Little is known about the genesis of planet Beest and its inhabitants. It is a dramatic world, its recorded history replete with natural disasters, native tyrants, and alien invaders. Indeed, it seemed the planet never had a chance to be separate from the intergalactic community while the natives were still struggling through their dark ages. Otherworldly scientists found the various sentient native species to have genetics that were too similar to those of analogous animal species from the planet Earth to be coincidence; the predominant theory remains that the world was terraformed and populated by unknown entities for unknown reasons. The existence of several structures across the planet that resembled Earth's Stonehenge and the ziggurats seemed to support that theory even more strongly.
Over three centuries had passed since the world had first been exposed to the so-called Great War between the Autobots and Decepticons. On this world, the mad Decepticon Galvatron had found an ally in the tyrant Alligatoron. The leader of those who resisted Alligatoron's regime, a now-legendary figure named White Leo, allied himself with the Autobots under Rodimus Prime's leadership to drive Galvatron off and free their world. In the following centuries the Beests had kept mostly to themselves, but visits from the Transformers in the years since were not uncommon. Maximals had merely replaced Autobots, and the Predacons had taken the mantle of the Decepticons.
That said, it was still newsworthy when Maximals or Predacons showed up, since the Maximals respected the Beests' autonomy for the most part and when Predacons came around, they were usually outlaws trying to lay low for a while. While the different species on Beest were varied and many, and didn't always get along, most were in agreement that the general preponderance of Cybertronians were crazy and gave them their space. After all, Beests fought wars often themselves but they ended as quickly as they began; Cybertronians had been fighting amongst themselves for millions of years – the same war – and even after evolving into different species they still had animosity festering between them.
So of course, when a Maximal ship landed in what passed for the biggest city on the planet and three Maximals were spotted hanging out around town, word got around quickly. Not all Cybertronians were mistrusted. In fact, after the Great War, three of them had taken permanent residence on the planet and acted as its self-proclaimed guardians. They were considered outsiders to their own kind. And while the natives could usually handle themselves, what with being a warrior race, they appreciated having insurance against the more pesky invaders. This insurance called themselves the Monsterbots.
Life on Beest had been good to the Monsterbots, and they had long ago upgraded into Maximal bodies of their own. Maximal technology had many advantages over Autobot. The Monsterbots' favorite benefit was the ability to bio-morphically outfit their creature-modes with organic hides. While some Transformers showed distaste at the thought of blending their bodies with flesh, the down'n'dirty trio of course embraced it whole-heartedly. They could eat, drink and do… other things. Doublecross's two-headed dragon body was covered in purple scales (which were now slightly faded, and on the verge of a molting). Repugnus's insectoid form boasted rough black chitin that shimmered red in the sunlight. Grotusque now wore the body of a hunched-over creature with unkempt reddish-golden fur and humungous bat-like wings, and jagged plates that ran down his back and tail.
They quickly identified the scents of the strangers and followed them to the only bar-slash-restaurant in town that catered to mechanical life forms… their own favorite hangout. As much as they loved organic intake, nothing could beat the good fizzle of liquid energon or the static buzz of a fuel rod. Due to how rowdy the Monsterbots could get, the joint had been renovated recently with reinforcements, sturdy metal-based construction, and plenty exits. Beests still patronized the place themselves; some wanted to meet the renowned trio, and some enjoyed the food served there. It ihad/i to be good enough to be worth risking the inherent troubles of eating there. Decorations within the restaurant were scarce, only a few smaller replicas of famous sculptures and a few electronic paintings mounted on the walls – nothing expensive, and nothing irreplaceable.
Of course as soon as the Monsterbots barged in, many Beests cleared out, expecting a fight. Instantly the bar's native occupancy whittled down to a pair of crocs, a bat, and a family of wolves. The owner, a middle-aged tiger whose fur was beginning to whiten from stress, sighed as he retreated behind the bar and activated the protective forcefield where he could watch from safety. This was why he had his patrons pay in advance.
"Hey!" Repugnus hollered. "Whatcha doing on our planet here, eh?"
"This is iyour/i planet?" asked one of the trio, an ancient femmebot in gray and silver. Like the Monsterbots, these Maximals had organic beast modes. Hers looked to be that of a feline of some kind. She didn't even bother to turn around as she continued, "Funny, I thought it belonged to the Beests."
One of her companions, a younger femme in yellow and blue armor and some sort of brown hairless flesh, did turn around on her bench to look the newcomers over skeptically. "So you guys're the Monsterbots?" she asked. "Pfeh, I'm disappointed."
"Whiplash!" the third snapped, a green and orange mech with rabbit ears hanging off the back of his head that jerked around when he twitched his head to the side. "D-don't antagonize them, iplease!/i"
Too late. "Why you little-" one of Doublecross's heads spoke. "Oh calm down," the other told it. Doublecross's two heads had always disagreed with each other, even though he had only one spark. When Optimus Prime had ordered him to the Webworld for a psychological examination, he had come back not only with a bill of complete mental health, but two.
