DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TRANSFORMERS. I ONLY OWN TITANIA.
(Third-Person POV)
::ATTENTION ALL AUTOBOTS: INCOMING, POSSIBLE FRIENDLY. T.O.A. APROXIMITELY 0230 TWO DAYS TIME::
The announcement repeated itself over the Autobot internal comm. system, allowing all 'bots the chance to hear it. And then it was announced over the external P.A system for the human's convenience at the army base Diego Garcia. For the better part of last year to now, after the events in Mission City and Egypt, the Autobots have slowly been amassing; all coming to fall under the command of Optimus Prime—the last known living Prime.
Unfortunately for the Autobots and their human allies, as they have been gathering forces so too have the Decepticons. Even worse, the Autobots were outnumbered by nearly four to one. And that did not include the various drones, mini-bots, and Megatron. Add those in; the odds went to almost seven to one. Things did not look good for the Autobots. Their human allies—brave they may be, numerous they may be—could not make up the difference.
The Autobots needed help. They were seeking assistance in whatever form they could find. Even if that form included the dreaded symbol of their most ferocious foes.
(Normal POV)
"Systems check!" I growled out, beating the rather fragile equipment in front of me when red warning lights flickered back. "Frag it! Emergency back-up…why the slag aren't you workin'?" I smacked the instruments again, garnering a loud hiss and crack from them.
I swiveled around in my cockpit chair, checking my point-of-entry route. I was off…way off. This was going to hurt. And probably it would be getting pretty hot around here sometime soon.
"Glitchin' machine. I knew I should have double-checked this piece of scrap metal first hand. 'Never trust a Decepticon. They focus all their attention on their weapons…never on anything else.' Primus do I believe that now! You'd think they'd realize a ship is just as important as a cannon but noooo. Slaggin' scrap metal, junkyard piles of fragmented, glitchy Cybertronian waste!"
In a move of pure frustration and extremely bad judgment, I formed a small blaster on my right arm and shot the dashboard in front of me.
Was there a bunch of smoke? Yes.
Small fire? Yup.
Warning alarms freaking out? Oh yeah.
All systems shutting down? Pretty much.
Primary sensors kibitzing from the dizzying free-fall to the Earth's ever-looming-closer surface? Yea, got that going on.
Internal satisfaction that the annoying display before me had been obliterated? Pit yes.
I spent a second's consideration on whether or not it'd be safer to actually abandon the small shuttle I was in. However, my logics system overruled, telling me more damage would be done that way. My armor could withstand some heat, but that that much.
The second over, I rapidly began to reconstruct the ship's wires; rerouting the power to various sections that hadn't been damaged during my…momentary instability. The work was nearly boring and was completed in only seconds. Some 'bots did governing, some weaponry, even others did medical. Me? I did electrical. I could reroute, rewire, re-anything—pretty much—in seconds. (Sometimes minutes. Depends on my mood.) However, I had one glitch…one fatal, in my opinion, glitch that not even I could figure out. And unfortunately, I currently knew of no one who could help. Well, at least no one I'd willingly go to.
An audio sensor splitting screech had me snapping my processor back to the controls before me. Genius I may be, but I could only do so much when all I had to work with was a pile of smoking half-melted junk (regardless that most of the fault lay with me to begin with). Thanking Primus I'd had the foresight to download as much information about the planet I was currently crashing into before I actually attempted this disastrous entry, I snapped all my armor into place, even my battle mask. With one last glance at all the Danger you're about to OFFLINE you idiot! warnings laid out before me, I shut my optics and held on tight.
At one point, possibly during the whole 'there's a lot of heat, I don't know which way is up' portion of my entry into Earth's atmosphere, I did in fact temporary offline. At least I don't remember the actual shuttle-meet-Earth-bigBOOM-lotsofdirtgowhee!
My systems came back online in rapid succession, alerting me to the fact that nothing had been severely damaged in the crash. Rotating first one arm, then the other, followed by both legs, I slowly shuttered my optics on. Undamaged my aft, I thought darkly. My left optic would not power on. I lightly tapped on it, only to hiss in pain and jerk my hand back. With a low rumble, I did a systems check on my systems checker, only to find out that that had been damaged. I groaned, realizing I would be unable to tell the true extent of my damages until either I managed to repair myself or someone else came along and did it for me.
If the latter, preferably an Autobot. When my right leg broke nearabouts in half after I applied light pressure to it, I amended myself. Preferably a capable medbot Autobot.
