Transformers Prime
A/N: I've decided to go back to some stories and rewrite them, this included. It's been years since I've worked on this, so here we are. Let me know what you like about it and I'll see what I can do.
"Prime!"
Optimus blinked slowly, turning his attention away from the monitor he'd been analyzing with Ratchet. Said medic grumbled under his breath at the interruption.
"Yes, Agent Fowler?" Prime responded coolly. If he was at all annoyed by the sudden entrance, he didn't show it. Ratchet wasn't as inclined to mask his annoyance, and folded his arms.
"It looks like," Fowler ventured, and seemed to pause dramatically as the lift came to a stop inside the silo and the former special agent stepped out of the gate, "Team Prime will be doing their first inner city mission." The dark skinned man's expression was hard to decipher, but the lift of one of his brows definitely indicated some amusement.
"I'm afraid I do not follow," Optimus admitted, not quite getting where Fowler was leading. It had been quiet in the recent days and no readings of Energon caches were to be found. Ratchet was at Optimus' side, next to the monitor, and he only scoffed in response.
"I'm sure if it had something to do with us, we would have already gotten a ping on our scanners." The smugness in Ratchet's tone was impossible to miss.
"It means," Fowler retorted, not impressed by Ratchet's attitude, rolling his eyes, "that one of you 'Bots need to bridge over to New York. Apparently, a Wanted Man needs to be thwarted before he gets his hands on some important technology."
Arcee had overheard when she walked into the command hub and snorted in amusement, drawing the attention of the three.
"You want us to do what? Isn't that what you're 'police' are for?" Arcee asked, complete with air-quotes. Even though she didn't quite come off as sarcastic, Fowler frowned in annoyance.
"Judas Priest-" Fowler grunted, pinching his nose. "I'm gettin' to that!" He approached the railing, putting some of his weight on it as he leaned forward. "Apparently, this piece of tech is assumed to be of 'Bot and 'Con origin." Fowler looked down, pulling out his cellphone, briefly scrolling through it.
"Some kind of tube like device? Collapsible?"
Optimus' optics widened in response. "A cortical psychic patch," he muttered in thought. How did humans come to have possession of such a device? "The individuals involved, are they associated with mech?" Optimus guessed.
"That's the strange part," Fowler sighed. "Based on the reports you've passed on to me, none of the movements seem to be similar at all to Mech; they usually tend to stay away from the city-easier to conduct military operations that way." He rested his hands on his hips, the exhaustion coming off in waves. There was definitely paperwork that Fowler did not feel up to doing.
"We may be dealing with an unknown party. You need someone stealthy to either retrieve or destroy the object." He shrugged, gesturing towards Optimus. Thought you guys should know since this tech is kind of your jurisdiction."
"Reaching out to us is much appreciated," Optimus nodded.
"Optimus, allow me to do it," Arcee volunteered, nearing the monitor. "A motorcycle can get through a lot of areas in the streets. And i'm the quickest."
Prime glanced at Arcee as she pitched her reasonable argument. She was his first choice to scout and retrieve the psychic patch next to Bumblebee. "Very well," Optimus agreed with a nod.
"A cortical patch can be useful technology to reverse-engineer. They're hard to come by-the only way to get one would be raiding the Nemesis, wherever that war machine could possibly be," Ratchet added, keying in the coordinates provided by Fowler.
"Alright. Just make sure you take care of this quick, fast, and in a hurry. We don't need everybody and their momma freakin' out about a transforming robot in the city," the agent suggested meaningfully, eyeing Arcee. Said Autobot rolled her optics with a scoff.
"I'm simply grateful that the children aren't here. No doubt Miko would have been trying to sneak through the bridge and follow you," The medic commented with a tired sigh. Optimus half-smiled at Ratchet's mild frustration before turning to Arcee.
"Remember, Arcee. Your holoform is of most importance. None of the civillians in," Optimus paused to look at Ratchet questioningly.
"New York," the red and white 'Bot clarified.
"New York are familiar with our kind. Be careful," Optimus continued. Arcee nodded, stopping herself from rolling her optics a second time.
