Ever have a story in your head that won't leave you alone? The plot replays and replays in your head during the day while you eat, drive, and work. The details slowly flesh out after each replay. It becomes incorporated in your head; you dream it's sequences like watching a film? It nags your mind and won't let your brain turn off and sleep? This is one of those stories. It's been in my head since 2010.
It's always fun to imagine the transformers universe characters as humans and what antics they would fall into in their new bodies. I've enjoyed reading many on here but I've never seen any centered around my favorite group, the combaticons. It first I thought my story was just a phase and would go away after a while or when someone posted a story of them becoming human. Still haven't found one and now this tale won't leave me alone, it gets louder.
Disclaimer: I don't own transformers, Onslaught, Swindle, Blastoff, Brawl, and Vortex...bummer.
Dedicated To: My husband and brother-in-law, whom are my proof readers, editors, and who convinced me to get off my keister start writing again...with an electric stock prod.
Please enjoy!
He once caused misery, miracles, and mischief; he was once a villain, a hero, a trickster, a teacher, and despised by many. But above all else he had been known and remembered.
Yet, his teachings and lessons diminished in the souls of the people as his stories were not passed to the children, and they no longer saw him so they could listen. 'I can no longer reach the spirit of men by approaching them, how shall I communicate?', he thought and pondered on his perch. He had once been able to approach man and if he couldn't do that he would enter their dreams, but due to their ever changing and increasingly stressful lifestyle, he could not break through their nightmares. His slanted eyes scanned the barren plains in the darkening twilight; they suddenly twinkled like the stars now appearing in the sky. He found his answer with the objects in the distance. 'If I can no longer communicate to or through man, then I must communicate to them through something that isn't man'.
"Remind me again, why the slag are we out in the middle of nowhere? Our base is in the middle of nowhere too, but why leave it to be in an even more barren wasteland!"
"Swindle," groaned Onslaught's voice further up the trail. "You're a blasted jeep; this terrain should be a piece of energon cake for you, transform and shut your vocalizer."
Trudging the smuggler continued across the trail left by his superior, his feet scrapped the dry landscape, dislodging gravel and stirring red dust. Vortex giggled close by, Swindle's footsteps quickened, as he trotted to join the group, rather than be left in the back with psycho chopper. "Hey Ons! Remind us why we're out here again?" shouted Vortex in the back; he had fallen behind on account of his new game, chasing sidewinders off cliffs.
"Seriously, can't you two remember simple orders," huffed Blastoff. "We are here to harvest rock basalt for construction around the base and to convert into heat insulator. Not to mention it will help with your mufflers."
"Then why not go to Hawaii! The slagging active volcanoes produce the fragging stuff every click, it's everywhere you step! The humans probably wouldn't even mind since it could burn the island up!" Swindle shouted at the top of his vocalizers.
The shuttle nodded down at him, "And Decepticon activity on a well known and populated island near the Autobots surely would not attract their attention either." He finished in a smug tone.
"Oh well then, if we needed processed basalt then why couldn't I just negotiate with my human connections?" The jeep was now starting to revert to his sly, charming self.
"Combaticons don't ask for help, we take. We just don't want to be caught taking."
"COME ON! You got to be kidding! We traveled all this way to the middle of nowhere so we don't get caught destroying the landscape in hopes no one would notice!" Swindle's tantrum returned in an explosion. "Yes Ons! Brilliant plan, just slagging brilliant! You drag me out to a flat desert plain away from the base or any form of civilization to collect a fragging rock that happens to be one of the most abundant one on the face of this whole mud ball of a planet! Right? Oh please correct me if I'm wrong because…."
His rant ran short to the sound of a blaster being fired, not aimed at him, but it still froze him in his tracks. "Shut up pipsqueak, I happen to like it out here." Brawl returned his attention to the mass of migrating tumbleweeds scurrying in the setting sun. "There's plenty of target practice out here, and these rolling things never give up, it's an army flocking. Just let them try to take me, puny little things."
"Slag it Brawl," groaned Blastoff, "Those things are not sentient, nor even alive! It's just a bunch of weeds!"
"But they're moving."
