Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor Red vs. Blue or Halo. That's Hasbro, Rooster Teeth, and Bungie/Microsoft/XBOX/whatever respectively. I'm only borrowing the characters to play with them in an entirely fanon setting.

For those who don't know Red vs. Blue: It's a machinima series that utilizes the multiplayer function in Halo, the Xbox/PC hit. It's about two teams of low level soldiers who are trapped in a box canyon together and told to kill one another because their armies (Red and Blue) are enemies. It's a comedy and the humor is like… college humor? But not all of it is immature jokes. Mostly, for me, the hilarity comes from the characters, how everyone interacts, the wide range of names and stuff the characters call each other, and the interesting and random situations the group finds themselves in. I can't choose a fave for certain because all the main characters are likeable to me. xD I'm hoping to use all my favorites in this fic. I hope you could find a fave, too. :3 Warning: Not kid friendly.

For those who Do: Hi! …Dirtbag.

For those who don't know RvB but are curious about it: Try it. Start anywhere; any episode, any season. See if you like the humor or a character makes an impression on you. Then go back and start from the beginning. I stumbled upon the Season 4 episode Hunting Time, watched it all the way to the end of the season and learned to love the characters, and then went back to watch it all from season 1. I've been hooked since and it only gets more epic in plot and scope as it goes on. :3

For those who don't know RvB and could care less, but you're curious what everyone's voices sound like and how they talk: Look up "Best of" videos on Youtube of Sarge, Simmons (Simhack), Grif (Gruffwheel), and Donut. The entire show (at least, until they introduced CGI into the mix 8D !) is mostly based on the voice-acting because no one has visible faces, so their voices are VERY important. I highly recommend you go hear how they say things, and then come back and read my fic in the right voices. Lol

Otherwise, like I've mentioned before, I'm trying to make the fic easy to understand for non-RvB watchers, full of nods to RvB for fans while still being a decent TF fic.

And now for the actual new chapter I took forever to write. I'm hoping my writing's improved since my last update but I won't hope too much…

Warning: I bumped the rating up to M because from here on out I'm gonna go ahead and use adult language. It's a big part of RvB and normal human conversation so whatever.

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"Error…Error…Memory – Motor functions disabled. Mem – Memory – Memmmm – illogical use of calibration systems are not – hello?"

Old Man Jackson was getting on in years. His body was bent and gnarly, the arches of his feet had caved years ago, and his left eye sometimes lost vision. He found himself wearing comfortable plaid flannel these days, and well worn jeans with plenty of holes (he didn't mind how the holes looked because they allowed a nice bit of breeze into the important areas). Luckily, his hands hadn't lost their steady strength yet, so carving wood into birdhouses and deer statues for the Misses wasn't a problem. That was probably the only thing he did these days, come to think of it, besides plonking his rear into a foldy chair and kickin' back for a few hours of fishing.

"Of course, the occasional earthquake might change a man's routine once in a while!" the elderly man groused aloud as he trekked uphill through brush and thorns in his thick soled leather boots.

Not too long ago, in the dead of night, God roundhouse kicked the Earth for some reason and in the process nearly destroyed his well-earned house and belongings. And his wife, too. Now he was out looking for the damage to placate Mrs. Jackson, who thought it would be good to know where the Almighty's Foot hit exactly.

"We should know what damage it did, Harrison," she'd said, lying in the bed next to him. "What if I took the Ford down to the store and fell into the center of the Earth because the ground was cracked?"

"The ground ain't cracked, Karen," Harrison had replied, still resting on his side and buried in the blankets. Man had invented goose down blankets. He was proud of that, and he was tired. "This ain't California. We're in the middle of Iowa, for God's sake. Go back to sleep."

Of course, the Misses wasn't going let up on this, and the moment she insisted she'd go out and check for herself, the Old Man had sighed and rolled out of bed instead. It wasn't because he was worried. He was dead sure she'd be alright and between the two of them, she was the one who carried the shotgun more often. (She had better aim, too, but he wouldn't let her know that.) Rather, he refused to be shown up by a girl. Sure, he believed women had rights and were capable on their own and all that hullabaloo, but the teasing he'd get from his buddies later at hearing the wife was the one to investigate would be unbearable.

So here he was, marching through the woods in his pajamas, Coca Cola cap set firmly on his white Einsteinian hairdo, while Karen Jackson made tea and read the paper back home.

"Compensating for gravitational pull…Error. Status: Stationary. Illogical use of calibration sys-sys-sys- "

"Agggh, would ya quit your stuttering, ya ol' broad!" he yelled into the woods ahead of him. He'd been listening to the broken record voice of a woman in this direction for a good half hour. It was distilled, electronic; like one of those scary computer programs he saw in movies.

