Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not
affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic.
Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other
Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given.
Year of the Snake- Part 5
**Earth: Indeterminate Timeframe
Fangstriker hauled hard on the stasis pod, but it was not budging, no way no how.
Maybe something could be done if she...
"Terrorize!" she shouted, leaping into the air and splitting into her robot mode.
"This should be a bit easier." She stood shakily at first, finally regaining her composure.
"Let's see..." She flipped the control panel on the pod opened, took a look at it, and
groaned. "What did Sin tell me?" Fangstriker reached into her belt pack and pulled out a
small metal square with the insectoid Predacon sigil stamped on it in silver. "Open the
circuitboards..." She did so. "...then replace the Maximal chip." Gingerly, she pried the
Maximal data transfer micro from its seating and pushed the new Predacon version in.
"Should do it," she sighed, closing the panel and restarting the pod's DNA and
programming sequence.
The savannah was dry and parched, sparsely populated save some mammoths- not
the kind of beast form she'd want the new kid to have, too heroic and strong willed- and
lions- DEFINITELY too heroic for a Predacon. So the DNA scannered opened up to find
some yipping, cackling scavengers in the distance, shredding what was left of a cave bear.
"Perfect," Fangstriker chimed under her breath.
]]Commencing DNA scan.[[
The computer scanned for a second and stopped, as if hesitating.
"Status report?" Fangstriker asked tentatively.
]]Abherrant DNA detected, re-scanning.[[
"Oh... not going to hurt the protoform, is it?"
]]Negative. DNA infusion commencing.[[
Fangstriker stood back while the pod did its work. "That was easier than I
thought... hope he comes out ok and not all fuc--"
The hatch burst open and a large, drooling furrball flung itself to the ground in
front of Fangstriker, slavering and snarling. "Where am I?" it asked, in half a maniacal
cackle.
"Don't know, really," Fangstriker replied. "But you're with a comrade.
Fangstriker, Predacon Intelligence and Scientific Corps."
"So whatcha doin' out here, gams-for-miles?" the brute asked.
"Recruiting you," she said coldly. "Come on, Lord Megatron is waiting."
"Megatron?"
"Something funny about the lord of the Predacons, laughing boy?"
"The name strikes me as familiar, yet..." He broke into a cackle as he walked
behind Fangstriker. His immense bulk made Fang uneasy as they walked; she feared he'd
trip and fall forward, crushing her. The event never happened- the monstrosity had more
coordination than she'd given it credit for.
"What's your designation, Megatron will want to know?" she asked.
"Designation?" he queried, sounding the word out the way a child would.
"Your name... what will we call you?"
He pondered this for a moment as they trod forth, coming up with whispered
considerations then barking them away as he changed his mind. "How about... Lockjaw?"
he snickered, thinking of how he was foaming at the mouth.
"It'll work," she said, looking at the tremendous hyena sidelong. "Hold it..."
Fangstriker's nose twitched as she sniffed the air. Her ears pricked. Something was approaching. "Maximals," she snarled. "Better transform... arm yourself." Fangstriker's robot mode
burst away to reveal the shapely feminine form within, but Lockjaw stood still, in beast
mode, his eyes transfixed on the approaching trio of Maxies.
"Something wrong, Chuckles?" she barked. "Transform!"
"Right... transform..." Lockjaw looked down at his paws.
"Don't tell me--"
"It's--"
"The pod's computers--"
"--not my fault--"
"--malfunctioned," she groaned. "You really are glitched, you know. Repeat after
me." She looked into the hyena's optics and stated slowly, as if talking to a child.
"Lockjaw, terr-or-ize."
"Lockjaw... terrorize!" The beast sprung into midair, twisting and spiralling in a
wave of shifting armor and bristling fur. The monster crashed to the ground, quite
different from the slavering carrion eater he had been no more than five cycles before. He
stood, hunched over, and brooding, but his eyes... they were not the eyes of a madman,
Fangstriker could tell.
"Something tells me this is going to be fun," Fangstriker quipped, turning back to
face the oncoming Maximals. "Two against three..." she mused. "I like those odds."
With a whooping warcry, Fangstriker dashed off to greet her enemies, with
Lockjaw loping after her.
**Cybertronian Moonbase 1: 1999
"We've arrived," Snaretrap reported.