"It's the wind blowing them ignoramus!" The shuttle rubbed his temples, a processor ache neared. Reasoning with Brawl never worked, as the saying went, 'never argue with an idiot, they'd only bring you down to their level and beat you with experience', and Brawl was good at beatings.
"Brawl, look a lizard!" squawked Vortex. Blaster fire proceeded. "Armadillo!" More blaster fire filled the air. "One of those four horned deer thingies." The landscape now started to look like the crater covered surface moon. "OH car! Double score!"
Brawl now took careful aim, only to see a massive, navy colored hand grab his gun in a split second. "That is quite enough!" roared Onslaught. "Drawing human or Autobot attention does not happen to fall in my strategy!" His red visor glared brightly. "Understand!"
The tank had fallen back at the sudden outburst at the presence of 'death's' hand. "Sir."
"Good, now everyone move out, I would like to get there before the sun completely sets," the missile truck began to storm off violently up the trail but flinched for a millisec as a coyote darted across his path into a cluster of shrubs. The small troop regrouped and followed their leader like a pack of wolves, with an omega taking a little detour to cause mischief. A sidewinder happened to slither to a bush to shelter down for the night. One quick chase, no one would notice….
"Vortex if you fail to cease your sparkling and pointless games I will personally fire at you point blank in between your optics and ship you to Hook's clinic for repairs. Without turning off your pain sensors!" barked Onslaught's silhouette. Then again it was always good to follow orders every once in awhile.
"Owe, my aching feet" groaned Swindle.
"Tender foot," snapped Brawl.
"I heard that you trigger happy lunatic!" The jeep rose in defense, wearing a scowl.
"Want me to demonstrate that on you pipsqueak!"
"Yeah, sure, use your big barrel and 'bend over' since I'm too short to shoot while standing."
"Ooooh I love campfire conflicts!" Vortex giggled from his seat at their makeshift camp.
"You aren't worth the ammo; I'll just step on you!"
"Bring it on you bulking, empty tin can!"
Brawl darted from his seat, despite his size, and body slammed Swindle into the ground and continued the feud by twisting the yellow con's ankle.
Blastoff merely glanced at them from his post outside the campfire circle, while Vortex's cheers fueled the conflict. Best not jump in the fray and dirty his servos, and Onslaught would be back soon with more trees for the fire.
"Say 'I'm Megatron's fodder'."
"Scrap you! ARRRGGGGHHHHH!"
"Say 'I'm Megatron's cannon fodder', Swindle!" By now Swindle's ankle was starting to give way to a disturbing position and the metal screamed in protest; and, the two's dispute kept coming closer to the fire, threatening to extinguish it.
"BRAWL! CEASE!"
The warrior immediately scrabbled off the smaller con and flailed in an attempt to distance himself from the source of the command, kicking dust high in the air. All optics were locked onto Onslaught, except for Blastoff who wore disinterest in the current activities. Vortex had fallen backwards on the log he sat on; his feet poking over and his helm barely peered over it. Swindle merely laid in the dirt stunned.
The combaticon leader stomped into camp with an arm full of dead juniper trunks and unceremoniously dumped them in the fire. His gaze swept across the camp at each of his cadets. When it reached Brawl, the tank transformer retreated to the outer circle of their post. Swindle began to strain his arms for his foot and jerked it to its correct alignment but cowered further into the earth upon realizing that Onslaught towered next to him. Vortex laid back on the ground looking at the night sky, twiddling his fingers with his feet still propped up on the log. Blastoff received the stare last; he paid no mind to it, same old dance.
"I think," began Onslaught, "I should remind all of you exactly why we came here and why slacking off is prohibited!" He looked at Blastoff, "Report." The shuttle drew in his intakes, "Our position: N 36.940176 W-102.924511, altitude: 4,573, humidity 24%, weather: 88.6°F, climate: dry, population: rocks." He read off his internal computer.
"And….," Onslaught drew on.
"And what?" Droned Blastoff in a bored mood.
An indignant huff escaped the missile truck."And the site we happen to be standing on is a stretch of mesa made entirely of basalt. "
Vortex's hand shot above the log declaratively and he exclaimed, "You seem to draw a sense of grandeur or importance of this place. If I didn't know any better, this place sounds like a national land mark,"
"It is, what is your point Vortex?"
