Funny story, so this would have been updated sooner, like in April. Unfortunately I ended up in the ER and had emergency surgery. After recovering for two weeks, I was finally able to snap out of my oxycontin fueled trance and write, only to have my computer's graphics card over heat and fry my motherboard and processor. Also the disks in my hard drive loosen enough that they crashed into each other and I lost everything on my computer. Everything I had written for this chapter was gone except the first 8 paragraphs I had stored in an email. It took 3 months to fix my computer and another month to rewrite what was lost. Moral of this short story, make back ups or store on external hard drives.
Disclaimer: I don't own Onslaught, Blastoff, Brawl, Swindle, and Vortex.
Another big thanks to my husband and brother-in-law for being my proof readers and editors. Especially my husband who was constantly begged to reread the same thing over and over again and was torn from the soft glow and comfort of playing 'Prey'. Your sacrifice is much appreciated and recognized!
A tapping on his forearm brought him out of recharge. Even with his optics offline, he was spatially aware that he was sprawled on his back with his arms half spread at his sides, and a slight ache in the back of his head. The last things he remembered, his team brawling, a howling whirlwind, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes. He saw the eyes crystal clear in his mind, everything else in his possessor swam in a flurry of disoriented thoughts.
The tapping continued and migrated towards his shoulder. He attempted to lift his arm, it felt heavy and disobeyed; however, he had managed to flex his servos. Something was wrong, he felt the solid ground resist them but, he could feel more… textures of small particles. His sensors wandered from his hands to the rest of him, he could feel something that draped and lightly clung around his torso and legs. A light pressure dug into his chest.
And the incessant tapping continued. His annoyance spiked, slag it Vortex. He commanded his optics to online, only to be greeted by the ugliest creature sitting on top of him. Ebony feathers masked its body from the neck down; a red, naked fleshy cranium housing two black beady eyes and a long, hooked mouth that poked him.
Onslaught yelped and made a right hook while flailing backwards from the thing. It was big enough to cover his chest. Startled by his outburst, the creature revealed its two wide wings and launched into the sky. Onslaught watched it soar upwards to join more of its kind lazily circling above him. The sun drifted high in the sky; how long had he been out?
He sat on the outer rim of the camp, something familiar at least, but the pine trees seemed to tower over him. The center of the camp looked as if a bomb had detonated; tree shards littered the area, metal trinkets glittered in the sand, and four human forms lay sprawled in odd positions. Disgusting, how had they stumbled upon the camp, and why did it seem from his reclined position that he would be at eye level …. with …. them?
Dear Primus…. He lifted a hand to his line of sight only to slap it to the ground; no, he was hallucinating. He lifted it again; the fingers flexed as he instructed. It was his alright, and it was covered in fleshy muscle! Reflexively he brought it to his crown in an attempt to concentrate; however, focusing proved more difficult as soft hair now replaced his helmet.
He opted to keep his hands on the ground, unconsciously filtering sand through his fingers. 'What in the Pit had happened?!' There was no logical explanation for his body's current state. Onslaught, the brilliant, towering, tactician reduced to a delicate functioning piece of meat. If he survived this, this would be one of the stories to omit from the history data pads he told himself as he flailed his hand to dispel the sticky sand now clinging to his palm.
He rose with unsure steps, inspected his pedes and the material encompassing him. A dark teal, utility shirt garbed his torso; Propper ACU trousers covered his lower half and were tucked into a pair of steel toed combat boots. Grasping the cloth he tested the fabric's strength between his hands. Seemed durable but nothing compared to his armor. He couldn't help but shudder at his new detailed sense of touch. He kicked a rock to test the boot but immediately regretted the action. The boot withstood the impact, so did the rock, but something shifted in the footwear and caused a sharp stinging sensation in his pede. A wince and curse huffed from him.
Fixating his gaze from the ground back to the camp circle at the other human life forms, a smidge of ease graced him. At least his troop had been changed as well; if they had retained their cybertronian bodies they'd probably just step on him and be glad to not follow his orders anymore. Or Vortex would vivisect him. The trace of ease quickly departed at that thought, best to not dwell on such things.
With the absence of an explanation or solution to get their bodies back, the next crucial step would be to care for themselves and survive; that was a problem in itself. Any historical knowledge of humans, particularly military battles, Onslaught could enumerate as second nature. Aspects of the inhabitants themselves, well, he knew their thermal survival ranges and the time span they could function without subsistence.