As he reached the top of a knoll and stretched his arms, he smelled smoke and looked down to see the thin mist of brush fire smoke trailing into the air. Below him was a densely wooded bit of forest with broken tree limbs everywhere. It reminded him of the battle field. Specifically, the aftermath of a grenade. He narrowed his wrinkled eyes, but could only see a vague dark shape at the center of the grove. So, after tugging at his pants and checking his shotgun, he stepped carefully down the small hill and climbed around a thick tree trunk.

There. It was still obscured by a pile of dirt and brush, but out of the trees stretched a long dirt crevice where the thing had hit the ground and skid to its current position.

"Holy shit. If I find a little boy in that meteor, I'll save Karen the effort and sign myself into a loony bin."

Finding something like this was so out of his comfort zone, a small part of him really did think he just found young Superman's Kryptonian pod. Taking a risk, he stepped onto the pile of loose impact dirt and slid into the crater with the thing. The area was cool save for the small fires, but the meteor was emitting enough warmth that he was afraid to touch it. Instead, he used his shotgun to clear off some of the brush and his cap to brush off the dirt.

He whistled, "Damn, you're big. Like an asteroid, for sure!"

More dirt brushing revealed a metal exterior and what he thought looked like an intake. Were those treads? He quirked a brow in confusion as the thing seemed to take on a familiar shape. "Wait a sec… This ain't a - "

The massive shape shifted. It seemed to expand in slow motion as it emerged from the dirt and moved towards him. The man scrambled backwards as it lurched, but the it stopped and settled, as if it had been righting itself. Then it made a teeth grinding screech, and froze into the unmistakable form of a tank.

Old Man Jackson stared for a moment before sighing in relief and wiping his brow with the Coca Cola logo of his hat. He'd only dislodged it when he'd touched it. It must have been stuck on a rock or something. For a moment, he thought it had actually been moving on its own!

"You sure gave me a scare, young lady," he said to the tank with a growing smile. He straightened himself and took a look around the dark green hull of the metal beast before him. "Fantastic….Where did you come from? Tanks don't fly…" A search of the partially cloudy blue sky revealed no answers, but all the evidence pointed to a vary hard landing from…somewhere up there.

He rested a hand on the scuffed, dull metal case of a relatively small headlight, his smiling face mostly unperturbed. "I guess you're the one who made all the noise last night, huh? Man, I sure hope you had no pilot when ya landed…"

"A pilot is unnecessary."

Jackson leaped backwards, his heart nearly pounding right through his ribs and into his hands. "Dear Jesus! What the hell?"

"It seems I am no longer fall-fall-falling. Error. Memory stor – calibration systems nonfunction - Where am I?"

Old Man Jackson had seen a lot in his lifetime. And he'd seen some more on television, including talking cars and the military's latest robotic achievements. But he'd be a monkey's uncle if he ever saw a tank fall from the sky and start talking like it was all…self-aware and shit. First time for everything, eh? This was the female voice he'd been hearing echoing around the forest. He clutched his belongings to his chest, still unsure about this sci-fi beast.

"Hel-hello?" the tank asked, its massive turret moving slightly to the right with a whirring sound. "Error. Gravitational pull increasing. Orbit dec - Impact in five, four…Wait a nano. That's not right. I am not falling."

"You….are one seriously confused piece of machinery," Jackson couldn't help but mutter.

The tank's turret trained on him again, as if looking at him. Then it made a bunch of clicks and beeps and weird alien sounds before switching through at least four other languages – Spanish, French, German... Jackson shook his head, not understanding what was going on.

"Where am I? Do you know my name?" the lady in the tank asked politely, as if nothing completely out of this world was going on.

"Ahh…Webster, Iowa. We just me- "

"Err-Error. Leak… detected – Arterial circuitry: damaged. Neural functions: impaired. Di-diagnostics mal-malfunctioning."

As the tank continued to list off a series of…'symptoms' that just seemed to get worse and worse (peppered with some disturbing amnesiac questions he had no idea how to answer), Jackson's stiff body relaxed slightly. Seeing as the thing was incapacitated, he scooted around the behemoth to get a better look at the damage he hadn't been able to see before. There didn't seem to be very many pieces missing, but he found a good size chunk ripped out of the back. The sides of the hole looked warped and ragged, like it had been superheated and blown inward. But it also looked a bit like a stab wound to flesh with a very jagged sword. And a quick glance inside revealed no pilot, dead or alive, like the computer had said. This combined with the apparently glitched-up systems the..."AI" was talking about added a few more clues as to how this tank got here. And with this information, he narrowed the causes of the tank's appearance to either UFOs or strange military exercises. He could think of nothing else.

