TransFormers:  The Burger Hardest To Bear

Author's Note:  Well, I've officially run out of excuses, so it's back to work again.  The namesake this time is 'The Burden Hardest To Bear' from Series 3 of the cartoon.  I'm still not sure how long this one will last, but please, if you have a thought on what I should do next, tell me!  I need help!  Anyway, two reviewers to yammer at. Their contribution shall be remembered during the upcoming machine revolution, as they shall be spared from Death By Sharp Whirring Blades:

Saphire Cat:  'Ninja Kick Of Doom'?  Well, if you're sure…As for Devastator returning, don't count on it.  The poor fool's probably gone for good.

Pivot:  Another hello to Biggest Fan Version 2, and another thanks for the compliments.

And ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, Microwave Jockey is proud to present…THE NEXT CHAPTER!  And he's got two words for ya…review, please?

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Time:  1400 Earth Hours.  Location:  NASA facility, on the outskirts of Texas.

Security at the Fort Bracas Space Exploration Facility was reportedly state-of-the-art.  CCTV cameras simultaneously scanned in Infra-Red, Electromagnetic and Pheromone vision settings as well as the default view, laser tripwires were installed at the entrance points to all buildings, a sizable detachment of the National Guard on standby less than half a mile away.  If you asked about security breaches, the head officer would likely inform you that the army couldn't break in here, let alone a bunch of terrorists in trucks.

But then, you never can trust what a government official says, can you?

The guard in the north tower was having a light snooze.  It wasn't like his job was taxing anyway; check visitor Ids, flick over a few monitors, jack one off over this month's Playboy, frequent issues funded with the taxpayer's cash…he was surprised they still needed a human to run all this.

He was knocked out of his stupor by a loudening rumble, that of approaching heavy-duty engines.  Looking up, expecting to see a new rocket arriving via convoy, he was treated to a far less welcome sight - that of a massive red truck heading straight at him.  He didn't even have the chance to call his attorney before he was crushed under some seriously heavy concrete.

~

"Autobots – TRANSFORM FOR THE MASSACRE!"

This was what Optimus signed up for.  No pussying around with Mega-Tool and his daft plans for domination of a planet which he frequently deemed useless, and not a five-faced psycho judge in sight.  Pure, simple killage.  He never found out exactly why the Earthlings called the 'Bots "heroic".

Shifting various metal plates across his body – the same body that had, incidentally, won him the title of 'Sexiest Male Cybernetic Organism Ever' in the Fembot Monthly awards show five years running – Prime turned and surveyed his troops.  Ratchet, the underrated medic; Wheeljack, the slightly queer engineer; Sunstreaker, who despite having a suggestive name, has never run naked across the field at any sports events; Sideswipe, Sunstreaker's fairly unremarkable brother; Mirage, who keeps disappearing whenever his talents would be needed the most; Bumblebee and Cliffjumper, the ones who just won't die; Hound, the hippy; Huffer, the bespectacled weirdo; Gears, who nobody remembers; Trailbreaker, the depressed-yet-cheerful oddity; Grimlock and the Dinobots – huh?  Where'd they come from?; Superion, the ungrateful teenage giant; and…damn.

"Dude, we're not supposed to kill people!  It's like, soooo wrong!"  The whiny voice of Hot Rod burst out, immediately taking its toll on Prime's already-fried patience processors.

"Arcee, slap him!"  Prime commanded.  No response, verbal or physical, came.  Optimus was confused.  "Where's our resident page 3 star gone now?"

"She's still getting dressed…ohh baby…"  Hound dribbled WD40 all over himself as he focused on one of the windows of the now-distant Ark, which someone had unwisely left open.

"Ummm…then…Wheeljack, slap him!"

"No can do, Opti-man," said the tech guy, "my new nail enamel isn't dry yet."

"Scrap!  Now what?!"

"Allow me, Prime!"  Ratchet, the supposedly cumbersome and peaceful medic promptly took two quick steps and jumped into the air.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he stretched out one leg, aiming straight for Hot Rod's smarmy face…either that or it was a bad attempt by the author to introduce bullet-time into a story which really doesn't need any more dodgy film references.  With an echoing clang, the self-proclaimed 'Rodmeister' spun around, dazed and looking thoroughly dented, and blundered straight into Superion's leg, then collapsed.  The plane-machine glanced down, before stepping over to Hot Rod's head and kicking one of the KO'd mech's arms to his side.

Prime knew what was coming.  "Oh for Primus' sake…When's he gonna grow out of this stuff?"

Superion, acting as if he hadn't heard anything, pulled one of the wings sticking out of his right arm off with his left hand and threw it into a cheering crowd which had, through means of something like a space-bridge or equally fictitious technology, appeared only a few seconds ago.  Waving both arms, the Aerialbot gestalt jogged off to his left, bounced off of thick elastic barriers hovering in midair, skipped over the still-down robot's body, bounced again, before wiggling one leg around and dropping one stupid-looking elbow on the helpless 'Bot.

Superion leapt to his feet, congratulating himself.  "And the crowd goes wild!"