A frown plastered Onslaught's features as he scanned his unconscious subordinates. No matter what happened, he could not give the impression of him losing control or not having a plan. He was their commander; their foundation. Time to rally the group and get moving; he marched to the center of the camp.
Onslaught swiveled his head at the bodies surrounding him in deep debate. The large man by his feet sported a deep purple shirt like his, brown dress pants, and had dusty brown hair in an Ivy League cut. Blastoff, if he thought his shuttle form was bad he was in for a rude awakening. To his right a few yards, two more bodies lay sprawled, one adorning a green shirt and camo pants. Brawl lounged like a brick on his back, arms flayed overhead, and mouth slacked open. Short auburn hair tufted his head and the outline of his muscles defined his shirt. If Onslaught trained his ears from the whistling wind he could hear the former tank snore.
A lean, young figure, sporting a grey T-shirt and ABUs, slumped over Brawl's abdomen haphazardly like a sack of potatoes with his arms at his side. Messy short brown locks obscured the face planted in the ground, Vortex. By process of elimination meant Swindle was the figure sprawled to his left. He puzzled at the shortest man. In contrast to the others, Swindle's skin was tanner and his hair shined black as the feathers of the creatures circling above. A thin pencil moustache trailed his upper lip.
"Eh hem, ATTENTION!"
Life and confusion buzzed about the camp. Swindle sprung to his feet, Brawl flailed from the ground, tossing Vortex's lower half upwards. The former rotary's arms scampered to catch himself, only to fail and have gravity dig his face deeper into the sand. Brawl and Swindle both stood at attention, not even glancing at their leader. Vortex sputtered and wheezed in an attempt to eject the debris from his mouth and nose as he rose from all fours, "Okay which one of you slaggers stole my battle mask and visor, as if I have to ask, Swindle."
Both men broke their bearing, one in curiosity and the other in anger, "Slag it Vortex, why do you always blame me, I'm not the only one capable of stealing things yooouuu…..kn." The con artist choked on his last words while staring at the hacking human producing the interrogator's voice.
"What's the matter Swindle, Ravage got your glossa," Vortex's Cheshire grin drooped to bewilderment after focusing on the human in the yellow business suit. Gingerly, he brought his trembling, twitching fingers to his intense gaze. Silently, he stared dead ahead at nothing as one hand reach behind his back to inspect between his shoulder blades. The rummaging soon became frantic in the absence of his target.
"AAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Swindle you motherboard fragger, you traded our bodies for filthy human ones!" He inaudibly screeched while clenching fistfuls of hair. "Of all the ludicrous scrap you do, this is the worst! Where did my rotors go, give them back!"
"Again blaming me! If I were guilty I certainly would not have traded my own in the process." Anger now replaced his shock.
"Oh of course you would, throw us off your trail so we wouldn't suspect you." He hunched in a fetal position softly whimpering, "I'm grounded, I'm grounded."
"Will you two simpletons shut it!" Shouted a rousing Blastoff. "It's bad enough knowing I enter recharge around you, but having all of you for an alarm clock is out right." As he rolled on his side to an upright position, the former shuttle's gaze seemed adrift and a bit disoriented as he squinted at the squabbling cons.
"Or the fact that you are no longer a shuttle but a human," sneered Swindle.
"Hilarious Swindle, you construct your own jokes now?"
"Um no, stating fact. Are you blind, look at yourself; you're hideous."
Squinting, Blastoff scrutinized his hands close to his face. The look in his eyes seemed lost and he visibly flinched at the sensation of his index finger tracing his other hand.
"See, you're even more useless now."
"Shut it," the large man snapped, facing away from the group dejectedly.
The verbal exchange between the con artist and sniper had drawn the interrogator from his flightless, existential crisis to join in inflicting psychological torment on the largest team member. With the two youngest Decepticons heckling him, Blastoff buried his head in-between his knees like an armadillo sheltering from two curious bobcats. Rather than focus on one's own predicament, it was easier to inflict mental damage on others.
Onslaught eyed Brawl, who had oddly remained silent during the ordeal, and suspected his brain was having trouble catching up with the circumstances. The former tank merely observed the combat boots cladding his feet and lazily swung a leg at the logs in front of him. The exposed earth beneath the logs revealed sheens of metal and plastic that his thick fingers gathered, paying no mind to the crunching dry dirt behind him.
