Animal Instincts

Optimus located Megatron and Soundwave in their holding cell, and dismissed the security guards posted to keep watch. "The initial meeting was uneventful," he confessed. "We still have basically no idea what is going on. Or, more importantly, why it's going on." He stood, straight and tall with optics locked on his sworn enemy and the last remaining loyalist standing behind him. "So help me, Primus," he stated. "If I find out you have had anything to do with this Megatron, I will..."

"You'll what?" Megatron shouted. "Lock me up? Throw away the key?" He sat down on the cold, hard slab sticking out from one of his cell walls. "Starscream has taken over command of the Decepticons. I have but one ally left, and we are both locked up in a cell belonging to our eternal enemies." Soundwave remained standing at his side. "Spare me your threats. I give you my word, I have nothing to do with this. Now, unless you've come to free me and my comrade, I wish you to leave us."

"Your word?" Optimus repeated with heavy doubt. "Your word has no value here!"

"Unfortunately for you, old friend, that's all I've left to give."

The close knit group of four stood shoulder to shoulder and tried not to get overwhelmed by the sheer number of 'bots before them. "Never seen anything like this before," stated Jawbreaker. He was Optimus Primal's close-combat specialist, and until recent events had feared he'd seen the last of Primal and his Axalon crew. "There must be at least two hundred of us," he added, silently trying to catch a glimpse of others he knew. "Where's Armordillo?" he asked to nobody in particular.

"You know," Cheetor began, "If there's this many 'bots here, I wonder how many 'cons are out there." His words trailed off as he pondered his own question. The usually enthusiastic cat-bot was uncharacteristically restrained.

"You notice anything different about our Autobot ancestors?" Rattrap asked, keeping his voice low and steady.

"What do you mean?" Cheetor asked, still attempting to understand everything that was happening.

"When we went saving their butts on the Ark, when Megs was trying to erase 'em from existence," the rodent remembered, "Weren't they, you know... bigger?"

Cheetor's optics widened after realizing that the massive difference in sizes between the Autobots and Maximals was no longer as obvious as it once was. "Yeah, he answered. "Yeah, they were!" He scanned the large crowd of familiar faces and complete strangers with a renewed interest. "Weird."

"You said it," Rattrap agreed.

"But how do we know it isn't us that changed?" Cheetor pondered. "Maybe they're not smaller; maybe we're bigger."

Rattrap looked down at his hands and arms, then shot a glance at his legs and turned his head so he could view his backside. "A definite possibility, pussycat."

Silverbolt quietly prayed his siren, Black Arachnia, was out of harm's way in this new, strange place. His thoughts of her became clouded when his optics fell upon a certain pink and white curvaceous soldier. A moment of admiration was quickly removed by his loyalty to the spider-bot. "My heart is weary," he sighed, silently reprimanding himself for his wandering optics. "I pray you are safe, wherever you are," he thought to himself.

The deep, constant thunder of conversation carried itself throughout the area. Some were laughing openly, finding it a welcome chance to unwind. Others, aware of the significance of such an unheard of gathering, were engaged in more philosophical discussions. For every smile and handshake, there were concerned looks and cautious agreements. "Primal and the others should be finished with their meeting shortly," Jawbreaker reasoned, not realizing the meeting had already ended without much resolved. "Hopefully, they'll be able to shed some light on things." Silverbolt nodded, anxious for whatever answers would come their way.

Cheetor turned towards Rattrap. "Bottom-line it for us, mouse-bot. What's your take on everything?" Jawbreaker and Silverbolt also turned and faced Rattrap, curious as to what he had to offer.

"Different day, same story," Rattrap muttered. The Maximal spy was one of the more pessimistic beings at the gathering. In his view of things, the cup of milk wasn't just half-empty; it was also sour. But that was part of his charm. As he raised both of his arms, he cocked his head at an angle. Shaking his head left to right, he let his arms drop back down, resting at his sides. "We're all gonna die."

In another crowded part of the Ark, an Autobot from Fire Engine Prime's alternate reality, known as Sideburn, was about to have a brief moment of embarrassment. He had an unnatural affection and some would argue an unhealthy infatuation with red sport cars. In his own time-line, his manic desire for the cherry-colored automobiles had caused much stress in the life of a dark haired woman named Kelly. In his new surroundings, he spotted a most beautiful specimen from behind; the ruby-red on its form peaking Sideburn's interest tremendously. "You are the most beautiful sports car I've ever seen," he complimented as memories of whats-her-name and her car-of-the-week faded. "How about you and me hitting the open road when this mess clears up?"

The object of his longing calmly turned to face him. "Sorry, brother," Sideswipe stated firmly, "You're not my type."

end of Chapter 10