"Wonderful," replied the captain, a green and yellow Seeker-styled jet. "Alert
command that the infierne is about to land."
"Understood," the purple and silver helmsman answered. "Moonbase Control, this
is Decepticon Carrier Infierne requesting landing clearance."
//\Infierne, you are clear to land on pad 18-Zeta. Liege Furio will greet you upon
arrival./\
"Understood, Moonbase Control; infierne out."
Decepticon starcruisers followed a design mantra: imposition is the greatest asset;
armament is secondary. The Infierne was no exception: tall purple and black spires lined
the ventral hull, creating a jagged edge effect, and twin main cannons shot out from the
forward hull like a snake's fangs (it was not chance that the captain of this vessel was
obsessed with ophidians). While its primary colors were purple and black, splashes of
crimson and white- most prominent around the Decepticon crests that dotted the hull and
on the barrel-tips of each gun placement.
He couldn't hide his glee any longer. The reward Liege Furio was bound to give him
would keep him happy for millennia, no doubt.
"Air Captain Parseltongue requesting to see the Liege," the green and yellow jet
reported to the guard.
"Understood," he replied, stepping aside. The door slid open, admitting
Parseltongue, who nearly pirouetted into the lift leading to Furio's chambers.
"Excellent work, Air Commander," the Liege said, his demeanor pleasant.
"You've not only manage to rid this sector of some very bothersome Stratabots, but
you've brought me..." His voice chilled with glee. "A Prime..."
"You are pleased, my Liege?" Parseltongue asked tentatively.
"Indeed I am, Commander." The Liege pushed his cape behind him, sitting in
down with a flourish. "The Infierne is to be refitted immediately, and you're to be given
new orders."
"Understood, Liege. Any information as to these new orders?"
"Not at present, but be patient... I raised you to relish the time between
assignments... enjoy the present, for it is all that is certain."
"I understand, my Liege..."
"There is no need to be so formal with the one who raised you, my son," Furio
chided. He stood, walking to Parseltongue and putting his hands on the jet's shoulder. "I
treat you as my own metal and mech fluid, yet you never acknowledge that..."
"I... I apologize, my Lie-- father..." Parseltongue didn't feel quite right calling the
Liege his father, yet, for the sake of his position among the Decepticons, he'd cooperate.
"For the time being, what shall I do?"
"Enjoy Cybertron while it is ours, of course," Liege Furio suggested. "Lord
Megatron seems to have a suspicion that the Autobots' ambition to reclaim this place
exceeds his own..." Disdain in his voice, Furio seemed to spit on the word 'Lord.'
"Yes, father," Parseltongue replied, stepping back and turning.
"My son, wait a moment," Furio's voice came as the lift's door opened.
"Yes, father?" he responded, half turning.
"Take this with you..." Furio returned to his desk and opened a drawer. "This is a
reminder of your heritage." Furio stepped close to his son and pressed something arm
against his shoulder plate. Looking down, Parseltongue saw what it was. A sparking,
gold and purple Decepticon sigil.
"Air Commander Skystryke Parseltongue, Your Rank," Furio said in an official
tone. "Wear it with Decepticon pride."
"Yes, my liege. Thank you... father." Parseltongue smiled and turned to the
elevator. Stepping in, he pressed the button for the ground floor and looked back at Liege
Furio.
It was the last time he would ever see the Liege alive.
**Earth, Indeterminate Timeframe
Copperhead's eyes scanned the terrain: no sign of Maximals or other Preds. He
and Tarantulas could just drop and go.
"Halt," Tarantulas ordered as Copperhead lurched forward. "Someone is close
by... I can sense it."
"If the old days are any indication, Legs, your senses are dull." Copper chuckled,
stepping out of hiding. Immediately, the clicking and whirring sounds of weapons arming
filled the air.
"Don't move or you're ventilated," the hidden assailant crackled.
"Good line, Minimal," Copperhead retaliated, extending his wrist daggers. "Care
to show yourself, or do you want to play hide and seek all day?"
"Stealth's not a bad asset to have, bellycrawler," the voice responded. She could
obviously see Copper well; his beast mode wasn't entirely obvious as a robot without
close observation. "'course, my Maximal pride requires me to show myself."