"Brawl, what are you collecting?" It was more a command than a question.
The redhead flinched from his crouched position and passed the gadgets over head into Onslaught's open palm before continuing his scavenger hunt. The gestalt leader examined the assortment of plastic cards and metal parallelograms with black screens. The cards came in a mixture of colors and some even had pictures printed on them. Plucking one from the mixture, he held it in the sunlight. Sixteen digits sprawled across the front, three in the back, but nothing that could indicate the predicament of how they acquired human bodies.
The rectangular device's blank screen seemed to mock his cluelessness; however, he pressed his thumb on a side button and the screen blared to life showing the time, date, and even weather. Intrigued he pressed further, scything through icons until he came upon a list of contacts and a map. His pulse quickened, with a map they could locate a settlement and care for their new forms and contact headquarters.
He lowered the device from his intense gaze and blinked away the disconcerting thoughts breaching his mind. No, no other Decepticon could know about this; it would endanger them all. They would become Shockwave's experiment in his attempt to discover how they had changed into humans. Worse, what would this say about him and his position as a leader that couldn't protect his troops from bizarre circumstances. They would claim he was incompetent. His attention shifted back to the screen, didn't matter if he wanted to make a call, no signal in this barren wasteland. Onslaught scowled, inferior earth device.
"Hey! That's mine!" Swindle's hand appeared from his peripheral vision for the device but balked at Onslaught's harsh glare. The con artist gave a sheepish grin before shifting his attention to Brawl.
"Brawl old buddy," in his salesman's voice, "how about you give me those..." A bulky fist answered Swindle's nose and cheek. "Slag off," huffed Brawl, "Finders keepers!"
Swindle nursed the red, welt appearing on his cheek, a trickle of blood painted his mustache. "Give me all my stuff back!"
Brawl ceased his litter plucking and swiveled to stoop down to the wounded man, "These mean a lot to ya, how much are they worth, your life?"
"None of your business!"
"Better fess up or I'll see how well your new fingers withstand my feet!"
"BRAWL, stand aside" the former tank froze and grimaced as the corner of his eye caught sight of his commander towering over him. "Now," the red head abruptly scuttled to make way as Onslaught knelt down to the cowering man.
"Swindle, what you are keeping from us."
"Nothing, none of these things concern any of you!"
The calm demeanor gradually leaving his voice, "Swindle... what are these and what were you doing with them. Tell me or else."
"Or else what?" he said snidely, "you can't afford to kill me with the value of Bruticus."
A seethe hissed through his teeth, "Tell your commanding officer what these are and what you are doing with them, or we will leave you without the knowledge to care for your body and none of your trinkets."
Swindle gave an odd mix of a grunt and chuckle, "That changes nothing. Even you don't know how to survive in this form."
"I think four working together can figure it out compared to just one on his own, with no resources."
Silence with a stern glower answered him. Onslaught gave a curt nod to Brawl, who gave a smug grin while cracking his knuckles.
"They're for my side business." Both were taken back by his sudden blurt. "The device in your right servo is a cell phone; it's a human communication apparatus similar to our commlinks." Begrudgingly he confessed, "I use them to keep track of my clients and dealers without them knowing my personal number and from having Soundwave spy on me through my comsystem. Any cell phone you find don't mess or alter the address book but they should all have internet access and a map app."
"Why do you have so many," grumbled Brawl.
"If in case of the event of one breaking due to some motherboard fragger kicking and breaking my chest storage compartment," he snarled with a swing of his head at the inert Blastoff a few yards away.
"And these?" Onslaught fanned the deck of cards in his hand, a tap to imply the middle one.
"Debit and credit cards, I store human currency in accounts on them at the moment until the Autobots discover the exchange rate of Earth's market and finances into cybertronian credits."
Onslaught twiddled a card with a winter mountain landscape on the front, interest in his eyes, "How much is on these?"
"Depends, on which one. I have several accounts, don't want to put all my eggs in one basket as humans say," he sneered.
The former anti aircraft truck's eyes narrowed at his underling, "What are you hiding Swindle, how long has this been going on."
