Autobots, Assemble! Series 1 Rework
Chapter 1: Road Rage
*Note: Here we go with the rework (and my New Year's resolution)! I'm changing a few things in tone, word choice and aesthetics to show how much I've improved as a writer since I first started out. But don't worry – I'm keeping many aspects from book one, namely the slightly more humorous yet still serious when it needs to be tone that I tried (and probably in hindsight failed to mimic) in the original book one. You'll notice much less abruptness and more fluidity in the way the story goes. For some chapters as well I will put meaningful quotes from different Marvel characters (either made up or otherwise) that may or may not actually pop up later in the series. Consider them "arc quotes." The rework will also feature more emphasis on the Autobot side of things, as the rework of the second book will focus more on the human side of things. Perspectives will also be used properly, whereas before I was kind of acting as an all-knowing narrator. Some characters will know things, others won't. However, I am keeping the all-knowing narrator for this intro bit, though it's not me.
And instead of naming them "books" I've taken to calling them "series," and they will contain a few mini-arcs with the two teams that appeared in EMH: Avengers and Fantastic Four. These chapters will also be much longer than the ones in the original, more along the length of book two's chapters or those in NotB, and I'll be starting a bit further back than last time so I have some interesting lead up but I'm also going to try to go the route of book two and create unique "episodes" because book one stuck pretty well to season two of Prime and the end of season one for EMH while also sticking in some actual episode stuff. Hopefully my pre-planning and writing class pays off...
But I've gabbed on enough. Let's get this ball rolling people! :D
"For every one of us, there seem to be ten of them."
– Daredevil (Marvel Heroes)
THE DAILY BUGLE
April 24, 2015.
ARE SUPERHEROES A THREAT?
To live in New York is to live in a city never at rest. Subways, taxis, motorcycles, bicycles, and trucks clog its streets while jets and other aircraft rumble and roar through the skies, the S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier's mighty engines turning their own into feeble whines whenever present. Its people, too, are almost always on the move. They swarm on the sidewalks and in the streets like a nest of ants, always marching to or from somewhere else. Jobs, shopping, visiting friends, going out of town – there's always someplace to be. Of course, not all those in motion have good motivations. Crime is as much a problem in New York's many boroughs as it is in any large metropolis. Muggers and thieves, killers and liars – they are blessedly simple compared to the cast of dangerous malefactors that operate within the city and beyond. Through covert deals shrouded in mysticism and official corruption, the Hand and the Maggia toil away in the shadows. But staying hidden in a city of almost two million takes finesse and practice, and most criminals are unable (or unwilling) to follow those finer points of their occupations. Hydra, A.I.M, the Sinister Six, the Brotherhood, the U-Foes, the Serpent Society – a mere handful of the villainy plaguing our city – are unafraid to act overtly.
And those are mere human threats.
Something about our city draws in weird and dangerous like moths to a streetlamp. Time-traveling conquerors, renegade Asgardians, aliens, monsters, extra-dimensionals, sorcerers – sooner or later they come here. To New York. Whatever reason drove them that day, it drives them here. Some say they come here because of population; more casualties in larger cities. Some say they come here to remove threats to their power – heroes – before moving on. It's no secret our city has them crawling out of the woodwork. Then again, the super-villains are doing the same. Every time we turn around, another has appeared, or escaped, or caused havoc. I hold nothing against our police officers, or S.H.I.E.L.D. They are brave men and women who do their utmost to protect us from these threats.
But they aren't enough. The only way to stop a big gun is to have a shield big enough to stop it. That's what superheroes are: shields. Protectors.
Yes, they are, according to the law, vigilantes – but they should not, in my opinion, be arrested. Do you arrest a civilian for leaping in to assist in a fire rescue? Do you arrest a civilian for trying to protect a shooting target? They're not doing it for the fame. They aren't doing it because they expect to be paid. They do it because they have an inherent drive to assist. They feel obligated to step in. Like our friendly neighborhood wall-crawler always says: "With great power comes great responsibility." Police can't handle an attack by the Wrecking Crew. They can't handle an assault by a mad sorcerer, or an Asgardian, or an alien symbiote possessing someone. They don't have the means to adequately fight back. Our officers are lucky such monsters think so little of their resistance that they do not bother to kill them on the spot.
