Ratchet was angry.
No, angry wasn't the right word to describe what he was feeling at the moment.
Pissed was a much more accurate adjective.
Ratchet was pissed. And there was little anyone could do to calm him down.
The object of such rage? A defenseless Ironhide, who was backpedaling, trying to get away from the white optic-ed medic, who had one servo spinning a wrench around and the other transformed into a hissing buzz-saw. Ironhide's cannons had been disabled no more than a brief moment ago.
The CMO wasn't fragging around.
"Now, Ratchet, let's talk this over; no need to get violent-"
"There's plenty of need." Ratchet hissed, "No more talk."
Ironhide did his best to hide his fear of the enraged, hellish medic, stumbling back a few more feet. His back bumped against one of the berths against the wall, stopping him cold in his tracks. The last thing he saw was Ratchet lunging forward, and that wrench coming down on his helm. A sound rang in his ears unendingly; the sickening, ringing clang of metal on metal. And it followed him into unconsciousness.
Ratchet had had enough. And with that, he set his diabolical plan in motion.
XxX
No one knew where the new, shiny, black toaster had come from. One day it was just suddenly there. And it burned everything that was put in it. Once scorched and practically on fire- sometimes the bread really was- it would throw the slice of substance from itself so fast it hit people in the face. Specifically in the face or in the throat. It was rather painful. On top of that, it would roar insults and threats at whoever got near, and continuously demanded to see Optimus.
Really, it was just plain rude.
It was quite a useless toaster. So the soldiers- deciding it was one of the terror twins pranks- swept the black kitchen device into the trash can with a broom, to be taken away and closed it firmly so the screamed out, angry, cuss filled threats would be suitably muffled. The toaster, for it's part, was very pissed off.
After some time, however, it fell silent, having apparently fallen asleep. If toasters even did fall asleep, that is. And the threats were no longer heard; to which the soldiers were thankful. The poor bread cooker was eventually forgotten about. No one thought to mention it to anyone, and when the trashman came around, no one said anything.
So the toaster was taken away with the rest of the trash.
From there it made an epic journey all the way to the trash heap, where it was unloaded and left there to rust in peace. Fate had other plans, however, and decided that another path was far more suitable. The dump wasn't very well guarded, and more often than not, homeless people settled in around it to make their home.
It was one of these such individuals that found this silent toaster. The old man had been picking through the garbage like normal, hoping to find some sort of meal for the day, when he came across a shiny, brand new looking kitchen appliance. Unable to believe his luck, he slowly picked it up and looked it over.
Yes, brand new, and what was more, there wasn't even a scratch on it from the journey there!
Letting out a cheer, the elder stumbled down the pile, the machine clutched to his chest like a lifeline, and bolted past all of his companions. They stared after him, utterly confused, before a little old woman piped up in a tiny voice.
"Jack's at it again." She sighed out; her exasperated tone brought forth murmurs of understanding from the other's as they realized what was going on. At least, what they thought was going on. Unconcerned, they then turned back to their burning barrel to get warm, deciding to leave the crazy man to his own endeavors.
Jack, for his part, continued to race down the street with the toaster until he came to a pawn shop. Not hesitating for a moment upon seeing the door, he crashed right into and through it, stumbling slightly as he came to a stop inside the store. The owner looked up, but only raised an eyebrow at his newest customer, well used to such acts from the older man. This wasn't the first time he had burst in like he had done just now. He leaned forward on his counter, interested to see what the other had with him this time. Sometimes he brought wondrous, useful things, and other times it was just junk that he thought was 'neat'.
Wheezing, the elder limped over to the merchant, a stitch in his side.
Hands trembling, Jack set the toaster up on the surface, but kept the appendages near the machine, as if to protect it from being stolen from him. His black stained fingertips shook the worst, and were pressed against the metallic sides in a useless attempt to stop their jittering. His fingerless, cloth gloves were soaked with perspiration, and it was amazing he hadn't dropped the poor thing yet. The pawnshop owner looked the homeless beggar up and down, taking in the ratty, patched clothes, the holey shoes, the dirty, desperate face, the wide, spiky gray hair, and the half-skewed hat on his head; and then at the shining, sparkling new toaster.