The sneer lazed to a smug smirk, "I wouldn't dwell or dig too much into this, especially when this is the only currency we have; which we will need if mingling with the natives, and I'm the only one who knows the access codes to activate them."
Despite what the greedy glitch said, the chances of him following through with his offer of financial service to the team were almost comical. Only a deal might make him keep his promise. "Give the codes to me and I won't impede in your business affairs after we restore our bodies."
Swindle leaned forward and snickered, "How good are you at remembering 50 different account numbers and their 10 digit codes?" The combaticon leader fumed and glowered in his anchored position for a tense juncture. Son of a glitch, he never made this easy, and now he was in a position of power. "Oh and did I mention I'm the only one with experience fraternizing with humans; it's a rather complex social system and culture. You can't afford to lose me."
Brawl had difficulty is determining which side was winning as neither broke in their staring contest. If Onslaught ever had a desire to play the game, he dealt a convincing, impassive poker face. The tense juncture strained further with a haunting silence.
"Brawl, hold him down while I get Vortex for this," said the older man as he began to rise.
"Woah, wait! He doesn't need to get involved!" Swindle winced as Brawl roughly wrestled his wrist behind his back and pressed him forward to the ground.
"Obviously he does if you are determined to not cooperate."
"No wait, I can be reasonable!"
"That time... has passed" he stomped in the direction of the interrogator who currently poked the comatose Blastoff with a stick. This nonsensical dispute stalled exploration for shelter from the elements and learning to care for their new bodies. Where the sun cast its beams on his skin now induced a prickle sensation and perspiration beaded his brow. He had no idea if this was normal or cause for alarm; regardless, it was uncomfortable.
"No really," Swindle sputtered with eyes shifting for answers, "You can carry and keep track of them and just have me punch in the codes. I can't get any money without them"
The leader halted with a stifle of his shoulders, contemplating the offer with his back oriented at the hustler. He was a tactician and strategist; surely he could outwit a charlatan. A narrow, sideways glance bore a hole where Brawl secured Swindle to the Earth.
"I'll accept your proposal, but make any intent of your previous actions and whatever stains you here," he traced his upper lip," will cover the rest of your body.
"It's called blood dear leader and if I lose enough I will die."
"Better use that map to find a place we can stay and care for ourselves or we're all dead," Onslaught gave an apathetic wave of the back of his hand as he turned to assemble the other two teammates, but admitted one last glance back. "Brawl, release him." Sprays of sand washed over the former tank as Swindle nursed his wrists and scampered from his grasp to join the other three.
Vortex lounged with his arms behind his head in a makeshift seat constructed of juniper branches, a pile of cards and cell phones in his lap, with his boots inadvertently propped on a considerably large cairn. His top foot bounced to the imaginary rhythm in his head. The combaticon commander sharply nudged his subordinate's legs from their reclined position.
"I see you've gathered the rest of Swindle's belongings, but how the slag did you manage to collect this amount of rocks in a short time frame, you're not that big!"
The interrogator lazily cast his bored gaze at the three men surrounding him. "I'm not the one who made this; it's been here the whole time. Also I wouldn't kick it down." Brawl paused mid swing before Vortex continued, "There is some sort of encryption out of pebbles at your feet."
The former anti aircraft truck tiptoed back and peered where his feet had been. A petroform of black gravel littered the ground. "What does it say?"
With a lazy roll of the head and an annoyed huff, he replied, "Couldn't even tell ya what flesh creature language it's in. You read it if you're so clever."
The glitch's attitude waned Onslaught's already thin patience with his team. Onslaught clenched his jaw; he could decipher minuscule amounts of Korean after mercenary work for Kim Jong Du but the symbols didn't match Munhwaŏ. In a 'matter of fact' voice he said, "We're in the US, presumably it's English."
"Or Spanish, it's becoming more prominent in the southwestern US," piped Swindle, which earned him a withering squint from his commander, who snapped, "Then you read it, as you claimed that you know the greatest deal of interacting and knowing human cultures."
Swindle gave a consternate squawk, "I can read printed English, Russian, and Arabic, but I would have to spend time trying to identify each letter in stones before I could tell what language it is and the message." He retrieved a phone from his back pocket and captured an image of the scene. "When we find a town, someone could probably decipher it faster."
Vortex tilted his head in inquisitiveness, "I'm rather interested what is inscribed there. IT seems insidious, with a touch of cruel irony."
