Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the computer it's written on. If you recognize it and it's yours please don't sue! Only written for fun and entertainment purposes. I do not own, but have enjoyed all the fic referenced herein especially Sand and Vacuum Cleaners by don't hurt me!
Author's Note*** My sister and I were comparing some of the fanfic we'd recently read, and wondered what conclusion the Transformers would come up with if A) They were real, and B) They came across some of the stuff out there that I've read. I apologize if this has been done by someone before me (probably much better.)
Sam Witwicky walked by the open laptop on a table in the cavernous Rec-room at NEST headquarters, and then stopped in his tracks. Taking a step backwards to stand in front of said laptop, his eyes bugged as he read the screen.
"Mikeala!" he screamed while scanning a few more lines, "What the HELL is on your laptop?"
"Oh." Mikeala mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn, as she returned from the microwave with a fresh bowl. "Nothing important."
"Nothing?" Sam bleated. "Nothing? What are THEY going to think if they ever saw something like, like…! What EXACTLY is that anyway?"
Mikeala smiled at the fact that Sam was so flustered, but quickly schooled her expression. Batting her eyes and using her best Who me? I'm innocent! face she informed her boyfriend, "It's called fan fiction, Sam, and it's educational."
" Edu…Educa… Mikeala, what if they saw that and got offended? What if Prime accepted that as a species-wide opinion? He'd probably GIVE Megatron our planet, maybe even gift wrap it." Sam lectured, his volume rising. "Or worse yet, Ratchet might ask us to DEMONSTRATE!"
"Demonstrate what?" Optimus Prime asked, as he walked into the Rec-room.
"Nothing," Sam whispered as the other Autobots trickled in.
"Hey Mik," Arcee greeted, "Whatcha doin'?"
"Fanfic surfing," Mikeala responded rather matter-of-factly. "Nice use of the local slang, by the way."
"I am learning," said Arcee as her triple form closed in around Sam and Mikeala. "What is 'Fanfic surfing'?"
"Searching," mumbled Ratchet as he passed by, and then stopped abruptly with one foot still raised. "Oh!"
"'Oh!' What?" Sideswipe asked, "Initiating search." His optics stared off into nothingness for a second as he connected to the World Wide Web, then widened and flared, "Oh! Oh by the Pit NO! I NEVER in my life… PRIME!"
Optimus Prime initiated a search of his own in order to discover what had affected his Autobots to such a degree, and suddenly stopped at the 5,261st entry. Was that a picture of… yes, someone had taken a picture of that battle on the freeway in Hong Kong. But what was that thing sticking out of his lower pelvic region? It looked vaguely….
"All Autobots report to Conference Room 1 immediately!" Prime broadcast to all the mechs on base.
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"Prime, have you seen this, this, this waste, this unthinkable insult, this, what is the human word?" Prowl ranted in Cybertronian while advancing on his leader.
"I think 'Bullshit' is the word you're lookin' for." Dropkick answered from where he leaned against the wall in Conference Room 1. After 6 months of hanging around Epps, Dropkick had picked up a few things, Earth English profanity being his latest favorite.
"You can say that again." Prowl grumbled.
"Everyone," Prime insisted, "I think there are matters here that need to be addressed, before anyone does anything rash or diplomatically harmful."
"'Rash' I'll give you 'Rash.' You're not featured as Starscream's and Barricade's BITCH!" Bumblebee vented electronically. "You're also not the one projecting holograms to mate with your human friend, and his girlfriend, in your own backseat. And can someone please explain to me how a hardlight hologram can leak fluids?" he finished with exasperation.
"I especially like this one," Ratchet chuckled, posting a particularly comical picture on the wall projector.
"Damn, Prime." Ironhide grumbled teasingly, "I didn't know you had such a big drive-shaft!"
"The size of my drive-shaft aside," Prime replied, modulating his vocal processor to be heard over the outcry of his fellow mechs. "I believe the salient point you are all overlooking is that these stories are fiction. A creative exploration of human fantasy, in which we are nothing more than characters, figments."
"That may be easy for you to accept, Prime," Bumblebee interrupted with a screech that nearly off-lined his newly installed vocal processor. "Have you even scanned some of the scrap about you and Megatron? For Primus' sake, your own brother? I refuse to let such slander go unanswered."
Sideswipe elbowed Sunstreaker as he forwarded a file with a whispered "Gotta find us a shop-vac."
"Enough!" Prime roared, bringing the conference room to complete silence. "I do not care if the humans portray you as servicing the entire fragging Decepticon Army! No one is to take any action against the authors of these fictions in any way! Is that clear?"
"Yes, Prime!" they chorused.
"My primary concern is not the characters of these fictions. It is also not the pairings and or degradations being detailed therein. My PRIMARY concern is this," Prime lectured. As he met the optics of every mech in the room, his voice modulated down to a range few Autobots had ever experienced.
Optimus Prime spoke as if from the Pit itself, "Who. Told. Humans. About. Interface. Modules?"