Heroes are a necessity for our safety these days. Like any necessity, there is going to be risk involved. There will be conflicts. No doubt some of you reading owe these heroes your lives. I know I do. So does most everyone at the Bugle – even if some of them refuse to admit it.
A hero is a counter-agent. Not the cause.
– Betty Brant
He kept skimming through the online database of publications – ones open to the public, and ones less open to wayward academics – while decoding a portion of the S.H.I.E.L.D database he had managed to locate a backdoor into. But working past the encryptions of newspapers, online journals, blogs, and social media was sparkling's play compared to the encryptions on the database – so simple, in fact, he was managing it in the background through his subroutine cognitive functions. Heroes, it seemed, had been around for quite some time on the planet, the oldest of their kind dating back to World War II at the earliest. A majority of them made the east coast their home, particularly New York and its boroughs, but the data indicated they could make any large city their home, and they were not confined to the Americas by any means. They were reports of them in Britain, Egypt, China, and Japan. Certain individuals, indeed, were not even of this world. One hero, if the information was credible, was one of the Aesir. Powers, too, were as variable as their heritage. Bio-energy. Magnetism. Adhesion. Enhanced senses. Flight. Powers that, even for his species' advancements, could only be described as magic.
And their liaison with the nation's government had a single rule concerning them: no interaction.
"They're good people, Prime. I'm not denying that. Heck, we owe our lives to some of 'em ten times over. But these people have had...problems with machines and aliens before. And alien machines."
He offered the man a peculiar look. News of that nature he had suspected would be global, but a quick jaunt onto the internet had revealed such instances were reported on a more local scale. Unless it was a massive invasion from a time-traveling conqueror, news of hero and villain activity remained localized.
"Look up the Kree, A.I.M, and Hydra. Trust me, that won't be very hard if you start digging on the web. You've gotta understand they're not gonna run up and starting hugging you if they see you. They see you, there's a chance they'll start shootin'. That goes double if they spot the kids with you. If any of you are ever in New York again, don't give 'em the wrong idea. Stay in cover. Don't step in if things go haywire on their end."
He nodded agreement. But within, the man's words bothered him. Were heroes really so quick to judge?
There was a problem he was noticing with Agent Fowler's testimony. The further he researched, the more glaring the problem became. Heroes were well respected for their natural protective urges – only a handful were viewed by the populace in a less positive light – but as a whole they were not renowned for judging in an instant. Experience had taught them many times that judging without enough data could have disastrous consequences. Misunderstandings gone horribly wrong was reason enough to not be hasty in judgement. Yet Fowler was insistent that they would do precisely the opposite of what the data suggested. While it was true New York heroes had dealt with their fair share of aliens, machines, and alien machines, those had been cases of hostility directed at the planet's inhabitants. There was no recorded example of a benign member of any of the three categories being randomly attacked.
Did he trust their liaison? Or did he trust his research?
First-hand confirmation was the only way to determine for certain.
So now he, after slipping a harmless falsehood to their liaison, drove through the busy streets of Midtown Manhattan. Arcee and Bumblebee wandered the city's other major boroughs and neighborhoods, spread out to keep suspicion down. Taking Wheeljack would have presented too many risks, and Bulkhead was still recovering. The children knew not of this escapade – each was safely in their academic institutions until later that afternoon. Arcee and Bumblebee, thankfully, had had no interaction with the superhuman population in the city during their visit, nor had Miko and Jackson – being underground for their battle for the Phase Shifter had no doubt kept them from being discovered, and Vogel was under a strict gag rule.
But they were all above ground now. Exposed to eight million eyes.
And to the warship.
"Nothing over in Harlem, Optimus," Arcee reported over the dashboard speakers. "Couple of jaywalkers. Other than that, place is peaceful."
"Brooklyn, too. Isn't this where Captain America is supposed to be from? I wonder if he's here?'