"It, the pile?" Swindle double checked the stationary rocks.
"No, the thing that made us all humans."
"What makes you think that whatever caused our current physical forms predicament, created an insignificant rock pile?!"
"Take a closer look, IT is toying with us," he gestured to the slapdash tower of rubble. There was nothing peculiarly out of the ordinary, just gray, palm sized stones with small air pocket holes, stacked at a height to Onslaught's collar bone. The three emitted confused and stumped gawks to each other, Vortex expressed a sly, cheap grin. "It's basalt. Ya know... what we came here for." Three pairs of eyebrows raised in his direction. "IT followed us here, IT knows we were here to harvest basalt; after altering our physical forms, IT placed this here for us to find, the one thing we required is now useless to us."
There was an awkward pause as a tumbleweed transversed through the group.
"I think you're giving your speculative.…...IT too much credit," scoffed Onslaught, "why would something bother to change us and then subtlety mock us with rocks."
"Can't humans eat rocks?" asked Brawl.
After a drawn pause, Vortex's grin intensified as he leaned forward, "Sure they can, take a big bite out of one and tell me how it tastes."
Onslaught's right arm swung to block Brawl from reaching for the nearest stone, "Don't listen to him, he's misleading you for his own personal amusement to see you do something foolish and painful." The interrogator's Cheshire smirk heightened sinisterly; his amber, almost reddish, eyes amplified his shadowed impression in the sunlight. "Just as I thought, he knows something you don't, he's just exacerbating."
Vortex relaxed his expression as he slumped back in his wooden bench and rolled his eyes, "Just trying to have a bit of fun in the state of things; however, what I said about IT, I still stand by and believe. But," he swung his arms to shift his weight ahead and rose to his feet while his hands dusted the grit and soil from his pants, "believe a deranged glitch or not, what is our next step oh great leader..."
Onslaught snorted at Vortex's retort, "Find the nearest town and set up a base camp there. Swindle is producing a map for us, but Blastoff is the only one with any navigation sense from all his piloting, he'll be directing us to a civilization."
"Yeah, that's definitely not happening," the former copter quickly piped from examining his pockets.
"...What do you mean," answered a deep, throated growl.
"Blastoff hasn't made a peep since Swindle and I called him an antiquated hunk of space junk. Actually he hasn't budged since he moved out of the camp," he gestured to the purple and brown form huddled on an outcropped boulder out looking the plains below the mesa, at the perimeter of the campground. Blastoff's stance indicated he had physically and mentally detached himself from the lot of them as he faced forlongingly at the expansive scenery. The scene was melancholic; he was the largest in size out of the team and just comparing him to the wide open sky and terrain, amplified how small and insignificant they now were.
"Wow, he really hasn't moved," Swindle whispered to Vortex.
Both winced at the heavy footsteps that thundered behind them and a pair of harsh hands wretched the collar of their shirts up, as the shadow of death loomed over them. Evidently the poker face had dissolved from Onslaught's features which were now marred by a contorted snarl of rage, complete with a pulsating vein near his temple. "If I can't convince him to snap out of it, we will be marooned in this heat and I WILL make it even more unpleasant for you two," growled a husky breath. Both sat motionless after being dropped on their keisters, as the shadow passed over them.
Only when Onslaught had situated himself on a neighboring log near Blastoff did Swindle breathe a word. "Do you think he can persuade Blastoff to get over himself and safely direct us to a human settlement?"
"Out of all of us, he has the best chance, but to ask if Blastoff will stop feeling sorry for himself and contribute to the team, I'd say fifty fifty. What does the map say on our location?" the former copter whispered.
"Not good, the cell phones aren't getting any reception; I can pull up a map of our general location but without GPS to mark our specific position I can't tell which is the closest town and which direction to travel or the distance to them. Worse still, towns are scarce out here like Stanix."
Vortex's complexion paled, "What do you reckon is the closest town?" His voice leaking tiny snippets of concern.
"The closest community, I estimate is 4 to 10 miles from here, but judging the size, it's probably a farm neighborhood and the inhabitants travel to another near town for resources, which would probably be the other town I'm estimating to be 20 to 40 miles from here. But with this heat, I don't know if we'll be able to trek the distance. I also couldn't tell which way is north without my internal compass."