"We're the ireal/i deal, missy," Repugnus said ominously. "And you're lucky our one rule is 'no hitting femmes,' otherwise we'd give you a short, sharp demo."
"Well I'm not afraid to hit a femme, so why should you be?" the impertinent youngster snorted.
"Keep talkin' girly, and we might repeal our one rule." Repugnus warned.
"Oh stop this," the elderly femme interrupted, finally scooting around. "There's no need for violence here."
"Then you better put a stasis collar on your friend there, Granny," Grotusque retorted, grinning toothily at his own wit.
"Will you let me finish?" she said, before sighing and turning to her companion. "Honestly Crosshare, these newer generations have no respect for the elderly."
"Hate to break it to you Lightfang, but these guys are ilast/i year's models," he said with a grin. "They're 'old' to everyone but iyou/i." He smugly took a sip from the cube-shaped glass containing his oil.
All right, fine!" Doublecross said with his right head. "What were you gonna say, ima'am/i?" the left said.
"I was going to say," Lightfang said slowly, making a slight production of it, "There's no reason to fight us, because we're just the diversion."
"Diversion for what?" Repugnus demanded, his voice growing even edgier.
"Them," Whiplash answered.
During the exchange, the family of wolves had abandoned their table to get in behind the Monsterbots. The "father" pressed a button on his arm, causing his armor to wink out of existence – a holographic illusion, as he had not been wearing anything in the first place. The public display of nudity shocked the other patrons, but even more startling was the next observation – his body did not conform to typical Beest anatomy: his legs were digitigrade, he had a tail, and his fur was much thicker. His son, whose armor was not holographic, shared the same build, though in smaller proportions. They had just kept to themselves in a corner and no one had taken notice of their unusual features. Only the "mother" looked like a true Beest wolf, though only for a moment longer before her appearance morphed into a human's. "Mother" and "son" both drew blasters as the lead male transformed, revealing that he in fact was not a Beest wolf, but a Maximal who had modified his alternate form to resemble a white lycanthrope of Earth myth.
Said Maximal had green and gold armor, and a white crest sweeping over the front of his helmet evocative of canine ears. Most notably, though, he had a disruptor pistol mounted on each thigh which he drew with practiced swiftness and leveled at Repugnus' massive cranium.
"Hello, buddy," he said, though his tone evidenced that the two Cybertronians were anything but.
"Moonhunter!"
"You're still alive?" Doublecross asked, but then answered himself, "Of course you're still alive! We knew you'd make it."
The "mother" and "son" exchanged looks.
"Well I'm so glad you're all friends," the restaurant owner interjected, rubbing his palms nervously. "Now would you all mind putting your weapons away? I don't want any stray shots hitting my customers. Bad for business, you see."
"Of course, of course," Moonhunter said, lowering his weapons and ordering his team to do the same with a wordless nod. "I just didn't want these bozos to jump us before I had the chance to talk."
"Bozos?
"You heard me," he snapped. "Anyway I survived no thanks to you ibozos/i. What's the big idea, sending Death's Head after me?"
"Hey, it's not like we had a choice," Grotusque said. "He knew we'd worked together a few vorns back, so he came here looking for you. Took a bunch of natives hostage and only released them in exchange for your whereabouts. You'da done the same."
"Guess I would have," Moonhunter admitted, "But if the situation had been reversed, I would have at least had the courtesy to send a iwarning/i your way."
"Because, you know," Crosshare chirped, "iDeath's/i fraggin' iHead/i."
"Hey, if you're still using that same hideout you were using last vorn, that's your own sloppiness," Repugnus sneered. "Not our fault. You two're iboth/i bounty hunters. You're just pissed cuz he's better at it than you."
"He doesn't like being called a bounty hunter, you know!" Crosshare chimed in. Then in an impersonation of the alien's voice, he imitated, "'Freelance peacekeeping agent,' yes?"
"He's more ruthless," Moonhunter clarified. "Doesn't necessarily mean he's better. Doesn't care if his target is innocent or guilty. I only get less work because I'm more discriminating about who I go after."
"Yeah, yeah, we heard it all before. You're a good guy, just trying to make a living, blah blah blah," Doublecross's right head said. Everyone else went quiet, expecting the other head to say something. He noticed everyone staring at him and spread his arms out. "What?" the left asked defensively.
"…Nothing," Repugnus said, waiving it off. He returned his attention to the visitors. "Anyway, we figured you could handle it, and you did. How'd you shake him off your skitplate, anyway?"
Moonhunter sneered for a moment, not out of disdain, but only because it was one of the few facial expressions he was really any good at. "I got him to tell me who had put a price on my head. Lucky for me it was the mob boss of the Verulan Cartel, Gruul The Nasty. I pointed out that the bounty for Gruul on Planet Vestos was itwice/i what he was offering for me, so Death's Head went his merry way… iafter/i disabling my ship so I couldn't provide any competition for Vestos's bounty."