"Well, well, Jack, what'cha got there?" He grinned, shifting his weight on his feet, amused by the other male's disposition. But the elder was still catching his breath, his thin, frail frame heaving with every gust of air he drew in, and let out. After a few moments of this, he looked up at the pawnbroker, face shining with sweat and eyes glinting with a sort of madness that only comes to someone after the world has beat them down into submission over and over again. The look still terrified the pawn shop owner sometimes. Especially when the old man would fall into a spastic, screaming rant, like he was just about to do.
"I've found it. Look! Look'it! Isn't she a beaut?!" Jack's words were hissed out, his eyes still wide with amazement at his find.
But he had to confirm it with someone else. Someone sane. He had to make sure it wasn't an illusion.
"Yes. Where did you manage to find something like this? It looks to be in perfect condition." The younger man reached out to touch the black metal, but Jack pulled it back.
"Ah ah ah!" He snapped, "Don' you be touchin' my meal ticket, damn you! Not until you tell me if ya' want it and what it's worth! And I ain' stupid, remember that! I know what it's worth!" The homeless man was quick to defend his prize. After all, if you lived like he did, you had to have some form of backbone. Especially when it came to survival. The other male gave him a tight lipped smile, finding little amusement in the beggar's choice of words. Then again, Jack rarely made any sense.
"But of course." He examined it without touching it after that, preferring not to anger the half crazed old man. The last thing he wanted was to be bashed over the head in a fit of desperation via Jack.
Jack was wonderful for business, yes. He brought in many things that the owner could not get himself; and he found the homeless man to be respectable, in a way. But that didn't mean that he trusted the other. No, he thought him crazy and unpredictable. The last thing he needed was for the old coot to leap across the counter and beat on him for the cash in his drawer. He had no doubt he would do it either- the thought had him eyeing Jack warily between moments of examination. He was a cracked nut alright. It was best he didn't stir the hornet's nest.
"Well, Jack, I think you've hit the goldmine." At last the pawnbroker spoke, smirking to himself,
"Hah! I told you! I told them! I told them all! I found it. I found it I tell you!"
"Yes, yes you did." The words were brisk and borderline impatient; he had to hurry this up. Soon he would have other customers, and them seeing Jack in his shop would slow business. He couldn't have that.
"I'll give you a hundred even for it."
"Won't go under one hundred seventy-five." Jack told him stubbornly, fingers encircling the toaster protectively, eyes gleaming ferally.
"Tch! You're insane! Fine, one hundred fifty. Take it or leave it."
"Deal." Eager, the old man pushed the toaster forward, and was rewarded with several twenty dollar bills and a ten. He willingly handed over the device, and tucked the cash into his pocket, pleased. With this, he could start a new life.
Jack could now wash up, get some cheap, new clothes from a Good Will or some other hand-me-down store, and apply for some jobs.
He couldn't have been happier, and was quick to leave.
"Now, what to do with you…" Musing, the owner leaned down so that he was eye level with the silent toaster- that is, if toaster's had eyes. He received no answer, but then again, he didn't need one. Chuckling in amusement, he went and got his phone. While he got many people to come into his shop when they needed things, most didn't need a toaster of all items. And so, he would have to resort to other options to get some profit off the kitchen hardware.
Craigslist is a very useful website.
XxX
Bill was having a horrible day.
First, the lightbulb in the bathroom exploded. Then, the toilet clogged up and broke. Next, his wife's tire decided to blow. Finally, his son and daughter crammed crayola crayons down into both the toaster's slots and tried to cook them, melting wax all over the inside of the device and ruining it completely. After disciplining both his children and sending them off to their mother for 'time out', he began to methodologically fix each and every issue. Fixing the lightbulb was a simple matter, so he finished that up first. Once done with that, he moved on to the toilet. It took some plunging and jury rigging, but he managed to fix that too. By far the worst to fix was his wife's blown tire.