"Stealing a national landmark doesn't fall in the stealth category or wise decisions oh leader." Vortex's gaze quick diverted to the sky again after meeting Onslaught's optic band.
Onslaught's threatening posture reverted to an upright, regal manner, "I have taken that into consideration, I always do. However, this landmark isn't as well known as other landmarks or monuments. It's not even surrounded by cities or reside in a national park, and has few visitors, I will add. We are less likely to be caught here; however, that does not mean we can abandon stealth!" Onslaught's visor bounced back and forth to Brawl and Vortex.
"Aw Ons, let's just say we don't get all 'up tight' on this one and sit around the campfire telling jokes and singing." His gestalt mates could tell he wore a slag eating grin behind his battle mask.
The night sky twinkled with mischief but became marred in a nanoklik by Onslaught's form looming over him. "This isn't a game Vortex! Our past actions with Starscream and the stunt with changing Earth's orbit has left us out of Megatron's favor and the Decepticon fleet. We're lucky enough to have our own base in the desert and not have to stay underwater in the Nemesis.'
'However, the Constructicons cut corners and used inferior earth materials. The piping burst's whenever the temperature plummets and the structures crack from thermal differences. We need basalt for rock wool insulation. If we work quickly, no one will be alerted by our activity and we will reduce the rate of consumption of our energon storages. The less we use, the less dependent we are of headquarters for supplies. Does this make sense to any or you?!"
He scanned across the campfire circle. "If we wish to stay out from under Megatron's thumb we need to be less dependent of Decepticon headquarters, not like they would help us. In order to achieve this we need to work as a functioning team, not a squabbling band of misfits.
Vortex wagged a servo at his leader, "Take a second look, we are a bunch of misfits, you're the ringleader of inept misfits," he exclaimed. The amount of frags Onslaught had to give was running dangerously low and his fist tingled with the urge to connect with the chopper's face plate. Problem was the motherboard fragger would probably just giggle and like it.
"He's right you know," drawled Blastoff, dragging Onslaught's crosshairs from the youngest teammate. "We have nothing in common with each other, other than the insignia we wear. The Constructicons bond over their shared interest in construction; the Stunticons all enjoy unruly driving antics, and then there's us." He gestured to the motley group. "Products of a mutinous second-in-command assembling an army by grabbing the first personality components he could scrabble from a Decepticon detention center full of war criminals and tossed them in crude vehicle carcasses. From this, he expected them to function as an academy trained military unit despite their different backgrounds and temperament, only you and Brawl have had any military experience. There is nothing about us that indicates teamwork, Swindle even sold us to humans as scrap metal."
"Really Blastoff?! Gonna drag that into this, pick on the short guy? I'm greedy by nature but I learned my lesson," squawked the yellow jeep.
"Honestly that should have been common sense not to do that, I recharge with a LoJack now because of you" snorted the shuttle.
"Those are easy to remove if you know what you're doing," said Swindle.
Everyone but the jeep visibly flinched. "What? I learned my lesson, was just saying….."
"Well, if I'm drawing out your faults let me continue down the list." His optics pointed at each gestalt mate as he went. "Brawl is a trigger happy lunatic with no disregard for allies or his surroundings, the loudest trash heap I have ever met, and has a mental IQ of a bag of bricks. Even when we don't have any missions he can't find anything constructive around the base. He destroyed the shooting range with his explosions from his sonic cannons and a poorly designed bomb of his, and if I recall correctly, he is part of the reason why the base needs repairs."
The tank's arms shook as he seethed while rising from his seat. Blastoff ignored him.
"Psycho chopper," a hand acknowledging the feet on the log, "Shoots his mouth off just as much as Brawl fires his electron gun. He rarely follows orders, turns casual conversations into an interrogation session, and if he isn't dissecting for an interrogation he does it for the interest of seeing how things tick, giggling whilst doing it. He has no moral sense of right and wrong than a tire iron, the degenerate!"
The grey meche sat up to glare at the offender, his rotors twitching in irritation.
"Which brings me to you," now facing his commander, "always looking for the perfect strategy."
"I see nothing wrong with having that type of goal."