"We are here to observe," he reminded the over-eager scout, "not interact. Should a threat manifest I will not –"
He cut off. Something shot overhead in a roaring sound more suiting of a jet aircraft – but the source was nowhere near the expected size. Something glaring red and gold the size of an adult male that rapidly faded into the distance. At ground level, an old model motorcycle, kept in pristine condition, grumbled past at a decent pace of forty miles per hour, weaving like a vine strand between traffic and thoughtfully using his direction indicators with each lane jump. The rider, a powerfully built but lean man, wore a brown leather jacket, beneath which was visible bright white and standard blue that stood out against a steady red, his head topped by old leather pilot's helmet. Strapped across his back was a large buckler shield colored the same as the clothing beneath the jacket, a bright white star perfectly centered. The rider escaped from scanning range within only a moment – too fast for a cursory scan. But both were emitting a signal. Radio frequency, not one he had seen used before. He tried to connect to the signal, but a wall of foreign encryption too advanced to readily break forced him to withdraw.
"Two targets spotted on at 7th and West 23rd. Avengers. Iron Man and Captain Rogers."
The two heroes continued down 7th for a time, then veered onto West 28th.
"On our way!"
"No," he rumbled. "Nothing appears to be warranting their attention. Patrolling, it seems, is their aim."
"Patrolling?" Arcee repeated. "They aren't exactly at war. Or cops."
"The surest way of saving lives is preventing danger from emerging."
Arcee, ever cautious, could find no fault with his statement. But two patrollers seemed too inefficient to handle the entire city, she argued. There might be more – there should be more. Stark and Rogers alone just wasn't enough to patrol a city of eight million.
"It could be," he retorted calmly. "The Iron Man armor is an advanced piece of technology, able to perform feats its pilot cannot. I could find no schematics, naturally, but it would not be far-fetched to believe it is outfitted with powerful scanning equipment, or has the capacity to wirelessly connect to police frequencies, perhaps individual mobile devices. In that case, two patrollers is more than enough. Fewer patrollers additionally means less attention drawn – and less reason for civilians to feel uneasy of their presence. But you know as well as I that patrolling an expansive area is more efficient when units are divided. There could be other heroes spread throughout the city."
She conceded to the postulate.
"Rendezvous. We will see if they locate trouble."
"All due respect, but you're really pressing your luck here, Optimus. On both sides."
"Agent Fowler believes they are dangerous to us. I merely wish to see if that belief is grounded in fact. Should this go awry, I alone will take the blame."
"But I went along willingly!" protested the scout. "You don't have to lie for me!"
"You agreed to join me in this investigation – only once I suggested it to you. Therefore, you are considered an accessory after the fact."
The scout gave a low droning groan of realization. Both pinged their positions to him every few minutes as they drew nearer. The last ping indicated they were together roughly five blocks from his current position. From the safety of the silo, Ratchet contacted him with the one phrase he had hoped he would not hear.
[Optimus, you have company.]
'So soon?'
[Ground troops. Four of them, coming in from 6th Avenue. Presence unclear for now.]
The Prime debated telling him the reason, but he suspected his old friend already knew. Megatron would wonder what would prompt a return to the city. Avoiding the troops would be impossible – they would only follow until a confrontation inevitably occurred. He brought up a map of the city. Finding a less populated area in a city this densely populated was a fool's errand. He had to lead them underground. There had been a station on 7th and West 23rd, three blocks behind...
[They've altered course.]
"What? Why?" Arcee demanded.
[I'm not sure. They've left 6th onto West 30th.]
His spark jumped. West 30th was a mere few blocks from the street the two heroes had ventured down in their patrol route. It was too soon to say the enemy was shadowing the heroes, but the proximity alone was dangerous. The Prime reached out to nearby transmission frequencies until he detected what he desired: a squad car's radio. Bless humanity's childish encryptions. Law officers had far more mobility in these congested streets – their eyes, numerous. But the police would be no match for four troops, nor would Stark or Rogers. These enemies were foreign to them. Though it went against common sense, he turned from 7th onto West 20th before emerging onto sixth, closing in on the ground troops. The four signals on his scanners, now in proximity for regional detection, had split into pairs of two, taking separate, branching streets. The roar of the Iron Man armor was near.