Still, he managed it in record time.
When he was done near the end of the day, Bill set out to begin looking for a new toaster. It didn't take him long to come across a very nice one on Craigslist. It was a little pricey; but it was near where he lived and it looked brand new. Informing his wife and kissing her goodbye sweetly, he swung into his car and headed that way, glad this had happened on the weekend and not on a work day. It would have taken him all week to fix everything, and then his wife would've been pissed at him.
He shuddered at the thought.
Bill followed the address on the ad to a pawnshop and pulled in. Parking, he shut the engine off and climbed out, shutting the door behind him firmly. He gazed up at the seedy looking place suspiciously, finding this a little too… off, before telling himself he was being ridiculous and paranoid and proceeding into the building. The inside was much better than the outside, though not by much. The owner looked up from a magazine and grinned at him, showing off black and yellow teeth before calling out a customary welcome.
It didn't make Bill feel very welcome.
Gathering his courage, he moved up to the counter,
"I'm here about an ad on craigslist? Heard you had a toaster for sale."
"Yeah, yeah! Real pretty thing, isn't it?" The sleazy man chuckled before pulling out a black toaster from beneath the counter and setting it on the surface. Bill reached up and ran a hand through his soft brown hair out of nervousness. This guy was not giving him any good feelings. For a moment, he examined it before nodding.
"You wanted two hundred for it?"
"Tha's right." The man smacked his lips, sucking on one of his blackened teeth.
Bill did his very best not to shudder as he pulled out his wallet and forked over the cash for it. He didn't listen as the other man thanked him, rather sleazily, for the business transaction. Instead, he picked up the black toaster, and hauled ass out of that pawn shop. Something about the owner just creeped him the hell out.
Climbing back into his car and setting the toaster on the passenger seat, Bill began pulling out of the parking lot. The sooner he got home and away from this place, the better. All the way back, however, the young man continuously glanced over at his newly purchased kitchenware between sessions of intense road-staring, as he was prone to calling it. There was something strange about the innocent looking device. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Shrugging it off, Bill pulled into his driveway, grabbed his purchase, and slipped out. There was no one there to greet him, and he wasn't surprised. The kids and their mother were probably playing with those damned tablets of their's and becoming immersed in technology.
Bill sighed. People these days. Didn't they enjoy a good book? Ever, anymore?
Stepping into the house and removing his boots, the male set about plugging the toaster in and getting it set up for use. Once it was in place, Bill attempted to shove bread into both it's slots, to make sure it worked properly. To his shock, the kitchen tool jerked violently and seemed to jump in the air about three inches in height, clacking back down on it's plastic legs irritably. The young man stumbled back, surprised and horrified. For all its normal appearance, the toaster seemed... alive.
"Just what do you think you're doing, you punk ass meatbag?!" The snarl that seemed to resound from within the metal of the device had Bill's jaw dropping.
He barely had time to stumble back slightly before a flaming, black slice of toast was hurtled at his face at an amazingly aggressive amount of speed. Only Bill's instinct to fall to the ground on his ass saved his poor face. Screaming like the sissy man he currently felt like, the young man crawled away at an impressive rate and got behind a wall.
"MARY! MARY THE TOASTER! IT'S ALIVE!" His wailing for his wife brought her to him, looking confused, tablet held aloft in one hand, the other on her hip.
"What are you talking about, Bill?" She clearly wasn't in the mood to deal with him, "My Farmville-"
"The toaster, Mary, the toaster." Bill's quivering voice brought a huff and an eye roll from his wife.
Clearly, she thought he was crazy.
"Bill, the toaster isn't alive. Look, I'll prove it." Mary stepped around the corner, and her husband lunged, grabbing for her legs to keep her from leaving. But he was panicked, unbalanced, and thus missed her. Flipping hair out of her eyes, the female remained unharmed until she got to the toaster. Raising an eyebrow, Mary noted that toasters weren't supposed to steam, and that the red light on the front was on, despite not cooking anything and the lever on the side not even being pushed down to toast bread. A little confused, she reached out to pull the plug, convinced it was simply a power problem of sorts and that the circuitry was out of whack or something weird like that. Really, she didn't know anything about toasters.