A brown and copper avian dropped from the treetops, her lithe form striking
against the cliff wall. The sun played off her armor in entrancing patterns, but Copperhead
and Tarantulas were too wary to be ployed by her sparkliness.
"Tarantulas," she chided, shaking the index finger of one hand, holding her blaster
at the ready with the other, "I'd've expected better of you... coming into Maximal
territory like that. You know I'm going to have to slag you back to the Quint age, don't
you?"
"Silence, spider eater!" Tarantulas croaked. "We have a gift for you!"
"Oh?" Airazor asked, an eyebrow strut raising in interest. "Whatcha got?"
"Show her, Copperhead."
Airazor's eye turned to Tarantulas's newfound friend. "He's quite a catch, but not
my type," she snickered. "I generally prefer fur on my males..."
"Not him, Bird brain!" Tarantulas shrieked, his composure cracking. A spindly
purple leg reached around to the sack on his back. "This."
Copperhead grabbed the handle and hauled on it. Dropping it at Airazor's feet,
Copperhead smirked. "One of your friends."
"Oh?" Airazor knelt and undid the drawstring, pulling the sack away. She looked
on Pantera's silent face and her expression soured. "Get out of my sight," she said
without looking up. Her voice was cold, filled with a sadness Copperhead recognized.
"I was going to kill her," Copperhead muttered, intentionally muting his words
from Tarantulas's hearing with a small psychic charm, "but I don't want to anymore.
Keep her safe for me?"
"On your word as a Predacon?" Airazor asked, a tear splashing against Pantera's
ebon mane.
"No... on my word as a Transformer. Surely, even in the Beast Wars, it means
something."
"Yes... the word of a person, allegiance notwithstanding, does wonders," she
mused. "Go now? Please?"
"We're gone." Copperhead turned around and slunk into the forest, Tarantulas at
his heels.
Lockjaw grabbed Snipe-R in his jaws and lifted him, shaking violently as frothy spittle flew
everywhere.
"This is more sickening than painful," Snipe said to himself before being flung into
a nearby tree. Dazed, he stood, changing his mind. "I stand corrected." He then dropped
to the ground, unconscious.
"Looks like Snipe just bought it!" Rattrap shouted, ducking under Lockjaw and
throwing him a kick to the gut.
"Can't... worry... bout that now!" Tyrannix grunted, lifting Fangstriker and
throwing her. "Now I can!" The rex rushed over to his fallen comrade and knelt,
knocking Lockjaw into a tree, unconscious, then checking the ferret's vitals. "Just
knocked out... he should be back online in a few cycles."
Sure enough, Snipe's optics were flickering on again. "Anyone get the number of
that starcruiser?" Snipe groaned, rubbing his head.
"No time for that, chum," Tyrannix chided, helping the ferret up. "We have to get
you to a CR chamber."
"Later!" Rattrap bellowed, firing a shot over Tyrannix's head, zorching into the
leaping Fangstriker's shoulder, dropping the femme. "Sheesh... you guys sure pick bad
times to quit fighting."
Tyrannix looked at Rattrap, then back at Snipe. "This won't be comfortable,
Snipe-R, but..." Tyr grabbed Snipe's waist and flung the much smaller bot over his
shoulder.
"Lemme down, ya big stinkin overgrown gecko!" Snipe complained, pounding his
fists against the inch thick armor on Tyrannix's shoulder. "I can walk, dammit! Lemme
down! I'll tell Optimus you disobeyed the orders of a direct superior... just... ok, we can
play this game, I can deal with it. DON'T let me down... I don't WANT to get down...
you can keep me on your shoulder as long as you want."
Tyrannix was entirely unfazed by Snipe-R's fit as he hauled him on his shoulder for
the long walk back to the Axalon. Snipe hissed and spat the entire way, but all-in-all, the
trip was uneventful.
"Shouldn't we have, y'know, slagged those Preds back there?" Rattrap asked.
(Hey, slagging! That's a good idea!)
"No... they were defeated; they did not deserve to die."
(>Clang! Clang! Clang!< put me down or your tail gets scorched!)
"Maximal programming sure can be pesky sometimes," Rattrap mused.
(Talk about un-Maximal!)
"It is not Maximal programming. It is common decency."
(Common DECENCY would tell ya to LET ME GO!)
Rattrap snorted. "You don't get out much, do ya Grimlock?" he grinned.