"No worries, Optimus. This'll be easy."
Optimus didn't say anything to that, and they all instinctively looked towards the activating Ground Bridge. Arcee walked forward until reaching the base of the walkway and then transformed, driving through the portal. Optimus didn't know why, but something about humans having posession of a cortical psychic patch did not sit well with him.
As the bridge shrunk and then disappeared, Fowler sighed dramatically. "I'll keep an occasional eye on the city, topside. Any streets you need shut down temporarily, let me know."
"Will do, Agent Fowler."
With that, Fowler took his leave, reentering the lift and disappearing above ground.
Ratchet voiced what was on Optimus' mind.
"What could humans possibly want with a cortical psychic patch?" he asked. "I doubt even MECH is aware of it's essential functions."
"I wish I knew, old friend," Optimus answered, his eyes narrowed as he studied the coordinates of New York. "Let us hope that Arcee will not require backup."
"Alright, men," one of the many individuals gathered announced. "Our boss' client needs not only this, uh, Psyche Patch thing," he said looking over some notes in a pocket sized notebook, "but we need that Neutronium canister over there," Dutch pointed, across from him.
An armored truck with a flammable warning symbol was a small distance away, the target of what he was referring to.
He stuffed the notepad back into his overcoat's pocket, which was slightly flashier than the rest of his men's. While the others wore what resembled bomber jackets, ranging from a variety of dark colors, and dark colored sweats or jogger pants, Dutch's overcoat was more expensive, resembling more of a high-class trench coat, complete with furred collar and lapels. All of them, including Dutch, had their faces obscured by motorcycle helmets. Dutch's stood out by having a gold colored skull motif on the front.
Dutch pointed to two men. "You two, I want you to distract the driver and whoever else is in there," he ordered. The two nodded and steadily made their way to the Truck.
Dutch then pointed to the last four men. "Two of you get the drop on the driver and his partner in the truck, and tie 'em up. The other two, you're with me to go and get that back door open." They all did their gang sign, a fist hitting their chest, to show their understanding of the orders and went to complete their respective duties.
Meanwhile, in the Truck, Tom, the truck's driver and his associate, Wesson, were playing cards on the makeshift table they were using from an oversized notebook between the driver and passenger seat. Tom was standard security for Dock operations, so seated at the driver's seat, he wore the usual blue oxford and black slacks. Wesson, a truck cargo escort, wore similar clothing, sans his shirt, which was a black polo with the Truck's logo.
"Hm. Looks like I have royal flush," Tom uttered calmly as he placed his cards' hand on the notebook.
"Oh, come on. Two wins in a row?" Wesson sighed, staring at his own hand in dissapointment. "You weren't playing nearly this good at the last cargo stop," he complained, laying down his hand on the notebook. His hand was so close to being his own royal flush with spades, except his cards were an ace, king, queen, then a three. The three ruined it.
...And there went his fifteen dollars. He was beginning to reach into his pocket when a tap was heard on Tom's side window.
"Huh? I thouht that the pick-up wasn't for another fifteen minutes," he asked Wesson, who only shrugged in response. The driver rolled down the window, seeing two motorcyclists. His hand on his stun gun relaxed.
"What can I do for you guys?" he asked courteously. One of the cyclists began to explain that one of their Motorcycles was failing and wanted to know if they knew where they could be directed to the nearest motorshop. Tom began to explain which route to take, not noticing two more cyclists already reaching the other side of the truck and managing to knock out Wesson.
"I think you can take a left at the nearest light," Tom explained helpfully, pointing to a street not too far from them. The two men not in conversation with Tom gave a thumbs up from inside the vehicle.
"Thanks!" one of the men in front of Tom appraised, before revealing the wooden bat behind him.
"What the-"
Before Tom could properly react, the motorist promptly knocked the hapless security guard out with a hasty swing of the weapon.
"Too easy," one of the goons bragged, carelessly dropping the bat a distance away, it rolling off to rest at the base of some barrels.