Law enforcement remained silent about the matter as the minutes ticked by. No violence, no chaos. The suspicious peace only fed his vigilance.
They were subtle about it, subtler than she was willing to give three Vehicons and their narcissistic commanding officer credit for, but they were definitely shadowing the two Avengers. And they were only getting bolder in how obvious the shadowing was. Closer. And closer. And closer. She wove past a few vehicles and took up a position just behind him, flaring her field in warning. Captain Rogers took notice of his shadows. His driving style was less assured, his grip tightening over the handlebars. No stress chemicals though. Not yet. The man looked back once, quick and efficient, and began to merge into the adjacent lane. When he attempted to lane jump into the far right lane, Knockout pulled up to block him. He veered back into his lane, startled but not yet suspicious.
She began to pull up to shield him. But not fast enough. Knockout veered sharply towards the man, striking him hard and sending both motorcycle and rider careening off the road where the vehicle flipped on the curb and sent the rider flying onto the sidewalk.
Iron Man reacted at the same instant a police vehicle's sirens went off, the officer within sending out a coded distress. He rounded on the disguised troops. Missile launchers emerged from his pauldrons, and both palms shone bright blue like beacons.
"Hey!" he barked. "You got a problem, take it up with me!"
All four Decepticons pulled sideways to block incoming traffic, resulting in a pile up of angry drivers furiously honking at them. On the sidewalk, one kind passerby helped the downed soldier back to his feet before backing off. The shield went up, the white star aimed right at the blockade.
"I'd hate to ding such a nice ride," the soldier warned, "but try that again and that thing'll be in the shop for good while."
Knockout's fragile ego snapped. He dropped his disguise to tower over the startled soldier, buzz saw whirring into high gear. His subordinates followed his lead and drew their own weapons.
"Okay. Didn't see that coming." Stark commented nonchalantly through his armor's speakers.
And then he – of course – opened fire. Three missiles rammed into a Vehicon's backstrut. The trooper teetered forward, but recovered enough to wheel on Stark and return fire.
Scrap.
*Optimus!*
*Keep them contained. I will be with you shortly.*
*Arcee!*
Bumblebee's vibrant form could be seen rounding a corner on the other end of the blockade. The scout managed to scoot past a few vehicles but soon hit a deadlock. The cops busied themselves with trying to clear the pile up (and any civilians), and they made surprisingly good progress for only a few minutes time. Knockout, thankfully uninterested in the civilians and officers, pulled out his prod and lunged at the soldier on the ground. Halfway, a form black as the void streaked through the air to slice the weapon in two, the cuts clean and precise like a surgical knife. The form dropped to the ground in a feline manner that matched his inky full-body armor, two pairs of dastardly three inch claws extending from his gloved fingers.
"Hey, Devil Wears Prada! Why don't you pick on someone at your eye level?!"
Knockout looked up in time for three small "sticks" to fly at him – and impale themselves in the chassis. The shooter: a lean man in an unusual violet suit armed with a bow and riding some sort of flying motorcycle. An "H" symbol sat on his eye-horned cowl. The smirk on his face reminded her a little too much of Cliff's own. Trouble-maker, this one, and proud of it.
Rather than whine about the arrows, the Decepticon medic smirked and laughed.
"Arrows? Really? You think acupuncture is going to hurt me?"
"Nope," replied the archer with a broader smirk. "But those aren't regular arrows."
When he tried to remove them, Knockout recoiled and howled as electricity surged through him. He brushed the arrows off viciously, only managing to remove the shafts.
"Robots. You guys never like being zapped, do ya?"
"You miserable little –!"
A fourth arrow struck him between the optics.
"Hey, Cap! Check it out! Unicorns are real!" he joked.