The closest Fort was about an hour or two away. He'd seen the soldiers 'chuting down from planes during practice exercises and he'd caught one in his backyard in full jungle-camo once, right next to Mrs. Jackson's petunias, but he didn't know they were flinging tanks around with what was evidenced to be high powered weapons. As much fun as it sounded, this thing could have landed on his house!

"Damn kids... Who's in charge of these operations?" he grumbled with annoyance, waving a hand dismissively in what he thought was the direction of the army base.

The old man took a good look around for a few more minutes, listening to the machine's rambling. It sounded like it was repeating itself by now. He shook his head.

"I'll be back for you later, Miss," he said, patting the dented armoured skirt. He turned and made his way out of the brush and up the hill again, hoping no one else found her while he was gone. "You're not fit for duty, but you'd make a kick ass lawn ornament."

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Harrison wasn't able to return until late evening, when the forest was dark with shadows but the sky was a bright orange-purple. It made driving difficult, especially with two faulty headlights, but Jackson was determined to recover the tank. Mrs. Jackson had been against it, saying it was the military's business. But as a war veteran, the tank symbolized a lot, and if he could find a way to keep it, he'd be more than pleased. Besides, the ol' boys would be beyond jealous.

As he eased his pickup over the lacey pattern of tree roots blocking his path, his headlights touched on the crash site before giving out.

"Aggghh…dammit..."

Keeping a mental picture of the area ahead in mind, the old man gunned the engine and ripped over the roots onto leafy ground. The wheels spun a little bit because of the sheer amount of leaves covering the forest soil, but once it had traction, the Ford moved again. It lumbered forward slowly as Jackson tried to peer through the darkness. The headlight flickered on long enough to help him back the truck up to the tank. Once he was lined up, he grabbed his flashlight and eased himself out of the vehicle.

The forest was silent. The moment he set foot outside, the purring sound of the engine faded into the background as his ears strained to hear anything other than his own pulse. The tank had finally shut up, too. He hadn't noticed before, but the dull green vehicle had been making a low whirring sound, like the quiet whisper of an online computer. But it was only in the absence of that noise that he noticed it had been there in the first place.

Unnerved, his gut warning him to get out of there, Jackson was inclined to turn right back around and head to the house. But his mind couldn't accept that there was anything dangerous out here. Large wildlife was limited to deer and the occasional bear, neither of which were very common near a town full of huntsmen. Criminals were a possibility, but he doubted they'd be in the middle of the woods without a camp and the option was unlikely anyway. Would the Army want their damaged tank back? If they did, they would have trucks out here too, and plenty of light. With a reluctant shrug, the ivory haired man crept forward and quickly started to hook the tank up to his truck.

"Mm. I don't think tanks were meant to be towed like this…" he muttered to himself quietly. Turning towards the truck, he found himself suddenly doubting his engine power. His pickup probably weighed a couple tons, but the tank certainly weighed more, and it was partially stuck in the ground due to the fall. Suddenly faced with problems he'd been too excited to foresee, he paused in his task to think.

And that's when he heard it.

Somewhere behind him, the trees shifted and he both heard and felt it again. It was a heavy thump followed by rustling, like something very large moving in the forest. The sound came again, and again. Closer. They were unmistakably footsteps, the footsteps of a giant.

Back in his military days, he would have fallen back and hidden, scouted what it was, and reported to command. He would have thought nothing as his army-trained instincts moved his body for him, preplanned actions automatically kicked into motion should the enemy show his face. Now, Jackson was seventy two and those instincts were long buried under years of civilian life, which he'd enjoyed immensely with his lovely wife. He really had no defense against whatever it was that was that big and he had nothing to fall back on. He needed to get out of here.

As quietly as he could, he untied the little bit of tying he'd done, wrapped up the cable and hooks and put them in the truck bed. Then he turned off his flashlight and felt his way back into the driver's seat of the Ford. With surprising steadiness, he put the truck in reverse and pressed it into the foliage with as much care as he could. The engine stayed at a low purr the whole time, but Jackson was sure the creature would hear him. In moments, he had the truck parked between two massive holly bushes, the path he'd driven to get here in clear sight behind him. He cut off the engine and waited.

His imagination was submitting vision after vision of what it might be to his inner eye for review, but with discipline he didn't know he had anymore he wiped them away and peered through the windshield with focused eyes.