The toaster didn't like Mary doing that.
"Don't you dare, femme!" The snarl resounded from deep within the metal confines of the device, rattling like a violent storm. Mary stumbled back in shock, gaping openly at the toaster. Hand jerking, she reacted violently and tried to rip the cord from the outlet. In the back of her mind, she reasoned that without power, it couldn't do anything. But she never even laid a finger on that cord. Instead, Mary found herself being pulled sharply out of the way as a second slice of flaming, blackened toast was launched from the toaster's other slot.
Stunned, she didn't fight back as Bill dragged her around the wall, where they were safe from the enraged toaster in the kitchen. Together, they sank down to the ground, leaning against the hard surface behind them.
"What the hell was that thing?!" The screeched out question was rhetorical in nature, and high pitched in terror. Still, Bill felt compelled to answer his wife.
"A toaster. I think." His voice quaked, and he swallowed thickly. At this point he didn't know what to think. Maybe they were both going crazy.
It was certainly plausible.
"I-I think I saw something like this in a horror movie once. E-Exorcist, I think it was?" Mary was shaking with terror, swallowing thickly, she rounded on Bill, "Why did you bring that thing home?! What's wrong with you?! Don't you care at all for your family?!"
Bill gaped at her, sputtering for a moment before he was able to reply,
"Of course I do! How was I supposed to know it was some evil occult item?!"
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO DO BACKGROUND CHECKS ON EVERYTHING THAT ENTERS THIS HOUSE! ESPECIALLY TOASTERS!" The scream was frustrated and hysterical all at once as the woman tore at her own hair.
"What the hell are you- You never told me to do that before!"
"Don't question me! Just call a damn priest!" Wild eyed, Mary glared up at him,
"Why would I call-"
"THE PRIEST, BILL." The way the order was barked out made Bill wonder if the toaster was the only thing that was possessed. Still, ever the obedient husband, he scrambled for his phone and a phonebook, desperately scouring for a priest's number. The whole time, his wife breathed down his neck in pure nervousness.
Que the whipping noise, please.
Two hours later, they were on the phone with Father Gerald, who assured them he would be over momentarily with some of his apprentices to deal with the possessed toaster. They sat, huddled against the wall with their children cradled in their arms, until the priest arrived. The two children never looked up from their video games, mumbling to one another about items, missions, and achievements. Occasionally commenting that their parents were weird as hell. Mary and Bill whispered soft, kind of almost creepy reassurances to the two occupied youths, taking to petting their hair and nearly squeezing the poor children to death against them.
When there was a knock at the door, Bill passed off his son to his wife, and stood to head for the door. He ducked past the kitchen opening, not wanting any more flaming toast to get hurdled at his head before yanking his front door open and nearly off its hinges in his eagerness.
There stood a man in black robing and three young men in simple, brown and white suits with ties. The young man stepped aside and hurriedly urged them in. Once they stepped through the threshold, heads bowed slightly, Bill slammed the door shut and leaned against it, swallowing thickly against his nervousness. The four men turned to the poor, harried young man. While the priest seemed calm and even smiled a little, the three apprentices watched him for a moment with stern, unmoving gazes that seemed to burn through him.
Bill found them almost as terrifying as the toaster. Almost.
"Where is the cursed item? The light of our lord and savior, Jesus, shall cleanse its unholiness." The priest extended his arms out, smiling, and lifted his head up until he was nearly staring at the ceiling.
"...Right." Slowly, the word was drawn from Bill's mouth, "It's… in the kitchen." he pointed at the doorway, refusing to move any closer to the damned room for fear of being pinged in the face by something hot and hard. That would be rather painful. The priest nodded his head sagely, still smiling in that creepy way of his.
"Never fear, my son. We shall free you of this binding curse. Come, embrace me! I shall rid you of all your worries!" He extended his arms outwards, smile widening.