The stunned look on the man's face seemed torn between remaining that way and grinning at the bad joke. The ensuing murder-snarl that came from Knockout's vocalizer would have made any self-preserving individual run. But not the archer. He grinned back, completely relaxed – and safely out of reach. The files the Prime had provided to her identified them: the Black Panther, ruler of a small, isolated nation in Africa, and Hawkeye, an expert marksman known for his disrespect for authority. Avengers, like Rogers and Stark. Reinforcements.
A final missile barrage from Stark downed the Vehicon at last. Panther leapt up the side of the building, vaulting off onto a third Vehicon's arm as it aimed to shoot and darting up the limb as it tried to swat him off. Reaching the trooper's head, claws swiped at its visor, rupturing it. He drew something from a pocket, extending it into a spear of violet energy – which was then impaled it into the visor with savage force. The trooper howled as the Panther yanked the spear out and jumped, narrowly avoiding a swiped hand.
The look in Rogers' sharp blue eyes at that howl – it was like someone had just slapped him.
He suspected. The soldier suspected their true nature. He did not know whether to be sorry or glad.
Hawkeye scolded the man for not helping before firing another volley of arrows at the Panther's selected Vehicon victim. The heads exploded in spectacular fashion for such small weapons, downing the trooper. The signal from its spark remained active. Accident or intended mattered little. The final trooper finally managed to hit his mark, the charged plasma shot striking his vehicle, forcing him to abandon it and leap onto the nearest rooftop, rolling to soften the impact. The vehicle hit ground, a smoldering and now dented wreck.
The archer's response was "colorful" language and a single arrow. The Vehicon attempted to swat it away only for the head to burst, splashing liquid onto its frame that devoured the metal in a tank-curdling, hissing display.
Acid.
Stark's attention thus transferred to Knockout. Blast after blast from his palms were fired, but they did nothing. He drew nearer, no doubt thinking proximity might increase damage. Knockout swiped with the saw, dodging, but the trooper intervened, swatting the armored man out of the sky to hit the ground like a meteor. Knockout stomped on the man. Once. Twice, grinding him into the ground.
His sparked stopped. His engine roared into overdrive as he floored the accelerator.
He gave Knockout fair warning.
HONK! HOOONK!
He rammed himself into the medic's legs, toppling him, skidding to a halt.
"Are you crazy?!" the archer shouted at him. "Get outta here, bozo!"
He deigned to disobey.
An insect buzzed by his passenger side door as Knockout rose. Then another. Yellow and black streaked by.
"Come on, Hank!" a female voice urged. "Giant robots! How are you not geeking out?!"
No. Not an insect. A minuscule human female, more sprite than adult. Another target joined her. An ant, a large drone, with something red on its back. Both forms shone and enlarged to a normal height. Bumblebee trilled his delight at the sight of the two Avengers over short-band, complimenting the woman's choice of colorful fashion that mimicked his own. The building anxiety prevented him from smiling within at the scout's obvious admiration.
Wasp shrunk down again to fly up –
Primus, no.
The young woman buzzed up to Knockout's face, greeted him "Hiya!" and smiled. Was she mad?
Knockout's hand slammed around her before she could react, each hand cupped in the same manner of a child capturing an insect. His spark flipped.
"JAN!" cried the red-suited man.
When Knockout peered in to investigate his catch, he was met with a bright light from within that made him reel back in pain. One hand went to shield his optic as he swung his saw at her blindly. The woman was too nimble for him. Rogers finally joined the fray, flinging his shielded to strike the medic's helm. The shield bounced off a building, in the end returning to its owner's hand. Whatever the shield was made of was strong enough to leave a dent just above Knockout's right optic while leaving the shield unaffected. A scan of it was of no use – the metal comprising it had no match in his databanks.
"Hank! The other one! Get the other one!" shouted the woman.
Her male companion activated a dial device on his waist. In moments he towered at Knockout's height. Both Decepticons were taken aback, more so when the man swung a sharp punch at the last remaining Vehicon. An ensuing kick sent the acid-corroded trooper stumbling back. Stark's chest ignited like a flare. Rogers noticed. Ant-Man heard it, but only he reacted – and not in the way he expected.
"TONY, NO!" the male size-changer hollered. "You might hit the –!"