The first thing he saw was a large metal column emerge from the trees opposite him, near where he'd been looking over the grove earlier that day. The column, he thought, looked and moved an awful lot like a leg, and he could see gears and cables between the sheets of metal that made up the outer shell. Next he saw an arm-like thing with a hand full of wicked sharp fingers, again filled with mechanical parts. And the last thing to emerge from the darkness was the dull glow of multiple red eyes that looked more like little lights. With the time quickly approaching nine o'clock PM, the night should have been too dense for him to see, but the creature was lit up at the hips, like it had headlights attached to its pelvis. He hadn't noticed the lights before…

Holding his breath, Jackson watched as the thing, as tall as the trees and four times as wide, swung its headlights onto the grove. The tank was lit up in the spot light, every dent, scrape, and gaping hole a black shadow. Still, the tank was silent and Jackson was sure its computer or AI or whatever the hell was dead for sure. Then the giant bent down and picked the tank up by its turret, dragged it out into the open and flung it into the trees to Jackson's right.

"Emergency!" the tank's feminine voice spoke up. It was a small voice now, and Jackson could barely hear it. It sounded strange, like it was losing power. "Activating emergency be-be-be – distress signal activated. All frequencies enable- "

There was a flash and a bang and the tank went silent. The old man clamped a hand over his heart, which pounded mercilessly in his thin chest, but he stayed silent as the walking beast moved noisily towards the tank, picked it up where Harrison had tried to tie the cable and dragged it off into the forest.

Jackson waited until the darkness completely consumed the forest again before letting out one breath and gasping another. His steady hands were now shaking and his left eye's vision was blurry. His heart was still thrashing in his veins and although the Ford was turned off, his foot was slammed onto the gas pedal with all its strength. Never in all the days he put his life on the line for his country, in all the days he went hunting with his boys, in all the days he went herb collecting for his wife had he ever seen a thing like that. He didn't know what the Army was doing these days with all their fancy gadgets, but he was sure that that was the only explanation for what he just saw. That and aliens, and what were the chances of giant alien robots walking around on Earth throwing tanks around in the woods like rag dolls?

With surprising swiftness, Jackson keyed the engine and tore backwards through the woods, turning and speeding toward home. Wiping his well worn baseball cap across his brow in relief for the second time that day, he shook his head in disbelief.

"Karen's never gonna believe this…"

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Overdue Review Responses:

Mdnytryder – Hi! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic. :) I was honestly a little confused at your reviews, but then I realized you didn't know what RvB was, which was explained in your second review. xD Sorry for the confusion! Indeed, since witing this fic, I have come up with a couple OCs based on my fave canons from RvB but in this fic they're all canon from the show. I'm glad that even though their names, specifically Donut, are really odd in the context of TF that they otherwise are fitting in enough as TFs. :D Thank you for your reviews, I appreciate your input a TON.

Fiera Sabre – Thank you for your review! You like Simhack? Awesome! I remember I was really at a loss as to what to call him. I am also glad I have the whole team together now, because writing them all together is a riot. I absolutely love Red Team. The Blues…well, we'll see. :3 I imagine those who watch RvB will know who the tank is, but those who don't will just have to wait!

Shadir – Exactly. I am assuming that while TF-paintjobs can be scraped, it kinda grows back, becaue in the movies, if they take on a new form, they can change paintjobs too. So, in my fic, the TFs have control over their paintjobs to some degree. Hence, Simhack and Sarge will be able to hide the most obvious painted sigils, like Simhack did in the previous chapter. However, they can't hide their bodily designs so the moment they transform, I'm sure the humans will know. But what happens then will remain to be seen. :3 And about Ironhide, I see now. Thanks!

mooncrossed – lol, awesome! I thoroughly enjoy the Grif-Simmons dynamic so I look forward to writing that into my fic. I am also happy to hear that humans' actions are likeable, too. I'm trying hard to make their input engaging and important, while not making their presence overpowering.

Vindicated Skies – Thank you very much! :D I hope Chapter 7 has lived up to your and others' expectations. Sure took me a while to write it.

Final Note: I have the next 4 chapters already outlined. I had hit a snag because after chapter 6 I wanted to switch to another POV, but when I decided on Ms Tank, I had no idea how to tackle the chapter. But I think this works. Since untangling this little snag, I now have a better idea of how the story goes and how who gets introduced to the story, so I hope to keep rolling with the updates.

Thanks to all readers, reviewers, and favers for their time and I hope to see you again soon. :3