Venting in frustration, I typed in the sequence to open the shuttle's cockpit so I could at least check out my surroundings, only to have an error beep back at me. I retyped it, my processors telling me I must have accidently hit a wrong key. Error. So I typed the same code in again for the third time before it finally fully computed. I quickly rerouted the wires, manually overriding the system to open the shuttle that way. Silence greeted me. I did a scan on my reroute procedures only to find them flawless. The error lay elsewhere.
Venting so hard steam came pouring out out, I formed my trusty little blaster's BIG brother and shot a large hole in the shuttle's overhead. There was a whoosh and then fresh air circled throughout the cabin, ushering away the smoke. I waited patiently for my vision to clear (I mean, what else was I supposed to do?), idling running my scans again to see if anything different popped up. Apparently my scans this time believed I had some minor wires loose along my back armor. I did a physical check, taking note that my armor was fine.
Moments later, I found myself staring up at a blue so dark it was nearly black with an unhindered view of thousands of stars. I have been to numerous planets and have seen many amazing sights but nothing could ever compare to the wondrous beauty of the midnight skies. So absorbed into the scene above me I failed to notice the small blips of energy making their ways towards me. In fact, it wasn't until they were nearly directly on top of me that I realized they were there. And so I panicked when a large metal head was suddenly thrust right in front of mine.
I admit that, too, wasn't one of my brighter moments.
Outnumbered, injured, and being on a strange planet and the first thing I do to my possible ally? Shoot the slaggin' 'bot in the face.
Good thing my weapons systems had decided to take a crash or things could have turned ugly. No real damage had been done to the opposing 'bot; minor faceplate and helm dents and scratches. An inconvenience, nothing more.
Which was probably the only thing that saved my pretty metal hide.
The moment the small blast had gone off; seven pairs of various weapons were skillfully trained upon me. Luckily for me, no one returned my fire else I'd have a few more cooling valves.
The 'bot—well mech, as I could safely assume based on the facial features and tone of voice—was yelling and presumably cursing in a language other than Cybertronian, clutching at his still smoking faceplate. I attempted to run a scan to check which language he was speaking in when I found out that that as well had been damaged.
I inwardly groaned, cycling my cooling jets before fully taking in all the…mechs…around me. There were eight total, only the one I had blasted not currently pointing a weapon of mass destruction at me. Unfortunately it was too dark for me to make out their colors; but as I could barely see them, they too had trouble fully seeing me. Trying to stand up and failing horribly, however, got most of the 'bots to at least lower their weapons. And apparently there was a dedicated medbot amongst them for he was suddenly shoving the other mechs aside. Instantly I felt scans being run on me and I cringed, knowing and yet not wanting to know what they'd tell the med. He spoke aloud to a very large mech next to him. I idly waited for my fate to be decided, routing and rerouting the wires on the shuttle's broken dashboard to ease my nerves. And then the big bot leaned down close towards me.
"Hold still and we will assist you out of there." His voice was a deep rumble, extremely pleasing to listen to. He had also spoken in Cybertronian so I was able to understand.
"Not really much else for me to do," I muttered, but nodded my head in compliance to the mech.
But as I was a smaller 'bot and somewhat slim at that, and the fact that the shuttle had been formed comfortably around my size, it made it rather difficult for more than one 'bot to reach in and help pull me free from the wreckage. Eventually, the large mech simply lifted me out himself. I tried hard not to yelp when my right leg got jostled and even snagged on the rough edges of the impromptu opening. And to his credit, the large mech was trying to be gentle. It just wasn't all that easy to do when nearly half of the ship was entangled about me.
I was finally freed though, and as I was ever-so-gently set down (the big mech was helping to steady me on my one foot), everybot got a good look at each other. And then all those weapons that had been temporarily lowered were snapped back in my direction.
I vented (loudly, I might add) as I felt the grip on me tighten. Oh, how wondrous this day has gone.
"Decepticon scum!" One of the mechs snarled in Cybertronian, for my benefit.
I glanced over at him, wondering if they'd give me time to explain or if they'd simply offline me.
I felt my fate decided as I heard one mech warming up his cannons. And then, much to the surprise of everyone, the smallest of the mechs darted forward. He was chirping, waving his arms around in the universal sign to wait. I sensed a familiar tug at my Spark looking at him. I knew the youngling, but from where I had no clue. He chirped again, motioning with his hands for all he remained vocally silent. Then it dawned on me that he must be using internal comms. The silent debate between the big 'bot and little 'bot seemed to last forever, but finally the large mech vented in submission. Turning to address the rest of the mechs, the large one spoke aloud.
"She will be coming with us." His tone brooked for no argument.