That’s enough.” BreakDancer raised her voice.
Bluestreak fell silent, watching as Smokescreen grew smaller and smaller as his sparkler and kindler carried him away. He’d been taught all Praxians were friendly - why weren’t the grownups giving that adult a second chance?
Bluestreak struggled to understand. He began by asking questions. No one answered his questions. Not even BrassKnuckles who usually had an answer.
Finally, BronzeString said it was because Smokescreen (and his idol, Enforcer Prowl), wanted Praxians to unite with all of Cybertron, instead of isolating themselves from the rest of the world.
It didn’t compute. Praxians welcomed visitors. They wanted tourists to visit. So what if Praxians didn’t step outside their city? The whole galaxy knew of their Crystal City and everything - how come Smokescreen accused his people of isolating themselves?
Title: beginnings
Rating: K+
Characters: Ravage
T-Verse: any/all - G1
Summary: Ever wonder why everyone fears Ravage?
Prompt: 3 Mutterseelenallein ‘Mother-Soul-Alone”
Ravage hunted turbofoxes at the outskirts of Praxius. The mech preferred real energon cubes to draining the lines of cybertronian life forms (desperation called for desperate measures), but when he couldn’t get the pure stuff, he liked the last of petro-rabbits better. However, if the predators were left unchecked, they could wipe outmost of the wildlife.
Ravage spotted a lone, wounded turbofox. All others he had seen in the last dozen orns were paired, making a successful strike unlikely. It looked like this single turbofox had not long to live, even if there wasn’t competition - better to be taken out quickly than allowed to suffer and deactivate slowly. Ravage waited, then pounced.
After killing the wounded turbofox, he spat out everything. Ugh the creature had contacted rust. It was unfit for consumption. He left the deactivated frame behind. If the restless young, unpaired turbofoxes were hoping to scavenge a meal, Ravage had no qualms about them finding that one. Older, wiser turbofoxes would avoid the rust-infected food. They wouldn’t get sick.
After encountering (and killing) three more rusting turbofoxes, Ravage realized the Praxians had noticed the overpopulation of predators and taken steps to reduce the next generation.
The metal feline decided to vacate the area, and move onto another city. While he was no dumb creature, most Cybetrons did not notice him at all - seeing only a carnivorous beast that needed to be eradicated or chased into the wilderness. It was the fate of too many animal-framed mecha.
The animal-framed mecha that could talk might be accepted by the general public. Or they might be fed and cared for as an “exotic exhibit”. As a whole, Cassette Players saw them for what they wereal were - intelligent Cybetrons, not mindless beasts or drones.
As he got closer to The Towers district, Ravage swerved back to the edge of the city. Nobles hunted turbofoxes and other dangerous creatures for sport - he might be mistaken as a trophy by one, and wished to avoid that fate.
Slowly, Ravage made his way to Kaon. They respected power there - and one’s killing ability. Sooner or later, one who could hear Ravage would show up. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but there only other recourse Ravage had, was to live the rest of his life in the wilderness, alone, and unable to articulate himself or be understood.
At least Kaonites could read glyphs - even if they chose to pity him for not being able to speak. Some communication could happen.
Ravage eventually settled near the gladiator pits. Turborats feasted here, and he feasted upon the numerous scavengers. No matter how many he killed, they came back the next orn in just as large a horde. The only thing that could make this better? Energon from a cube, not drained from the life forms hanging around scrap heaps.
No, Ravage corrected himself, relaxing near a cage (they called these underground cells something else, but slaves inhabited them, and could not leave on their own) that held a pair of gladiators. The two mechs recognized Ravage as a sentient mech, but lacked the ability to hear his mental speech. Still, the two seemed to find his ability to elude guards amusing - and gleefully gave the guards wrong directions on the rare occasions they were asked “where the pit-spawned feline had run”.
The orn those two made their escape - with his assistance (not that anyone cared), Ravage finally made contact with a cassette player. He’d seen six others, but they ignored his telepathic please. This seventh one not only heard him, but responded.
The large steel-grey mech turned his back on the black-market sale - younglings being sold alive to mecha who needed spare parts - and crouched down. “Name, Soundwave. Query: designation?”
Ravage approached the mech. Even folded in half as he was, the mech still dwarfed him by a large margin - and if the crowds gave the two a large circle of clearance, it was only proper.
“Ravage,” Soundwave acknowledged. “Hungry? Hurt?”
The metal feline hunter snarled, showing off his sharp, healthy teeth and clean claws. His intact armor flared. He knew how to take care of himself, thank you very much. To imply otherwise, was just stupid.
“Applogies, Ravage. Query: Why approach?”
Ravage sat on his haunches, yowled.
Soundwae stood up. “Follow. Soundwave, respect and companionship offered.”
Ravage followed. Soundwave had cassettes that were like him? As he made the acquaintance of Ratbat, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw, Ravage felt something he’d not felt in a long time -the spark-deep ach of loniless had disappeared. He could still seek out solitude if he wanted it, but it would not be thrust upon him simply because of who or what he happened to be.
Title: New Starts
Rating: K+
Characters: Skyfire
T-Verse: Generation 1
Summary: Belonging can come in many shapes and forms.
Prompt: 4 Heimat A place you can call ‘home’.
Skyfire awoke a second time, covered in ice. This time, though the faces removing the frozen layers were unfamiliar, he felt at ease. A quick check of the chronometer revealed it had been mere orns since his last emersion in the land of desolate rock and bitingly cold liquid.