Before even thirty seconds passed, the back doors of the Truck were forced open allowing acess to the Neutronium canisters, large cylindrical containers that were about as half as tall as a 6 foot man. Both teams met up inside of the cargo space, the team outside having hopped inside.
"We only needed one, but...Why don't we just put the bikes in here and just take the whole freakin' van?" Dutch suggested. Their boss mentioned how expensive the things were, and it would look good for all of them to go above and beyond. His men unanimously agreed.
"Sounds good to me. We might even get paid double for this job."
Dutch chuckled in agreement before beckoning two men to him to help him retrieve the bikes.
"Hey, looks like we got an extra bike here," one of Dutch's men observed. Yeah, definitely extra. While they all had customized black Akroporvik Morsus', which were essentially heavily modified black choppers, this one was a sports motorcycle. And it was blue. And kinda pink in different spots.No way it belonged to Dutch or any of his guys.
"The heck? What's it doing right in the middle of all our bikes?" The out of place motorcycle was nestled right in between the choppers, as if someone hastily parked it there. Dutch's compatriot had no answer to his much valid question. He just shrugged.
"Whatever, let's just get our bikes. Forget that thing," Dutch's friend suggested. He agreed, and they both kneeled down to remove the kickstand from their respective bikes.
"Here, hold this thing will ya?" Dutch requested, pulling a collapsible cylinder from his overcoat's pocket. No one noticed the blue and pink motorcycle's sideview mirrors adjust themselves at the movement.
"Friggin' thing's heavy." Dutch's friend said, surprised at how heavy the tube-like device was. It was definitely alien tecnology, with a lot of glowing trim lines marking along the device. The both of them weren't paying attention when a helmeted woman in a jumpsuit instantly seemed to be sitting on the blue motorcycle.
"I think i'll be taking that," the woman said smugly, before suddenly her bike charged forward mere feet, ramming into Dutch's friend, launching him in the air, causing the device to to sail in the air as well.
The strange woman grabbed the device as it sailed past her, and the motorcycle's engines revved. Dutch saw his friend flying past his face, and he landed next to the barrels where a wooden bat lay. That was at least fourty feet away. And this girl barely pushed her bike forward!
"Okay lady, hand over the thing," Dutch warned, pulling out his pistol. He never really killed anyone with it, and he wasn't trying to make today a first. Maybe he could just shoot her motorcycle and scare her if she didn't comply.
"Not happening," she said, the motorcycle suddenly charging towards him. As he was only feet away, he had to leap to safety, unprepared for the sudden offensive. Because of this, he couldn't get a clear shot at her. And she was careening right towards the Truck!
"Aw, crap! Is she a fed?!" Dutch thought aloud, running to get close to the truck. He shouted to his men who were still in the truck to retreat.
The men poured out of the back of the truck to see a woman on a motorcycle drifting past the truck, and a gun barrel popping out the side of the motorcycle to shoot at the Neutronium canisters. They didn't dwell long enough to wonder why the heck a motorcycle had that kind of artillery.
"Dude, this is some 007 type crap she's pulling, let's get out of here!"
One of the men were wise enough to throw a small coin shaped device on the side of the motorcycle before running off.
"That'll teach her to mess with us!" he said to himself, hightailing it out of there with his associates. Victor Drath wasn't going to be happy that his client's neutronium got blown up. But at least he couldn't be too mad at them. He tagged the dummy responsible for botching the operation.
Dutch and his men sped off on their motorcycles back to their base of operations, trying to create as much distance from the crazy woman with the tricked out motorcycle.
"That was too easy. Right, Sadie?" Arcee mock-asked to her holoform. She commed for a GroundBridge, and drove into the portal with the psychic patch in her possession.
Some minutes passed before the hapless man that met the front of Arcee's motorcycle came to. His head was ringing, and he found himself situated next to a pile of barrels and a discarded wooden bat. Looking around, he noticed that all of his friends had left already. He looked around in confusion, only spotting his motorcycle and the truck they were supposed to be robbing. It looked like it'd had a run in with a shredder.
"Guys?" the thug cried out. No one answered, and he sighed, exasperated. "Aw, come on!" he yelled into his black helmet.