Varus-5
The smoke and radiation messed with all ends of the spectrum and left him almost blind. Stampy wasn't sure what had happened… only something about "Predacon terrorists" blaring over the intercom before all Inferno broke loose and the Maximal embassy erupted in a flash of plasma and death. Most of his colleagues were already dead, but somehow he managed to stumble around and find ten other survivors, some functional and some in stasis lock. Only problem was, the teleporter—their only escape route—could only handle ten at a time, and there wasn't enough time or power for more than one teleport sequence. Besides, someone needed to stay behind to operate the thing, what with the auto-timer fragged.
Well, it was obvious what he had to do. He didn't want to die, of course, but he knew he would never live with himself if his life had been at the expense of someone else's. His best friend protested, as any good best friend would, but there was no time to argue over who would play the hero. Quickly he transformed into his weapon mode and shot his friend—not enough to damage him further, but just enough to knock him for a loop and make him stagger and fall—and by the time his friend was back on his feet Stampy was back in his robot mode and behind the controls. Without giving himself a moment to hesitate—because he knew he would if he allowed himself to—he punched the big button and his fellow Maximals were gone in a flash, out of harm's way. Then there was the sound of twisting metal, a sharp pain registering in his back, and then blackness.
Funny enough, The Matrix, or Allspark, or whichever terminology you preferred, was exactly as Stampy had always imagined it. When the light returned and he willed himself to see, there stood Cybertron's greatest hero to greet him. The legend, the icon, none other than "Optimus…. Prime?"
Funny, he looked a bit different from how the data tracks depicted him.
"Sorry, no," the Optimus-doppelganger said.
"In case you're wondering, kid, his name's Optimus Pride, and you're not dead," a smaller red mech piped up as he emerged from the other side of the CR chamber's door. "And I'm Razorbeast. We managed to salvage your laser core from the debris."
"You're a hero," Optimus Pride declared. Stampy merely stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. "Only problem is, everyone thinks you're now dead. And you're at a proverbial crossroads. You've got spunk, kid, and your little stunt back there was impressive. You can go back to your old life…"
"Or now that you've gotten a taste of the hero business you can do it full-time. Only drawback is, you'll have to stay dead… legally, I mean."
"You mean…" Stampy struggled to comprehend what they were saying, "like some kind of a secret agent?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Razorbeast said, crossing his arms. Even though he didn't have a mouth plate Stampy somehow knew he was smiling in amusement. "So, you in?"
"I… I dunno. Those Predacons… I didn't think stuff like that would actually happen, that they still did stuff like that. I lost a lotta friends in that explosion…" He placed a hand on his head. His mind vacillated back and forth, an internal struggle that seemed to affect his sense of balance. "Stuff like that shouldn't be allowed to happen."
"Take your time," Pride said. "We don't want to rush you. But once you make a decision, either way, there's no going back."
The two turned to leave, but took a step forward, out of the CR chamber in which he had awoken. "Wait…" he called out. "You know, I always thought it would be cool to be a secret agent…"
Optimus Pride stopped at the threshold of the doorway, and turned slowly to face him. "Well then," he said. "Welcome to The Pack."