I watched, with vested, detached yet genuine intrigue, as an obviously motorvehicular bi-wheeled autobot- of the femme persuasion, judging by the sleek, reflective, enticingly shapened contours of their frame- rolled carefully yet rapidly into nearby parking space, directly connected to and in front of my employment, at a public, enrichly illuminated time to the disbeliefable spectacle of the, holographic, occupant dissipating without detection.
As my shift ended I exited the establishment, my behaviour systematically transfigurationing from professional to teenage naive childism, as I cautiously approach the motorcycle, having already concluded the conversation with my mother in which I displayed my abhorrence of sociality, "Hello, beautiful" I say, placing extra enthuses on hello, "where have you been all my life" I continue, however, as I look closer I'm able to recognise the paint scheme belonging to arcee herself, 'Optimus prime can't be far, that's useful'.
With tantalising grace sierra, a long time comrade, friend and I soon hope to be mate, encroached upon us with a form of that most alike a hunter's stalk but with a luscious, seductive tone. "hello jjaaacck" she sang with a deeper, husky edge, flexing her fingers firmly over arcee's seat as sierra leaned against it, accenting her bust concealed inadequately(by design) in a light-purple tube top, dark orange short skirt, dark indigo leggings and black with golden amber accent shoulder worn leather jacket combo "would you mind introducing me to your hog", "w-what do you mean, sierra" I said, "well I was thinking the bike, that appears to be yours, but i'm more than pleased by any other proposition, i'm sure their both magnificent. so, what do you say?" she asked in the same tone.
As I responded to her thinly implicit, explicit proposition I approach the supposed 'bike' and gently yet forcefully caressed her seated, hard-frame, exterior as I mount her, seeking to know how Arcee would react.
Suddenly, as two 4-wheeled vehicles ominously approached, she reared up and shot of like a bullet as I heard her say "hold on" as I looked behind and saw two, clearly decepticon, dark-purple cars chasing us. we then blurred across the streets of jasper, Nevada, outmanoeuvring cons all the way when she suddenly snapped off into a near-by alleyway. I slowly & deliberately detached myself from herself, "I don't exist, tell anyone I will hunt you dow-wait, why aren't you scared", "because I guessed you weren't human as bikes don't talk on earth, even with all modern tech" I said. "Therefore, I surmised you are mostly likely & logically an extra-terrestrial or otherwise one such construct", "why are you talking so encyclopaediatically" Arcee questioned, "to demonstrate my understanding & composure in light of the occurring situation" I responded.
I noticed, out of the corner of my optics, that as Arcee moved to a better escape angle, while simultaneously talking to me, that one of the two earlier con-buckets, as I call them, had determined our position. So I with the stability, precision & lack of hesitation befitting a soldier discharged 3/9 slugs, housed in the revolving chamber magazine of my modular custom 'DESERT-PYTHON' high-impact detonation round revolver, into the now smoky, inflamed & erupting husk of the poor suckers spark-chamber, housed in the alternative mode's hood.
I felt Arcee's optics snap to my form, fearful-shock resonating from their inner-depths, as she watched the detached, cold & almost stoic manner in which I dispatched the first vehicon before twisting to face the second, my arm racing to meet, unleashing a hail of EMP and thermite blades that tore through his vulgar hide.
After the final incompetent soldier fell I heard the transformative, clicking, resonance belying a T-cog activation. As my glance snaps upward, I am greeted by the shockingly-bemused engravement etched into the auto'femme's face-plates and impressioned upon her optics. "Yeesss!" I called out in satirical, quasi-mocking exasperation, "does that look, or it's owner, need something?". "H-h-h-"Arcee began to stutter, "yes, what is it" i asked forcefully, she then coughed and finally found her voice "what I was trying to say was, how did you do that so callously, from what I've been told humanities days of warrior based societies and civilian warriors are long since passed, right?", "you are correct Arcee" I answered, "however, not so for mynself" I replied cryptically.
"What the frag does that pile of scrap mean", "it means I will tell you latter, ok?" I casually replied, "now lets go", "go where?" she asked, my answer was "anywhere from here or prying cons". "Hop on, I'll drive you to base, introduce ya to the big boss 'imself" she declared mid-transformation, "thanks, I would appreciate meeting prime" I happily commented, only to be cut-off "WAIT A'MINUTE, how do you know about prime or seem to have prior knowledge of cons" she accused sharply. Internally I paled 'how could I be so careless, I know better' but externally I remained my original semi-neutrality as I responded with "oh, I know one of your government liaisons or at least one of their friends and that's how I'm proprier to activities of decepticons, for the rest however-yo'all have to wait, that's my secret, bi'atch" I mocked as we approached a desert natural structure.
"Watch the language, punk" Arcee snarled as she skided into the base, tires squealing as she transformed, her digits locking me firmly in her palm as Arcee stood to attention, facing me forward, before the other occupents. The other members stared for what felt like minutes but in actuality were more-so seconds, "so, who's the human" asked a semi-familiar mech of large, olive green build. "BULKHEAD!" yelled a progressively older mech, judging by the aged vocal processor and faded aesthetics of red(now coppery) and white earth medical emergency services. 'Ahh, Bulkhead, I remember him from, most significantly, the battle of technar & the the two-fold sieges of kaon. And then there's Ratchet, the mediocre, vexing medic the current predicament befalling myself and mother but I digress.'. "What?" asked the wrecker, "it's rude to refer to them like that, understood?!" the medical-scientist informed. I watched Bulkhead's helm dip slightly as his optic ridges expand just as much before nodding "err...sorry 'bout that, friends?" he said with sheepish nervousness, before extending his servo, surprise evident in his expressions, vocal and otherwise, along with the others as I'm able to not only grasp his finger but also apply pressure to it, almost painfully tight, and then shake his servo, harshly.
However, the biggest shock by far,even for the human seemingly tucked away in the corner, is the result occurring from the moment I leapt from Arcee's hand and, after flipping this way and that, slammed into the ground, crouched into a battle-stance...