(Good one Rattrap! Show him who's boss!)
"I beg your pardon?" Tyrannix growled, glaring at the vermin.
(Uh oh! Ratty got told!)
"Nuthin, nuthin... ain't nuthin wrong wit' bein' a big Bot Scout. In fact, it'll
probably come in handy sometime..."
"That's better," Tyrannix snarled, putting Snipe-R down.
...come in handy gettin' ya slagged... Rattrap thought to himself. "Wellsir, I got
some recon to do... Vehicle mode!" shouted the transforming vermin, buzzing off into the
forest.
**Tokyo, 2003
As Fantome's driver hammered her accelerator, a small pinging sound began to
hammer her aural receptors. This was definitely not the ping she'd wanted to hear. The
silent comm opened up to the raspy voice she remembered from the day before.
"Fantome, meet me at the docks. Come alone."
That meant only one thing: there was either an ambush in the waiting or...
something like those guys wanted to do to her yesterday... either way, she was slagged. It
would have been best for her not to go and face the consequences later.
"And if you don't come," the message-- obviously prerecorded, she could tell from
the recording quality-- continued, "something very close to you will suffer for your
irresponsibility."
Fantome hoped to Primus her driver would hurry up and get to wherever he was
going... her sister was in danger. Parseltongue had Mist!
Mist sat, bound with electrocord and gagged with an electromagnetic vocal
scrambler, in a corner of Warehouse 39. Parseltongue, her invisible captor, stood nearby,
gazing at her pearl white exterior. "You're going to buy me help, little girl."
Pacing, Parseltongue replayed his plans mentally, each clanking step on the
concrete causing Mist to shudder in fear that he'd hit her again like he had when she'd first
been taken prisoner. So far, he hadn't laid another finger on her except to throw her onto
the ground. He was being almost... civil... as he spoke, also. This gave Mist even more
reason to fear him. Primus knows what horrible things a madman is capable of, she
thought.
Have Fantome's hands stained with the blood of Celestimus Prime. Have Mist
take the fall as the mastermind behind the entire operation by implanting false instructions
in her core processor. Kill them both after they're paid the bounty on Prime. Avert war
with the Autobots by portraying Fantome and Mist as two petty bounty hunters. Little
would anyone-- Autobot or Decepticon-- know that the real mastermind was Air
Commander Parseltongue. But as Celestimus Prime would lay dying, have one small
transmission enter his mind: an imprint of Parseltongue's face. The image of his true
murderer.
The sound of a Dodge Viper pulling up outside gave Parseltongue the motivation
he needed. Pulling a few telekinetic cords, he dragged Mist to the middle of the
storeroom and opened the big rolling door that lead outside. Invisibly, Parseltongue
watched.
She untied her sister. Talked to her, slapped her lightly. Gave her words of
encouragement. Pulled her up, the girl leaning against the woman. Took a few tentatitve
steps toward the door, then...
SLAM!
The door shut and Parseltongue's laughter grew. "Stupid bitch, you should have
known to save your own damned hide and let the girl die. What kind of a Decepticon are
you?"
This time, instead of playing the invisibility trick on the girls, Parseltongue went all
out, conjuring an illusory thunderclap and the smells and images of battle and carnage...
the accoutrement of Parseltongue's barbaric personality. The requisite feelings of pain
were sliced into the girls' minds for effect.
"Welcome to your future servitude, children," he said, looking deeply at both of
them. "Hope you enjoyed the last vestiges of freedom you had... oh wait..." Parseltongue
smirked. "Both of you were slaved to Terrans before tonight, weren't you?" He clucked
his tongue in disapproval. "Too bad you never truly tasted independence. And you never
will."
With a simple thought, Parseltongue's red eyes flashed orange, then faded into
violet. On the other hand, the girls' silvery-green optic lenses glazed over to pale, opaque
grey. "While I'm on the other side of the planet brutally slaying Artemis, you'll be in
Tokyo, rending Celestimus Prime limb from limb. The old adage goes 'one cannot be in
two places at once,' but I think I've found a way around that." Parseltongue grinned
menacingly. "Now, both of you, take off. Find your owners; nothing has happened."
==You'll go about your normal daily routines until March the sixth... then, we'll
both commit... unspeakable acts.==