"Yes, it is when you are so detached of the mortality of your teammates that they function as nothing more than chess pieces on your board. We get sent out to the frontlines, you recline in your platinum tower giving orders to the point that it's just another game to you. The only time we ever see you in action is if your plan failed, and like a sparkling you take your frustration out on the enemy or when there are none, us. All you care about is your ego and reputation as a leader and contriver, your end goal is to have your name in history for these accomplishments, without being a real leader."
Blastoff's closing statement met sarcastic applause from Swindle. "Well said, but it's your turn now."
The purple meche scoffed, "Try if you must, I will give your inferior debate capabilities and derogatories a moment to speak."
"You're not perfect."
Blastoff boomed with laughter, "Is that the best you can do, I am living perfection. I can fly interstellar distances, hold myself in orbit which isn't flying but falling in a painfully slow, carefully controlled fall, withstand ionizing radiation in space, and the best sniper you have ever seen."
"And yet you're embarrassed by your form."
"Come again?"
Swindle produce a noise similar to clearing one's throat, "Let me quote the day Starscream revived us on the beach," he put the back of a hand against his forehead in a melodramatic doomed pose. "I wouldn't want to be seen by anyone I know in this getup."
Brawl and Vortex snickered loudly.
The shuttle snapped a retort, "I am autonomic perfection, ….my cybertronian form just supersedes my temporary form."
Vortex leaned over the log in-between his feet, "Ground control to Major Denial, you're the most fragile out of all of us. According to my pokes on your armor previously, your ceramic tiles crack easier than popping bubble wrap." The shuttle's gaze quickly shifted to inspect his armor, only to dart back at him with shaking fists. "You're so fragile that instead of physically fighting we use you as air support or, your personal favorite, the company bus."
Brawl joined, "Also didn't the humans just retire space shuttles? Not only are you fragile, technology wise you're obsolete." Everyone stared at Brawl. "What, I'm slow in the head, but I can keep up with current events and know some big words."
Blastoff sprung from his seat, "Take that back slag heap."
"Make me," the tank beckoned his servos.
The shuttle charged toward the green meche, only to trip as the yellow con had slammed into his leg. With him down on the ground, Swindle proceeded to twist Blastoff's leg by the knee. Brawl joined in the affair by delivering hard kicks and punches to Blastoff's head and shoulders. Blastoff managed a well aimed kick at Swindle's chest, breaking one of the con artist's compartments. Small electronic wares and trinkets belched from the cavity.
Onslaught groaned with a palm to his face. Walking to the ongoing scuffle he lifted his gun over head to break the quarrel. He heard the gun fire but found himself face in the dirt with a sharp pain in the back of his head. Stunned, he managed to watch Votex run from behind, waving one of his rotors in hand like a cutlass into the fray. With a swift swing Vortex slammed the rotor like a cricket paddle against Blastoff's side before mounting Brawl's back and waving it like a general on a mount charging into battle.
They were out of control, not even gunfire broke their dispute. The combaticon leader winced at his head wound; maybe it would be better to enforce order after they drained their energies. A sharp, loud howl pierced his audio receptors. The air filled with a thick electric energy, the ground trembled, and dust stirred in a whirl wind around their camp. The fighting ceased as meches attempted to physically block their audio ports or shuffle to the center of the camp from the walls of the whirl wind that were increasing speed.
The fire had extinguished, sending them into darkness. Onslaught's night vision goggles barely distinguished his team flailing on the ground in the fury of flying dirt. He launched from the ground to join them but his movements were sluggish as if time on his form had slowed. He slammed to his hands and knees as warning sensors appeared before his optics, alerting of vertigo. The wind increased and the howling became choppy and uneven, he could hear Swindle scream in its crescendo. He could barely make out their outlines now, amidst the chaos.
The electricity in the air now seemed to be directly attacking him, as if weaving under his armor in the endeavor of peeling it off. He gritted his dentia plates and tried to focus for signs of his team in the whirl of aerial earth. He blinked his optics in disbelief. Facing back, unaffected by the whirlwind of dirt, were a pair of bright glowing, yellow eyes. They bounced and squinted tauntingly as cackling ripped through the intolerable howling. A final warning flared through his system; then, everything went black.