Too late. The beam burst forth and struck the trooper in the chassis, ripping a burning hole through its spark chamber. It collapsed over the barricade, metal crashing against concrete, dead, but it crushed no civilian or officer. They were long gone.
Wasp's male companion stepped back, his face stunned.
Does he know?
Is he aware of our nature?
The red medic took advantage, striking him in the chest. The man stumbled; the saw swung. The limb was caught before it could sink its rotating teeth into flesh. Knocked proved strong enough to tip the scale, forcing his saw nearer and nearer to his head. Thunder rumbled in a threatening drum roll across the clear skies. Wasp fired at the medic again, her strange blast striking his radial plating. Knockout did not respond. Panther flung three violet darts that embedded themselves into the crooks of his armor, earning a snarl and thus permitting Ant-Man to press his advantage. Desperate now, Knockout feigned weakness – when Ant-Man fell into it, the medic's helm rammed forward, impacting the man's skull, forcing the man back again.
The thunder grew louder still.
Out of the clear skies a bolt crashed down, missing the red medic by a narrow margin.
"Foul machine!" bellowed the Aesir. "Strike again and you will know Mjolnir's full fury!"
*Nuh-uh!* Bumblebee trilled. *He's real?!*
Knockout's sudden backing out of his spar with Ant-Man did little to appease the Aesir prince.
"Thor! Electricity hurts it! Give it everything you've got!" Stark hollered over his armor's speakers. "And you! In the semi! Move it!"
His words made the red medic tense. Then, he made to flee. A second bolt crashed, this one hitting its mark, scorching the medic's radial plating black and earning a cry of acute pain. He charged over and dropped disguise, shoving the red medic out of the way before another bolt struck him, the bolt instead striking his radial plating instead, its agonizing sting racing up his tactile net.
*Are you crazy?!* Arcee demanded. *Move, Optimus! That slagger's not worth protecting! If Thor takes care of him for us, good riddance!*
Part of him agreed with her. A minuscule part. Knockout had proved himself a threat countless times, and yet again by running Rogers off the road and attacking him. But other than a few scrapes on his body and vehicle, the man was unharmed. As was Miss Van Dyne.
"Cease your attacks, Thunderer!" he protested. "To strike a fleeing target has no honor!"
The Aesir blinked. Confusion warped his infuriated expression into a meeker one.
He stepped away from the medic. Knockout appeared torn briefly on how to respond, but in the end folded down into vehicular form and speed off in a squealing of tires. His form quickly disappeared. Tiny wings buzzed in his right audial. He glanced sideways to find Wasp mere inches from his faceplates, balled fists up and glowing with a harshly yellow light. Her frown was suspicious, but her eyes did not bear the same attitude.
"If you're with that guy, I'll sick all the boys on you."
He shook his helm. "I am not."
Her energy shut down. Her fists lowered. She blinked. "Then why protect him?"
"If a life can be saved, it should be."
Her mouth opened to reply, but she missed her chance when he folded down and drove off, signaling Arcee and Bumblebee to follow. No hero followed.
A hand had been extended. Now all that was left was to see whether or not they responded with a hand of their own.
Miko accosted them the moment they emerged from the groundbridge. He quickly put a hand over the black scar left by the Aesir's weapon. She noticed regardless of the effort, the mark too extensive to be easily concealed. She leaned over the railing with wide eyes.
"Whoa! What happened?"
"What is she doing here?" deadpanned the femme at his side.
At the console, Ratchet grumbled that she'd been sent home early for engaging in a brawl with a classmate – which she had apparently won. Her target had been sent to the school nurse with a black eye.
"Miko..." he rumbled.
The girl retorted with her usual fire, "Hey, he was picking on Raf, okay? Vince got what he deserved. Now you're turn: where'd that mark come from?"
"PRIME!"
Fowler stormed through the lift, a tablet in hand. He held it up, pointing to the screen. On it was an article published barely fifteen minutes ago, headlined in bold red script by a title that read "Avengers vs. Giant Robots!" published by the Daily Bugle. The main photo was of him shoving Knockout aside just as Thor's attack impacted.
"Explain yourself!"