Legal Schtick: You can go ahead and blame me for the story, but don't blame me for Transformers, nor any references made to any anime contained herein (and worry not, crossover-phobes, the references pretty much stay references and that's that. This isn't a real crossover by any means). Hasbro/Takara are the ones to blame for Transformers, as are the various Japanese studios for the respective referenced animes.
Foreward: This story is based on one of the many theories that explains a plothole in Transformers: The Movie. If the whole ordeal make your head spin, or if you're simply fixiated onto a different theory and can't stand the one this story provides, it might be wise to hit your "Back" button. Thank you and have a nice day.
A giant mechanical beast sat hunched over in the corner of a bar, his long ears twitching as he lost himself in thought. He was much bigger than the rest of the barflies, and almost too big for the bar itself-the very reason why he was hunched over. Fortunately for him, the bar had a large door; otherwise, he would have never been able to enter in the first place.
He was also the only mechanical patron in the bar; there weren't any cybernetic lifeforms that were native to this corner of the galaxy. He found that odd, since this was supposed to be the most densely populated area in the entire galaxy. You'd think you'd find even a moon with some kind of metal-based lifeforms living on it...
The bar was mostly filled with the dominant races of the region, which were all humanoid creatures. In general, they looked a lot like the Terrans did. Physical differences were slight, like hair color or stature. The only ones that didn't look remarkably like Terrans were the one or two Katarl-Katarls in the bar. They were also humanoid of course, but they had a lot of feline features and dark-colored skin. He kept trying not to stare at them. He had heard of them a long time ago but never actually saw them prior to wandering into this region. He wondered if they could really turn into tigers...
However, many, if not all the patrons made no effort not to stare at him. Sure, they had heard of Cybertronians-who hadn't? They were the biggest troublemakers in the universe!-but they had never seen one before, just as he had heard of, but not seen most of them. He was quite the spectacle to them. They were probably wondering if he could really transform into some other kind of machine, just as he had mused over the Katarl-Katarls.
His glassy rose-colored eyes drifted around the bar. At one time, those optics had been a fierce crimson color, like that of fire. However, weariness and hard times had caused them to dull into a pinkish shade.
They briefly lit on the TV. There was some kind of warrant out for a group of fugitives, supposedly for treason. Some pictures came on screen...some girl with long purple hair...a little girl with two long ponytails...a young adult woman with out-of-control looking hair...some short woman with equally wild hair, only red...a couple of ex-Galaxy-Police members...some teenage boy...a random guy...an old man... There was a pretty big bounty on their heads...maybe he should try to go after them? He had plenty of money from other odd jobs, but still...he wouldn't have to worry about it for a long time if he took up this job and succeeded.
Maybe not. Because of the reward's size, all the big-time bounty hunters were probably already out there looking for them. He himself only had a year's worth of experience; he couldn't compete.
He yawned and sipped his energon, which had been served to him in a bucket. The bar didn't get any customers his size, thus they had no glasses of his proportions.
That bucket of energon was costing him quite a pretty credit. Simply put, it was because energon wasn't used very much around these parts. The natives instead used a fuel called "dragonite." It was a lot more effecient than energon was, and much more abundant in this region. He had tried dragonite himself, sure. And while it was indeed more effective-he could achive higher speeds without risk of burnout, and go a longer time before refueling-he still didn't like it. For starters, it had this horribly sweet taste, that gave him the mechanical equivalent of nausea every time he ingested it. It also had devastating side-effects to his processor: it made him incredibly jumpy, nervous, and shaky. One time it caused him to think that giant pink spiders were crawling all over him! Thus, he stuck with his energon and only used dragonite when absolutely necessary.
He stared into the rainbow-colored liquid. He remembered that just a over a year and a half ago, he would drink energon to relax, to forget, or sometimes, to get intoxicated. He used to be considered the Decepticons' resident barhopper. Not anymore. But it wasn't that he didn't want to anymore, he just couldn't. His new, "highly advanced" systems blocked out the side effects from excess energon; in short, he was immune.