"..." Bill stared at him blankly for several moments, "Just get rid of the toaster, please." He carefully edged around the strange man and went back to his family, crouching beside them and embracing them instead. The priest frowned.
Nonetheless, the four men turned and headed into the kitchen.
Almost instantly; one of the apprentices had to grab Father Gerald and yank him out of the way while the other two dodged frantically. Bagels on fire flying through the air at your face tends to make you do that. The priest took a moment to blink stupidly after where the dangerous, ruined food items had flown before pointing dramatically at the steaming, enraged toaster and yelling, "Hells fire take you, demon! The waters of Christ shall cleanse you!"
"Get the pit away from you fleshling nutjob." The snarl resounded from deep within the confines of the metal box, rattling violently.
They ignored the small toaster and gathered around it, drawing forth strange looking talismans. Though they were just scraps of paper with symbols on them, they made the kitchen appliance wary. Just what were they planning to do with those? He braced himself, his entire frame tinkling in an unspoken threat. Once they were all in a complete circle, they held the thick papers aloft, cried out something in another language-
And shoved the slips down his two toasting holes none too gently.
Sputtering with pure rage, feeling violated and molested, the toaster set them on fire with a quick heat blast and shot them back out at the faces of the fleshlings crowded around him. They yelled and fell backwards, having been caught off guard, but one wasn't quite fast enough.
"AAAUUUGGGHHH! MY EYES! THEY BUUURRRNNN!" He screamed and rolled back and forth on the ground, gripping his face, "WHY, GOD, WHY?!" It was rather dramatic, and drew wide eyed looks from his companions. The priest sadly shook his head.
"Jim was a good man. His death will not be in vain."
"But I'm not dead!" Jim whined between sobs of pain from his burned face; and got subtly kicked,
"Quiet you, you're supposed to be dead, dammit."
Jim didn't say anything after that.
The toaster seemed to hiss like an angry cat, its legs clacking against the floor loudly as it halfway bounced around.
"To arms, my brethren!" Together, the remaining holy men pulled out their bottles of equally holy water. Like normal water. Only holy. On the side of each of these containers was a warning label. 'Warning! Not be be drunk. May burn insides out in righteous fire.'
"You may have fire, demon, but we have the water from God's very own kitchen faucet!" The priest's words caused the toaster to stop for a moment, and everyone could swear he was giving the man a questioning, confused look.
"...You have issues."
"Hah! You may think you're going to win! But you obviously didn't play Pokemon as a child! Water ALWAYS beats fire!" Father Gerald didn't even seem to hear him, and instead continued to truck on, bewildering the toaster further, who was now wondering what the hell a 'Pokemon' was. Maybe it was some sort of weapon. Either way, the priest didn't give him much of a chance to reply back to him.
"Douse the nonbeliever! Kill the Antichrist!" The yell brought forth a tidal wave of action. Instantly, three different water sources were poured onto the kitchen appliance. There was a snarl, and then… silence. Nobody twitched. Or even breathed.
If this didn't work, they were all out of options; Father Gerald didn't have anymore ideas.
Then there was a very sudden end to the quiet. The toaster exploded outwards, black smoke pluming from the slots in it and electricity dancing over its metallic form. Roaring, the toaster bellowed out threats and insults, leaping up at the holy men the best it could given its stubby plastic legs and being plugged into the wall still. They stumbled away,
"HOLY SHIT, IT DIDN'T WORK!" the collective scream was like that of the sound a bunch of little girls, terrified of a spider, would make.
Needless to say, it wasn't very manly at all.
With that, they fled the house. The last two apprentices barely took the time to grab Jim before they were out the door, fleeing down the street at a terrified pace. Whatever that toaster was, they wanted no part of it. Father Gerald stumbled and stopped for a moment in front of the door to speak to Bill, hair everywhere and very much disheveled,
"This isn't worth what you're paying me! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO A BACKGROUND CHECK?!" leaving the other man gaping, the holy man fled the cursed house without looking back.
Like a terrified little kid, wetting his pristine robes the entire way.