Vortex whined a dramatic sigh and with a glance to check on Brawl who remained oblivious to the conversation and had made himself comfortable on the bench of juniper branches. A bothersome silence stretched which irritated Vortex like a child in time out. An open cell phone descended into his lap with a sticky note app plastered on the screen in cybertronian that read, "Don't piss off Onslaught any further, life sucks more than ever." He sighed and rolled his eyes with a nod at Swindle, and then settled into a game of solitaire. He had just started his fifthteenth game as the last two teammates assembled with the rest. His attention remained glued to the cards but he caught snippets of Onslaught's temper and Swindle's bickering on the GPS not working and knowing which direction to travel.
"What time is it," interrupted Blastoff. He had sat silently with a hundred mile stare until now. Swindle peered at his phone screen with a stutter, "It's 1315..." The stoic man muttered bizarre mathematical jargon under his breath before lowly answering, "If you face the sun, south will be roughly 38.5 degrees to the left, if the town is southeast of us, add another 30 to 55 degrees to the left. But without a compass to assure we remain on track and were to marched a hundred miles and our calculations were just one percent out, you could pass the Eiffel Tower in daylight and never even see it."
"Why don't we just follow the road west of here?" Vortex called behind his phone. "If we travel southeast on it, it should eventually lead us to town?"
Swindle tossed the idea in his head but nodded in accord, Blastoff shrugged in his trance, and Brawl made no response as he had resumed his slumber. Onslaught emitted an exasperated sigh, without knowing their exact position and lacking navigation instruments, the road seemed the best option. Taking action at this point was better spending another minute on this mesa with these four; he nodded to himself externally. "To the road then, I'm tired of lounging on this rock!" Vortex promptly sprung to his feet, phone tucked in his pocket, and made his way down the trail. Brawl snorted awake at the interrogator's shout and dragged his bulky form after the group.
Onslaught rose to follow, but not without permitting the cairn one last look. The wind picked up in speed, blowing towards it, and an eerie whistle stirred around him, making the simple pile of stones ooze an ominous aura. Those yellow eyes, were they watching? Nonsense, they had more important matters to address he advised himself and turned about face.
Blastoff stumbled with clumsy footing on the rough terrain and wandered unevenly in a wavy line after the group. He periodically focused on the ground at his boots or would raise his sight for the team while bobbing his head and squinting his eyes in the bright, unforgiving sun. A frown creased Onslaught's mouth, something was wrong with his sniper; the man's slow and ginger gait with the lost and unsure look was highly unlike his character. Worst, he was delaying the team.
Onslaught grunted at Swindle, "Go help Blastoff down the trail."
"Why me?" Whined the business man as he dragged his feet.
"Because Brawl or Vortex will make whatever is wrong worse and I have to keep them in line, unless you want to take that position?" Swindle vigorously shook his head with a large frown. "As I presumed, besides if you want to earn some of the teams good graces, start helping your teammates," he said lowly, marching pass the former jeep.
Swindle stalled for the team's navigator to reach him while inspecting the surrounding indent he stood in; he scrutinized the artificial parallel edges and faded tire tracks. Whatever created this happened to be big. A weight in his stomach plummeted and his tan face paled, it was his footprint from last night. Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to notice Blastoff walking by; he had to trot after his towering team to catch up. The two continued in silence until Swindle broke the ice, "Need help finding the way down?"
Blastoff jerked his head to the side and snapped, "No!"
With his concentration on finding his footing removed, he stumbled to his knees. His hands managed to catch the rest of him, but not without cutting his palms.
Swindle leaned down to inspect the gashes, a wince hissing from him. "Are you sure, Onslaught and I couldn't help but notice..."
"I said I'm fine! I don't need anyone's help, even if I'm stuck in an organic body!" He hastily rose and clambered down the trail after the rest of the group. "We may be fragile humans but I am not weak or in need of pityyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" He slipped backwards on a cluster of loose gravel but was able to sloppily coordinate himself to firm ground and continue his artless gait after the others.
Swindle remained rooted in his position watching the once elegant shuttle bumble like a sailor's first time out at sea. He couldn't help but ask himself, "Does he know he's bleeding?"
Will the combaticons survive each other through the wilderness? How will they adapt to their new human bodies? What does IT have in store for them? Tune in next time!
Thanks for reading, the favorites, and review; I'm glad folks are enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing again.