He snorted softly. How convienent that the effects of energon would be blocked but not the effects of dragonite!
Yes, how utterly convienent.
His gaze shifted to the table. Memories...how long has it been since I left? he thought. A year and half? Sounds about right...
He remembered it well, for it was impossible for anyone to forget. His solo career began right when he had returned to Cybertron with the other "experimental subjects of Unicron," and during Starscream's so-called coronation. Of course, he did stick around long enough to watch said nearly-promoted Seeker get turn into, as the Terrans so nicely put it, "fried chicken." It was quite satisfying; he wouldn't have missed it for the world! He believed Starscream really had it coming for the longest time. And it wasn't just over the couple times Starscream got him in trouble over the years-no sir. It was over the fact that many Seekers considered their breed a family of sorts, no matter how backstabbing some of their members are. Now it's true that he was never really close to any of the other Seekers besides Skywarp, but still, the bond was there between all of them, from the original mass-production models like he had been, to the newer "coneheaded" models. But for 'Screamer to just toss a couple of his fellow Seekers-that is to say, metaphorical family members-out into space to just die of energy starvation...! That was just too much. That son of a retro rat get what he deserved, in his opinion. He almost wished he could have done it himself.
And another thing...how could've 'Train wanted weight jettisoned in space?! he thought angrily, reminded of "The Incident." It's SPACE fer Primus' sake! There's no weight in SPACE! It was a conspiracy...it had to be! He growled to himself, but got his thoughts back on track.
It was right after Starscream's death that he left. Everyone was too distracted to notice him running off. He had thought about quitting the Decepticons numerous times, but it was only now that he had gathered up enough courage to actually do it. He figured that, thanks to his recent upgrade, he was now strong enough to survive on his own. He hated to leave Skywarp-or whichever one of those mechanical monsters Skywarp had turned into-all alone, but it was now or never. He also figured that there was no sense in hanging with a group that would so eagerly toss him out a spaceship. They had expressed earlier that didn't want him anyway...so why stay? His mind was made up; he was quitting.
Or running off, because that's what he literally did. With everyone distracted, he took off on foot, and when he was sure he was far enough away, he transformed and flew off. He hid himself away in a dark, remote corner of the planet. It was there that he tore his Decepticon sigil clear off his chest, burned it, then vowed to himself that he would never again fight for a cause he hardly believed in. After all, doing just that nearly killed him hours ago.
That same day, the Autobots retook Cybertron. In all honesty, he was relieved. If his former faction continued to rule over the planet, they would've eventually found him...and from there they would've killed him for deserting. But with the Autobots, all he had to worry about was possible imprisonment if they found him.
And they shortly did just that.
Just like he had assumed, they did try to capture him. But can you blame them? He looked exactly like a certain new Decepticon-second-in-command. They probably thought it was him despite the glaring fact that he was lacking the forbidden Decepticon sigil.
But even if they could tell the difference, they probably didn't care. They probably saw him as a Decepticon anyway, sigil or no sigil. Some good guys they are, eh?
Fortunately for him, he was able to escape. It was also the very first time he actually used his new arsenal of weapons. He had so many different kinds, it really surprised him. He was even able to take out twenty Autobots at once when he used a melee attack!
...Well after all, his new name did suggest he was a one-robot army...
Immediately after that, he left Cybertron for good. It was no use. He had tried being a neutral before, but that obviously didn't work out. And now that he actually went on the offensive against the Autobots, they'd never leave him alone. They'd hunt him down no matter where he hid. He would have to find himself a new home.