Slowly covering his face with his hands, Bill could only lean back against the wall, next to his wife. Mary, for her part, merely clutched her children tighter against her with her arms while her hands updated her facebook status and posted on twitter, fingertips flying over her iPhone screen. There was silence for several moments, if you pardoned the screaming death threats and insults from the kitchen, until loud knocking drowned it out for a few moments. Then it was swept back beneath the loudness that was the toaster.
Hoping the priest had returned, and with reinforcements, the young man hauled himself to his feet, crept over to the door, and pulled it open so that there was a small sliver he could look through. Just in case.
There, standing on the other side, where three men. One was white haired with red streaks running through the short, spiky strands, and the other two were black haired. One with red bangs, the other with yellow. All three sported glowing blue eyes, causing Bill to wonder if they were just normal people- a family maybe?- or if they were more demonic forces coming to plague his home, his mind, and his life like the disease this seemed to be.
Bill barely had time to think of such things before the white headed one shoved his way through into his home, grumbling beneath his breath rudely.
"Hi! We're from the government. We heard you had a toaster issue and came to fix it." The red streaked, black haired man seemed oddly cheerful as he followed the older, far more cranky agent. Behind him, the other black haired man- maybe his brother? They looked like it- followed him closely while scowling, with his hands in pockets, and looking generally unpleasant to be around. Bill tripped out of the way as best he could and shut the door behind him.
"What are you-"
"No need to worry, we'll pay for any damages done to your home and family and we'll take the toaster off your hands." The cheerful one continued to grin at him and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bill leaned back, wary. This one was kinda creeping him out…
There was sudden, indistinguishable yelling from the kitchen and rough clanging.
It lasted perhaps ten seconds. Once it was over, the older man appeared in the doorway of Bill's kitchen, toaster tucked under one arm. Without a word, he stormed past everyone else and back out the door, seething.
"H-How did he-?!" The human was patted lightly on the head by the slightly creepy agent, who smiled even wider.
"Don't worry. He's just got the magic touch." With a laugh, he and his brother left, following after their senior. Bill could only stand there, gaping for a second time that day in the face of someone's exit, one hand raised and pointing after them.
And then he fainted.
XxX
"In earlier news, there was apparently an incident with a 'malfunctioning toaster' in a rural family's home. Government officials showed up to take care of the issue, and are telling everyone not to worry about it-" Ironhide scowled at the news lady on the screen, irritated. He didn't need to be reminded of that. He hunched over his afternoon energon, ignoring the snickers going around the rec. room and the looks he was getting. Whatever. He'd blow them all up during training and get back at them that way. Yeah, that sounded good.
Despite everything though, Ironhide had to admit that it was a relief to be back in his own body after being a toaster for that short period of time. He shuddered as he remembered the crazy medic that had finally acted on his word and turned him into that accursed form. Never again would he think that Ratchet wasn't serious when he made a threat. And he would never, ever do what he did to piss the CMO off again. That had been a horrible idea. A terrible mistake. He would just have to watch himself much more closely in the future to keep from fragging the medic off with something else.
Again.
Ironhide shook the thoughts away and proceeded to drain what was left of his energon.
XxX
Ratchet scowled as he stared across his med bay, arms crossed over his chest in his irritation. Optimus had scolded him for turning Ironhide into a toaster, and had lectured him on why they didn't do such things to their teammates. Ratchet's excuse- but he was annoying me!- didn't earn him any points, either. Now he was in trouble, and he was forbidden- rather expressively- from ever turning anyone into a toaster ever again.
Optimus-the-killjoy-Prime.
The medic twitched as he listened to the terror twins crashing through and breaking things as they tore down a hallway, fleeing from some angry mech; Sideswipe laughing the entire way. Clenching his jaw, eyebrow twitching, Ratchet wondered at the consequences of making the two idiots disappear for always wasting his time. Then, an idea came to him. A horrible, terrible, wonderful idea.
Maybe it was now against the rules for him to turn them into toasters- but Optimus didn't say anything about golf carts...