"Like I said, we knew you could handle it," Repugnus said.
"Hooligans," Lightfang muttered.
"What was that, Granny?" Doublecross demanded as he swiveled a long neck towards her.
"You heard her," Whiplash jumped out of her seat and transformed to her alternate form, a fearsome alien hound that looked more plant than animal. Her grass-like mane puffed up, twin vine-like tails whipped around in agitation, and her muzzle split four ways producing a raspy hiss.
"Whiplash!" Moonhunter snapped in alarm, fully expecting a fight to break out.
But instead all thoughts of battle instantly left Doublecross. "Well hellooooo beautiful," he said.
And then he was instantly pushed to one side by Grotusque, who ambled closer to Whiplash with the exact opposite of violence in mind. "Now what's a terrifying-looking girl like you doing in a band of whimps like this? What'd you say your name was, again?"
"Are you… flirting with me?" Whiplash tilted her head, then after a beat began to laugh uncontrollably.
"Whaaat?" Grotusue asked.
"That's Whiplash," the young wolf behind Moonhunter piped up, his voice an octave higher than Moonhunter's. The fur along his neck bristled and he hefted his rifle back up into sight. "Trust me, you don't wanna mess with her."
Repugnus finally took note of the other members of the armed group. "And why's that, kid?" he asked.
"Because she's my sister," he answered with a familiar sneer. "And Moonhunter's daughter."
"Come again?" Grotusque asked, turning to Moonhunter. His scrutiny demanded clarification.
Moonhunter tilted his head in the boy's direction. "That's my son Cassidy. Clone. Long story. Whiplash I built."
"And the female behind you?" Repugnus asked.
"Marie Sterling, a friend of mine," Moonhunter answered. She was a deceptively petite creature, with brown curls cascading down her head and fair, scar-free skin. She hardly looked like someone who fit in with a band of bounty hunters-slash-adventurers, but as her shapeshifting skills had demonstrated, looks could be deceiving. "Human… more or less."
"Girlfiriend?" Doublecross asked with one head, the other snickering.
"No," she answered for him.
Crosshare joined Doublecross in snickering, which earned him a dirty look from Lightfang.
"So you're a family man, now?" Repugnus asked, his mandibles chattering in humor. "Didn't think a tough-guy like you'd ever get tied down."
"Times change. So do people."
Cassidy leaned closer to the shape-shifter by his side and whispered into her ear, words in Latin. The older woman nodded in agreement.
"What was that, now?" Repugnus demanded.
"Cassidy doesn't like you," Moonhunter answered, amusement tinting his voice. "Kid's a pretty good judge of character."
"Why you old slagger!" Grotusque said before erupting into a guffaw. "You got yerself a team. Not bad, even if they all look second-rate. Tell you what. For almost getting you and your little team of cutsies – Seriously, is that a bunny? – Well, for sending Death's Head your way, how about a round of drinks on us? We'll even get some milk here for the kid."
"Yes, drinks all around!" the old tiger insisted. "Better than shooting."
"No. Thanks," Moonhunter said. "I just came to tell you if you guys ever want another favor, don't come cryin' to me."
"Oh come on, 'Hunter. You're gonna hold a grudge? I thought we freaks stuck together."
Despite being in robot mode, the fur on Moonhunter's fleshy segments bristled at the F-word.
"There are two types of freaks," Marie Sterling finally spoke, an Irish lilt in her voice. "Those who revel in the role of outcast and let themselves become degenerates, and those who are comfortable with who or what they are idespite/i what others think, and realize we need to help each other out… because no one else will."
"Here, here!" Crosshare piped up, raising his drink into the air. "Well said, Anna-Marie. Though I gotta point out, just for the record, I'm the least freakish out of this band. Well, me and Lightfang, unless you consider being older than… ieverything/ielse freakish. Which, I do. And I'm a rabbit, not a bunny."
Lightfang smacked Crosshare behind the head before standing up from her stool. "Let's get out of here, Moonhunter. You've said your peace, and Scrounge is waiting for us back at the ship."
The six-pack of odds and ends from two worlds walked out, in what would have been a perfect dramatic exit if Cassidy had not piped up: "This planet is so cool! Can we check out some sights before we move on? There's gotta be isome/i landmarks or something worth seeing. Oh and can I keep the armor? And one of those fancy swords! Can I iplease/ihave one? Please?"
Moonhunter chose to ignore the laughs of the Monsterbots behind them as he placed an arm over his son's shoulder. He attempted to do so with Whiplash as well, but she ducked out of his reach… which only made what he had to say all the more true: "Y'know… freaks we may be, but we're also the normalest bunch I've ever seen."
Anna Marie Sterling belongs to my girlfriend, Chupacabra Zee
Cassidy belongs to Musher
Crosshare belongs to LeoKingdom
Lightfang belongs to Shadowcat9279
Moonhunter belongs to me
Whiplash belongs to Silvermender