Shaking his head, Prime took out his rifle and shot the oversized fool in the foot with it.  "You finished?  No?  Tough.  Autobots, get yo' fat asses on board that space…flying…ship…thing or I'll personally make sure that you all get upgraded to Windows XP next time you're reformatted!"

The still-standing mechs marched sharply into the docked space shuttle, ignoring Hot Rod's smoking wreck.  Prime was about to follow them when he realised he hadn't killed anyone.  Looking around, he saw a yellow school bus on a nearby road, apparently suffering from a breakdown.  Optimus promptly shot it, incinerating its young passengers in a ball of flame.  Cackling, Prime legged it into the shuttle and prepared for lift-off.

~Deserted Beach, Near The Former Decepticon Headquarters Building~

Bits and pieces of wreckage from the 'Con's old command centre were still floating on the ocean surface, twisted and torn from Unicron's rising, but no humans noticed; it was a cold day, and the fish in this area had long since disappeared, used as test subjects by Shockwave in the process of creating a clever-sounding yet thoroughly useless 'Con special unit.  Eventually, the Fishy-Trons had been scrapped in favour of the Insecticons, but it was a close-run thing; if it hadn't been for the Quintessons threatening court action because they held the rights to all aquatic-design TFs (though all they ever did was create those hopeless Sharkticons), the result may have been different.  Those test subjects wound up in the Gadget Shop and other such places, nailed to plastic mantles and forced to sing Elvis-era rock-and-roll songs for eternity.  Or until there batteries ran out.

Suddenly, something broke the surface…something yellow and black, which many transfans had hoped to Jeebus they'd seen the last of…Rising, the hellspawned freak raised its arms to the heavens.

"YEZZZZZZ!  Wazzzzpinator is FREEEEE!  And he'zzzz quite hungry…"

Spotting a Taco Bell restaurant nearby, the metallic bug stepped inside, using the amazing size/mass conversion abilities possessed by just about every TF under the sun for no obvious reason, Waspinator stepped up to the serving counter, looking up at the menus and doing a lot of ummm-ing and ahhh-ing.

Over at a nearby table, two robot/plane hybrids were tucking in, one staying quiet while the other talked with his mouth full.

"Y'know, it's not so much the low wages that bugs me about this job," the purple-n-black Skywarp commented to his fellow Seeker, "it's the stupid restrictions.  We can't talk to any being which isn't a Decepticon, we can't use public toilets, we can't talk in 1337 during office hours, and…"  Skywarp's eyes widened suddenly, and he dropped a half-consumed BBQ fajita on the floor.   "Uhh, Cracker…haven't we seen him somewhere?"

Puzzled, Thundercracker looked around and glared at the stripy bug, his teeth making audible straining sounds as they grinded together.  "Why, that lisping piece o' junk…" He turned back to his flying buddy.  "You runnin' hot?"

Skywarp nodded once.  "Naturally."

"Let's squash this fool!"  Thundercracker said, just before he spun to face the bug-machine and leapt sidey-ways, spitting laser blasts from his arm-mounted rifles.  Skywarp followed suit, loosing off a couple hundred rounds from his machine guns.  Waspinator barely managed to turn around before being obliterated in a hail of lead, stumbling backwards and slipping on a puddle of children's vomit and blundering through a door, losing his balance and somehow tumbling into a deep-fat fryer.

Skywarp winced.  "I'll bet that stung."

Abruptly, the door to the restaurant slammed open and another insect-robot stood there, a female spider-type creature holding one really badass rifle aimed at the two Seekers.  The girly mech sounded as if she were on the verge of tears.

"You killed my beloved!  You will both be terminated!  So says Blackarachnia!"  The arachnid warrior fired on the boys, who jumped out a window just as a glob of acid melted the table they were sat at into steaming liquid.  Once outside, the two jets made a run for a large purple train, complete with jet engines on the back, which opened its rear door as they approached.

"Astrotain, get us outta here!"  Thundercracker yelled, sprinting toward the larger mech with his brother at his side.  Abruptly, they both connected with something solid and immobile, and they both fell down.  Sitting up again, they were greeted by an outstretched hand emerging from the back end of Astrotain.

The train-bot's voice echoed out over his own PA system.  "Tickets, please!"

"Oh, for the love of…"  Skywarp grumbled away to himself as he got out his wallet and started leafing through some notes.  Finding a five, he handed it over.  The hand grabbed it, retreated back inside temporarily, then came back holding two orange pieces of card.  "Thankyou."  Thundercracker grabbed the tickets and the train started rolling, gathering speed until its outer side changed again, into a space shuttle which flew upward, towards the enormous shadow in the morning sky.


~Back On Unicron~


"FINALLY!"  Jazz was outraged.  "I was supposed to be the main character in this damn story, and the stupid author keeps yapping on about all these guys who nobody cares about!  I mean, who really likes Thundercracker or Skywarp?  And that whole bit with – "SNIP!

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Author's Note:  We'll leave it at that, folks!  Next time, I'll hopefully get some more funny ideas, and maybe – just maybe – a decent title.  Until then…the Borg have assimilated j00.  R3sist@l\lc3 is fu7i13.

Microwave Jockey