But he never found one. After all, if he did, he wouldn't be hanging out in this bar, now would he? He found it nearly impossible, as he had to avoid quite a lot of people. He had to avoid worlds with ties to the Autobots, has they saw him as nothing more than another Decepticon. He had to avoid worlds with ties to his old faction, as they saw him as nothing more than a deserter. And, later on in his travels as he approached this side of the galaxy, he had to avoid the Galaxy Police, as they also saw him as just another Decepticon, and therefore a criminal. But it seemed that all three of these groups had quite a few connections and were pretty tough to shake...
One time, he actually tried to ignore the small connections, figuring that maybe he was just being paranoid. It was when he had arrived at some random planet, and some mech had accidently called him "Cyclonus." He corrected him, and then acted like nothing happened at all, and nothing was going to happen afterward. And for a while, nothing did happen. That is, until a couple cycles later when the real Cyclonus showed up with several of those new, ugly, winged, Seeker-like creatures (darned if he could remember what they were called!), demanding to know where "that damned deserter" was!
It had been quite a wake up call. First, it proved to him that he wasn't being paranoid. Second, it also gave him a chance to use his newly-discovered cloaking device. He made use of it immediately and flew away without his former boss or comrades knowing he had even left. And from then on, whenever he came to a place and someone mistook him for Cyclonus, he would leave soon after. Better safe than sorry.
After that, he wandered from place to place, snagging some odd jobs so he could get some money for fuel. Of course, with all his firepower, he could easily just rob a place and take as much fuel as he wanted. He chose not to, however. That would call unneccesary attention to himself, something a guy on the run didn't need. Usually, the jobs he took were bounty-hunting jobs. He was remarkably good at it, thanks to his rediculous amount of firepower (half of which he probably hadn't even discovered yet!) and size advantage, as most of his targets were humaniods. Quite a few of his employers said he was even good enough to compete with the big-time bounty hunters like Nagi herself! He didn't believe he was that good though; he thought most of his successes were actually products of dumb luck.
Whatever the case, he made somewhat of a good living, at least. As long as he kept himself a step ahead of the 'Bots, 'Cons and the cops, he'd be fine. He did find it quite irritating having to constantly move around. In the back of his head, he wondered what would happen if he actually tried to fight them. He had a lot of weapons, and gadgets, after all. But he always answered that there was only one of him, but millions of them. Sheer numbers would be the end of him, no matter what kind of weapons Unicron had equipped him with. But then that brought up the question of what would happen if ran out of places to run to. He no answer for that, and simply tried not to think about it.
And so, here he was. A random bar on the other side of the galaxy, refueling before finding himself a place to recharge for the night. His gaze moved back to the rainbow-colored liquid. A slightly unfamiliar face stared back at him in the reflection.
Oh, TC...what happened to you?! he thought. You run away from home, 'cause you hear you're gonna be shipped off somewhere. You weren't entirely sure if that was true or not. You join the Decepticons, though you hardly even agree on what they're fighting for. Later, you wind up getting your dumb skidplate shipped off to strange planet anyway, where you're knocked out for a couple million Earth years. THEN you wake up only to get your ass kicked by the Autobots for the next twenty Earth years. And then because you're too slaggin' chicken to just go ahead and quit, you almost get killed! It's a damn good thing Unicron was there to save your sorry chassis! So THEN you decide to quit! But guess what?! It's too late now, pal! Now you're stuck runnin' away again...right back to where you started! ...Always runnin' away. What the Pit happened to you TC? What happened...?
Now secretly he knew some of that wasn't true. He did have proof that he was going to be shipped off along with several others on his production line, possibly into slavery, by his original engineers. Also, the failure to quit the Decepticons right away wasn't exactly his fault-at least not in the beginning. For awhile, he was stranded on Earth; if he tried to quit then, he wouldn't have many places to hide at all. He would have easily been found, then promptly destroyed. Plus, he didn't want to abandon Skywarp, one of his few actual friends, just like that.
He snorted angrily, causing many of his fellow patrons to jump. Life is peachy, isn't it?
That when he noticed something in the corner of his eye. Some girl standing by the counter was whispering something to her friend who was sitting on stool. She kept stealing glances at him. The friend took a quick look at him and looked a little frightened. She then whispered something back to the standing girl.
