"Jazz, Huffer, and Tracks you will come with me, everyone else, protect the base."
"But, Optimus-"
"Just do what Optimus says Tracks"
Why, out of his whole team, did Prime chose me? I'm not the only one that can fly, and I'm sure some of the others cough cough Ironhide would most defiantly want to take my place. But sadly for me, this is not the case, and now I haven to be on the front line against the better half of the whole of the Decepticons. Why me?
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Oh My Spark! There everywhere! We're all going to die! The fire, does it ever end? And the smoke I can barely-no Huffer! He's gone, and Prime and Jazz are missing. That's it, I'm going to die here. Calm down!
Is that thing coming straight towards me?! I brace myself for impact as a small black metal thing that as Ravage comes straight at me, jumping at the last second. I try to move, but it's too late. All I can do to defend myself is try to reprehend the little best as it jumped towards my face. I succeed, managing to grab it around the sides, but its legs are free and flailing around dangerlessly. Its right paw is uncomfortably close to my face, and it is moving so much that it is hard to keep a good grip on it. Ravage is going about in every direction, but it mostly it is just coming closer to me. Fear spreads though me, what if this mechanical feline manages to turn my most beautiful face into shreds. It could, its claws are sharp enough. How can something so small be nearly impossible to hold?! It's going to get me! One..Two..Three. Sharp unforgiving claws break though my red faceplate. It starts and finishes in a second. Ravage runs away and blinding pain goes though me. I know something's wrong, but I can't tell what it is yet. I hope that no one will kill me. Then the world goes dark.
Time Warp Song
"Tracks. Tracks, wake up," says Ratchet softly and kindly.
Ratchet, now why is Ratchet waking me up? Then it hits me, I'm in the Autobot Repair Center. And, Primas no! Ratchet is being nice to me! Slag no! What the Pit is wrong with me.
Fear again spreads though me as I ask a very simple shaky question, "Am I going to die?" Ratchet shakes his helm no. I sigh out in relief. But soon that is replaced with concern and horror. "Give me a mirror!"
Ratchet tries to talk me out of it, but goes to grab me one, reluctantly, after I start hyperventilating. It is just only now notice that my vision is a little off, as if I'm only seeing half of what I'm supposed to. No, no. It is probably just my optics playing tricks on me. Hopefully.
Before I could contemplate any longer on the subject of my stunning shinning blue optics, Ratchet comes in with a sort of metallic hand mirror. I snatch it out of his servos as soon as he is in arms reach. I slowly put up to my faceplate, with my optics shut. I wait a few klicks before I open them.
The mirror feels heavy suddenly, and it is all I can do to not drop it to the ground, allowing it to form into a million little pieces. I bring the mirror closer to my face. It-it's true, my once flawless faceplate has now a scar. A scratch. An imperfection. And it took out my right eye too. It's big and ugly. It is a silver color instead of red in some places, and it took out my right eye. It goes from my forehead to my eye to my lips to my chin, and it took out my right eye. The horrid thing was deep and made my once glowing blue optic turn to a dark grey glass, separated to two by an uneven mark; it took out my right eye. The OPTIC on the right side of my face no longer works, no longer glows, and is terribly hideous to look at, and it took out my right eye too.
It takes me a while to remember that Ratchet is in the room, but when my LEFT OPTIC saw him, it came back to my memory. He looked scared, for some reason or another, at least that's what my LEFT OPTIC observed, Primas knows what my RIGHT OPTIC would have saw. This is all quite the funniest of things, I suppose, but Ratchet is know asking me a question, " Are you okay?"
"Yes, of course," I reply," and it took out my right eye."
Ratchet looks even more concerned, "Are you sure?"
"My LEFT OPTIC seems to think so."
Ratchet looks lost for a second, but soon comes to a conclusion, " It's going to be alright Tracks."
No! It will never be "alright", he doesn't know what he is talking about. The real question is do I know what I'm talking about? My press perfect faceplate is ruined. What is this cruel demented thing that is known as life. It has been a while till I relised that wet warm drops of energon were sliding down the LEFT side of my faceplate. It's all too much! Why couldn't I have guarded the base?!
At least I didn't end up like Huffer. No he was lucky, he didn't get scarred, just offlined. No I'm going to have to live with this. Everyone will laugh at me. They'll call me a freak and hate me for my earlier statements that I was perfection. And now I'm not, which would make Sunstrecker the best by default. No! No way in Pit am I going to let that scolding hooligan take my space in first place.
Wait! Surely Ratchet could fix this mess! Did I call the RIGHT side of my face a mess?! I look around the bare bright white room, looking for the medic that is my hope. He sees my demented cracked smile and backs away some.
"Oh Ratchet, I'm certain that you could fix this," I say in a pleading voice.
He looks at me for a klick before sighing, "Tracks, I had already fixed it the best I can. It was worse before."
It was worse than this? This is it fixed? My intakes are coming in and out much faster, as if everything was broken. Than the world goes dark again.
{This was a little idea that my brother gave me. I couldn't stop thinking about it. So here it is. Please review, and yes I am counting this. PS Happy Icy Day!}