Once free, Skyfire transformed, carrying the rescue team and equipment to their base. He wanted to meet this Prime, to see if he really did care for all creatures great and small.
Upon landing near the Ark, Skyfire waited for his passengers to disembark. Then, he transformed, stood up to his full height and introduced himself.
Optimus Prime gazed upwards. “Welcome Skyfire. We are glad to have you here. Would you prefer to refuel first, or be shown your quarters?”
Skyfire looked down. He looked at everyone who had emerged upon his arrival. He saw none of the hate, none of the faintly veiled disgust, none of the ugliness that drove him (and Starscream) from Iacon Academy so long ago.
“My quarters first, Prime.”
Optimus nodded. Turned to lead the way. “I understand you are a scientist - if you wish to use the laboratories, you will have to share space with Perceptor and Wheeljack.” Optimus gave Skyfire a tour of the Ark, speaking as if Skyfire was a welcomed guest.
It felt strange to Skyfire. While the tagalongs (every single Autobot who wasn’t on duty, it appeared), interrupted Optimus, sometimes expounding on his one-sentence descriptions of rooms, they didn’t cut Skyfire off when the mech had questions, nor did they laugh at erroneous conclusions.
The biggest surprise Skyfire found - after settling down in the rec-room to refuel (after being checked out and cleared by the medic), was that not only his quarters big enough, but that everyone truly welcomed him.
Since there were (as of yet) no chairs big enough for him, Skyfire sat on the ground and leaned gainst the wall, ready to enjoy the novelty. He belonged here. He truly did. Cybertron might have birthed him, but it had also cast him aside.
If Starscream had not been alone in accepting Skyfire - if anyone in the Academy had tried to befriend one of them - then, Skyfire might not have chosen to run away, using exploratory science as his legitimate excuse towards leaving the prejudice and hatred behind.
If any of their companions, a mentor who helped them get the coveted spot, had wished them a safe trip, or given any indication that one or both would be welcomed back, Skyfire would have probably chosen to avoid the forming storm.
He had not been cowardly enough to kill himself outright, choosing to make his deactivation look like an unfortunate accident. Everyone knew accidents happened all the time in the wilderness and outermost reaches of the Cybertron Empire, and such avoidable wounds could offline a carless mech. Skyfire had been less cautious than the situation called for, deliberate ignoring warning signs. He didn’t want to return, didn’t care if he deactivated alone, and unnoticed.
Skyfire had hoped the storm would have captured Starscream too, but did not realize that his only friend in the entire world would seek to live in spite of all the opposition and hatred aimed their way, day in and day out.
Title: Last straw
Rating: PG10
Characters: Starscream
T-Verse: Any/Generation 1
Summary: There’s a reason Starscream’s first rebellion against Megatron happened on earth. Only no one knows why.
Prompt: 5: Sehnsucht
Starscream had been patient. He’d been beyond patient. Now it was time to act.
Soundwave jerked his head up, scanned the faces in the audience. Something was wrong. The mech let the communication links slide and jumble as he tried to find what had changed.
Megatron noticed the movement of his spy. He glanced through the corner of his optic and looked at the telepath. Returned his full attention to the assembled troops. What had struck Soundwave so succenly that he dropped his public tasks? Any con could file data pads and keep the internal lines clear.
Starscream saw Soundwave react. He thought about waiting, decided enough was enough - and what better time to lead a successful co-opt? Starscream attacked.
Soundwave and Megatron both saw the act. While Megatron strolled forward to meet the assassin head on, Soundwave held back, scanning the processors of those around. Most of the mechs scrambled for the walls, wishing to be anywhere but in the middle of the fight.
What Soundwave found confused him. He’d never heard of (or experienced) a mutiny attempt that only one individual was involved in.
Megatron struck Starscream, pinning the mech to the floor. “Soundwave, purge the virus from my Air Commander’s processor!”
Starscream struggled and fought. He’d not been reprogrammed by the Autobots! There was no foreign code inciting him to attack. Ah, well, if Megatron didn’t want to kill him outright, there remained future opportunities to take Megatron out. After all, if foot soldiers, officers, and trine members could be replaced, so could leaders.
Soundwave hacked Starscream’s processors, scanning for any aberrations. He found something, but it couldn’t have altered the Seeker’s processors, not this much, not this quickly. He removed the microscopic stray coding, examining it as he destroyed it.
It couldn’t have been the source - except it seemed to be the only thing out of place (and where had he picked it up? When had it activated? Every mech had been clean as they emerged from stasis).
Title: Flash-Focus
Rating: Teen (PG13)
Characters: Samuel Witwicky
T-Verse: Bayverse
Summary: Timing can mean the difference between life and death
Prompt: 6 Augenblick (In the Blink of an eye)
Sam Witwicky ran. He ran, not away as he had been, but towards. He ran, ignoring the stitch in his side, because he had to hurry.
Sam ran, cradling the All-Spark cube. It almost looked like he was trying to shield it from view, but it was too big to hide.
He knew what he had to do and time was running out. Optimus’ plan would destroy the cube (as desired), but it would not save earth, could not protect this planet. Sam believed a modification, a change in targets, would save earth and more - but he had to implement it NOW.
Sam Witwicky ran, approached the Decepticon Lord Protector and raised the cube, shoving it into the gray chassis.
He fell down, exhausted, praying the move had been completed in time.
YES!
Megatron stumbled, the collapsed. Dying as the cube disintegrated.
Sam breathed easier, letting the chaos of the battle slip from conscious grasp. He’d not been too slow or late. Megatron had not anticipated being given the cube, and had helped impale himself.