There was an echo of a heartbeat that ran through the universe, a disquieting throb that spiralled out from the distant past and crashed in waves upon the shores of an infinite number of futures.
It was the sound of a thousand empires rising and falling, rulers deposed, peoples enslaved, freedom fought for and obtained – it was the sound of a living, breathing history rushing up to meet him. Desperately, his aching hands groped for the time-jump mechanism that had, only days earlier, allowed both him and his minions, Cyclonus and Scourge, to travel back to 1986.
His fingers became crooked claws, the echo of that tremendous heartbeat reaching out from time immemorial and washing over his battle-scarred body. With panic, he reached down and snatched the time-jump device from his side, his thumb hovering over the simple red button perhaps a moment too long.
One moment, one single moment of hesitation...
Behind him, the tumultuous echo of Unicron's final throes faded into silence, his body tearing through space at such velocity that even the stars seemed to fade in passing. His trembling hand hovered over that single red button. Slowly he lifted his head, his mouth cracking open in a hideous grimace of a smile.
He was Galvatron, the Immortal Emperor of all Destrons, such self doubt was beneath him. The wave washed once more over him and he pushed his thumb downwards...into the palm of his hand.
Eyes wide, he looked down once more to find the time-jump device had vanished. He felt once more the throb of that distant heartbeat, the wash of history breaking over the curve of his armour. About him, history was changing – transforming – in a way that had robbed him of his last escape route.
The stars paled and, without warning, a shape appeared in the crowded void; a curious sphere of rolling oceans and expanses of green fields and white ice caps. Earth, he realised with surprise.
He threw his arms out before him, struggling to shield himself from the sight as he felt time warp about him, tearing at his being, peeling back that which Unicron had clad him in and revealing a fragment of the blackened other he had once been.
Memories flashed through his mind, the recollection of things that had not happened yet and would never happen. He remembered the fire rushing about his body, the crush of another machine beneath his blackened fingers as he tore it apart limb from limb. He felt something within him break; splintering into a thousand pieces that were carried away on the wave of history that threatened to all but overcome him.
He looked down at his hand and saw the steaming wreckage of the time-jump mechanism. He felt within him, the trembling echo of that external heartbeat. Had he destroyed his one method of escape, had it been he himself who had crushed the time-jump device?
He shook his head, mouthing silent denials. No, the device had vanished – even if for one instant, it had vanished. It had not been he who destroyed it; rather it had somehow already been tampered with...
In that instant, he sensed them and his mind filled with maddening rage. Divergent shadows of his own self were falling away from him and plotting to dethrone him! Abnormal, inferior Galvatrons were scheming to deny him his glory! In rage, he clawed at his own face, discarding the final shards of the ruined time-jump device and tearing strips from his face with impotent fury.
Lesser Galvatrons! Weakling copies!
He howled soundlessly in the crushing void, the world rising up before him. He stretched out to embrace it, struggling to throttle the very planet in his outstretched hands and choke the life from the pitiful world of dirt and stench. The planet turned beneath him, patches of detail erupting upon the shores of green nations and tireless waves.
He was Galvatron, no other could compare to him! Not the shadow of the Transformer he had once been, not the monstrous appetite of Unicron nor the maniacal desires of his other selves. He was Galvatron, Immortal Emperor! None could defy him.
With desperate rage, he urged himself forwards, blinded by hate and murderously seeking to obliterate the pitiful world below.
Before him, the Earth continued to turn, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited it.
Three years later...
Hoshi Lumina suppressed a yawn, blinking tears of boredom from her eyes. She had sat for four hours within the confines of her faithful and well travelled Toyota bB, its sides caked with dust and dirt from the arduous journey she had made across the quiet island nation.
For the first hour or so, she had attempted to remain professional in appearance, checking her hair every now and again in the rear-view mirror and sitting upright behind the steering wheel. After two hours, she had begun to slouch in her seat and, after three hours, she had given up completely and stretched out, placing her simple black ballet pumps on the dashboard of the passenger side and reclining down in her chair.
Whoever this Takami Hawk was supposed to be, he certainly wasn't punctual.
Giving into the yawn, she opened up the newspaper on the passenger sheet and glanced down at it.
"Heroes Still Among Us," she read the bold headline out loud and, without a second thought, turned the page.
Idly, she turned through several more pages, frowning occasionally as she tried to understand the context of the newspaper's political approach. It had been a good many years since she had found cause to read anything in English, yet the current political stance taken in both American media and foreign policy was something that unnerved her enough to attempt to dust off those old skills and try and put them into practise once again.
If only the subject matter wasn't so hideously transparent. She tried not to judge, but the editorial stance was something she herself would have cringed to commit to. As one reporter to another, Lumina thought that, should she ever meet the article's author, one Irene Merryweather, she might be forced to recommend that America follow the example of the Earth Defence Command allied nations. Yet relations between the EDC and the United States had become strained over the last few years, most significantly over the advantages brought to America by rogue Transformers of suspicious origins. American Public opinion had always been in favour of the giant war machines. Perhaps it was because no American city had ever had a Transformer dropped on it from orbit.
She sighed audibly, turning the page once more, her attention momentarily held by an article discussing plans to finance some grand, technological research centre in the heart of the Arctic. A sudden, gentle tap upon the window resounded through the car's interior and she jumped, allowing a tiny gasp of surprise to escape her lips.
Looking up, she saw the face of a man looking in at her, waving casually and smiling in a bemused matter. Hastily, she slipped her feet off the dashboard, reached down and depressed the simple button above the handbrake, the window on the passenger side sliding inaudibly down.
"Miss. Hoshi, I presume," he inquired, his voice warm and friendly.
She raised an eyebrow, conspicuously studying his immaculate black suit and crisp white shirt. His hair was dark, falling in a handsome sweep over his right eye and his face was clean-shaven. Not so bad, she thought to herself, approvingly.
Yet regardless of his physical appearance, she certainly wasn't about to let him off the hook for his poor timekeeping.
"You're late, Takami-san," she scowled.
He nodded differentially
"My apologies, Miss. Hoshi, something, ah, came up at the last minute."
Her scowl deepened as, angrily, she brushed her hair back behind her ears.
"I don't care," she said simply, "you might want to consider telling me now what it was that you've dragged me halfway across the country for."
He smiled, seemingly waiting for her to unlock the car door but she made no such gesture.
"I wanted you to know," he said, his words faltering as he caught sight of the newspaper abandoned on the passenger seat and the bold headline.
He lifted his head and their eyes met once more.
"Wanted me to know what?" she scowled.
For a moment, Takami was silent and then, abruptly, he smiled again.
"I wanted you to know that not all Transformers are bad," he said simply and turned away.
She blinked and then swiftly, pulled her legs back from the passenger side and struggled to clamber out of her seat, hastily, flicking the locks open and throwing the door on the driver's side wide open.
"Hey!" she shouted, "hey, what do you mean by that?"
Stepping out into the long grass, she desperately scanned the horizon, searching for a sign of the curious stranger in his crisp suit.
From beyond the trees of the forest there was a sudden roar of sound, a jet painted in dark blue, yellow and red shooting out from some hidden launch site and soaring up into the pale blue skies above. The wind billowed, whipping her pale brown hair back away her face and instinctively she held down her short skirt to prevent any possible embarrassment...not that there was anyone here to see her amongst the wild grass and the blooming flowers of the mountainside, no one but her trusty Toyota bB.
She looked up, her eyes tracing the course of the jet as it vanished into the skies above. Behind her, the gunmetal grey bB waited in abject silence.