Uh oh... he thought. I don't think I like where this is going...
He turned his head away from the counter, to make it appear like he wasn't even looking at them. However, he watched the girls out the corner of his eye. Chalk one up for invisible pupils!
The girls took one last look at him. He turned up his audio sensors to try and catch their conversation.
"Okay...he's not looking at us...," the girl standing up whispered. "Go ahead...go!"
The girl sitting down quickly got out of her seat and ducked into the hallway next to the counter, watching him the whole time. The girl who was standing up sat down in the vacant stool and tried to act nonchalant.
He shifted himself a little, still pretending to be looking away. He had actually moved himself over a little bit to get a better view of where that first girl went. Sure enough, from around the corner of the counter, he saw her putting coins in the video phone. He zoomed his optics in to get a better view of who she might be calling.
His fears were confirmed momentarily. The figure of a person wearing a Galaxy Police uniform came up on screen, and began to talk with the girl, who again stole glaces at him every now and again. The dam broke when she finally pointed at him.
It was settled. Time to go. NOW.
He quickly downed what little energon was left in the bucket, then started grumbling to himself as he pulled some money out of subspace. He wasn't sure whether to blame his figure or everybody else's prejudice. Slaggit... why did he have to look so much like Cyclonus?! There were actually some physical differences: he was light blue instead of lavender, and of course he lacked the obvious sigil...! But it seems nobody realized that. Or cared. In fact, that was probably the reason this girl was calling the cops on him-he had just been mistaken for the 'Con second-in-command once again...
Much to the other patrons' amazement he took a few steps over to the counter while hunched over. "Here," he said brusquely to the bartender while slapping the money on the counter with a finger. "Keep the change!"
He turned and began to leave the bar. Just as he did, his heightened audios caught that girl telling the police, "Oh! Now he's leaving the bar!"
The thought of taking on one of the parties that persecuted him crept into his mind again. Sure, he might be able to take on the police. With all the gadgets he had hidden in his body he could probably take down an mid-sized fleet of Galaxy Police ships, even though he only knew how to use a handful of them (though the number of weaponry he could actually successfully handle was a much smaller handful). Unicron, for whatever reason, decided to give him that much power.
But at what cost? Even with all these nice little toys, he knew that he couldn't fight the police. It didn't matter how easily he would win against them in a physical fight, if he did it, his image would be broadcasted throughout the galaxy-and eventually it would get back to his former allies. Besides, if he did, it'd be a repeat of Cybertron. The Galaxy Police never really had any real reason to go after him, other than his looks. Had he challenged them, they'd probably realize he was an entirely different entity than Cyclonus, then promptly put a huge bounty on his head just like those people on TV. And then his bounty-hunting day would certainly be over...
Armada barreled through the huge bar doors, scaring a bunch of people hanging around outside. He stood up tall, towering over the citizens and several buildings. The rabbit-like jet stepped out into the street and with a single deft jump, launched himself into the air. He flew straight up into the sky, and when he was sure he was high enough, transformed into a sleek light-blue space jet.
Running away again, am I? Figures. he thought. ...I'm starting to think it's fate...I guess I'm destined to run forever...
Armada started up his thrusters and took off. On the planet below, he looked like a random, lone meteor burning up in the atmosphere.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: (Gee, I hope you're not reading this ahead of time...) I've always heard that Thundercracker never really agreed on what the 'Cons were fightin' for...that helped me both with my personal theory and this story.
I also kinda played with Mr. Screen Error's name there. Everybody wonders, "Now how can Cyke have an armada of just one guy?" Well in this case, that one guy is strong enough to be his own armada! It explains the large arsenal.
And no, this doesn't have anything to do with my other fic, "Schizoid." That one I just did for fun. Well, this one I did for fun too, this one just utilizes the movie theory I actually believe in. :p