Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. Yeah! I was totally in a writing mood tonight! Thanks to a reader review on my If an Autobot 2 that suggested the fast food names.
What if there had been a news camera crew in Mission City to reveal the Transformers to the world as the battle for the Allspark happened? Blew a tire and while stopped to change it, saw a jet fly low over the city to fire on the next street over? Let's find out.
TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TRANSFORMERS
# 454 Do not agree to a course of action then decide the path is too arduous or not rewarding enough. Autobots fight for the causes that are right, not easy.
Samuel James Witwicky, ambassador to the earth for the Autobot forces, glanced out the darkened car windows and sighed. The awkward teen had grown into a young man use to public appearances and speaking before world leaders for his alien friends. His clothes were clean and plain, a far cry from his former customary jeans and rocker t-shirts. He sighed again.
"Sam? Is there something wrong?" the vocal sounded softly from the dash behind the steering wheel.
He twitched at the sound of Bumblebee's voice. Not because of the British accent, as it no longer surprised him, but the dry teasing tone of his guardian. A quick glance confirmed the soft vocals had not woken Mikeala as she lay sleeping in the passenger seat. "Not wrong exactly," the young man fidgeted in his seat, folding his hands as the car continued to drive itself. "I still can't wrap my head around the idea the world knows you exist and are paying you to advertise for them. It seems wrong somehow."
"This from the teen who bought me for four thousand dollars and complained about it when I drove off in the tunnel. "
"What tunnel?" he challenged.
"When we first met, Mikeala called me a 'piece of crap Camaro.' I threw you both out and trans scanned my current alt mode," he reminded.
"Oh, forgot about that," Sam blushed while chuckling.
"I treasure that as I do every minute of our time together Sam. Moreover, the money we make advertising goes to worthy causes. Each approved by Prime himself," Bumblebee said.
"Not this discussion again," Mikeala mumbled, sitting up and pulling at her tank top. Yawning, the young woman patted the dash in front of her and smiling as the engine purred louder and smoother.
"Oh come on Mickey," Sam gestured towards the city they were driving slowly through. "They react with horror, shock and surprise when as they fought on live TV then what? Prime as a soda pimp?"
"He did one commercial for soda pop!" Bumblebee's vocal sputtered.
"How many McGreasy's have we driven to for what? Dinobot chicken nuggets and energon fries?"
"We agreed," she stressed the 'we' in her sentence. "To do these events for charity work. Who else could afford the outrageous sums? Fast food places and soda drinks. Not charities that use their money to help people. Not TV shows who care only the stars they can promote with bad behavior to make more press. Not newspapers or magazines who only want photo shoots to sell ads to make money. Though my favorite was the magazine centerfold request to Optimus for him in his protoform only, which he refused once he understood what they were really asking," she giggled. The car bounced around them as he reacted with mirth too while waiting at the traffic light.
"And we arrive," Sam said upon seeing the throngs of kids holding little yellow and black action figures gathered in the parking lot of the restaurant on the corner. Parents stood nearby, holding paper bags of kids' meals and trying to look interested. "McGreasy Dinobot nuggets it is."
"Isn't that Trish? The reporter who covered the Mission City attack?" Mikeala suddenly pressed against the darkened window, peering at the red haired woman standing to the side of the drive through sign.
"Identity confirmed," Bumblebee said, opening both doors to let them out before transforming and greeting the cheering kids. "Hello earthlings!"
"Must he always say that?" the woman greeted them.
"Made you a star. Your coverage of them went worldwide. Still a popular clip on the internet," Mikeala said.
"Least its better than selling fast food to innocent kids turning them into lard balls of teenagers," she sneered.
"Easy ladies," Sam physically stepped between them. "How did you come to be there that day? I heard once you were heading to a different story when fate intervened with a flat tire."
"Not unless fate carries a ray blaster. There was a flash and we slid to a halt. All four of our tires were not flat; they were melted all the way to the axle. No, Mr. Ambassador it was not fate. Something or someone wanted us there to be there. For good or bad," she said.
# 455 Do not ask for assistance then refuse it when it does not fit your ideas. Refuse only that which endangers, harms or threatens our kind.
The marketing consultant stood on the wooden platform, undisturbed by its height on the wall or the large Transformers facing him. Optimus Prime, Ironhide and Ratchet in their bi pedal modes faced him directly. The large warehouse was modernized and quiet within the insulated walls as they began the meeting.
"My action figure is too hard to transform and breaks with the center twist. And my cannons have to be removed to make my alt mode," Ironhide said. His black arm cannons rolled once before stilling.
"At least you have a face," Ratchet grumbled. "Mine was left off in first production then the next version has a sticker! A flimsy little piece of sticky cellophane for my face!" His hand encircled his yellow green face armor.
"I thought a company made a head attachment," the man consulted his datapad rapidly.
"For the same price as the main figure and the head was never authorized through official channels," the medic corrected, shifting on his feet pads.
"Most of our toy replicas have not been authorized as well as creating names and characters that do not exist. How many versions do you need to make of us? Even the Decepticons! And you better have not asked their permission!" Ironhide added.
"Peace brothers," Optimus ordered. His hydraulics hissed as gears spun reaching out to touch his friends in reassurance before turning back towards the human.
"I will look into that after I leave here," the consultant promised.
"You requested this meeting for new proposals," the ancient Prime gently reminded. His armored hands rested on hip plates as he waited.
"Yes I did," the man smiled widely, displaying perfect white teeth. "Based on our research you need to improve your image. Think of it as minor alterations to body work or enhancement like leather covered steering wheel or adding a rear spoiler."
"Are you incapable of plain English?" Ratchet growled, the barest trace of red in his optics.
"Quite capable. Moreover, speaking of plain, research shows your flames are too vivid Optimus. A straight red and blue paint job would be easier on human eyes, transmitting over high def signals and we can issue a new version of your model. Call it a commemorative series figure. In addition, you should fill in your engraved armor glyphs. The religious ones specifically. We have had protests from several major groups that are uneasy with the concept."
"Primus! Are you slagging serious?" Ironhide cursed.
The man held his datapad and ignored the upset weapon's specialist. As long as Prime was there, he feared none of the others. "Case in point. No swearing or displays of temper. You're intimidating enough without seeming threatening."
"As in carrying cannons and fighting giant robot mechs intent on destroying your world to enslave your energy sources?" the black armored mech asked.
"We are grateful, really as a race for all you have done. It is just the polls. Every time you hit an all time high, an event happens that drops you back down. The twins, Skids and Mudflap need to be more professional. I have new paint job suggestions for them to use as the carrot to bait them to better behavior. Add dark waves to their alt modes. Sam and Mikeala need to get married. Their relationship is public knowledge. But they really need to be married."
"That decision is theirs alone," Optimus stated regally.
"Can't you maybe lean on them a little?"
"And you wanted us less intimidating," Ratchet commented while folding his armored arms with optics narrowing.
"And keep the genders clear. Men only alongside mechs for combat teams, especially in public appearances, and females including Mikeala with the femmes. I know she has been training with you as a medical assistance but are there no acceptable males?"
"Gender is irrelevant as we are two very different races and I am spark mated to Moonracer," he commented, leaning in closely. His multi faceted optics spun rapidly as flecks or red danced across the blazing blue depths.
"Mated is my next point. As in the next generation. What do you call them? Sparklers?"
"Sparklings," all three mechs said in unison.
"Kids are image makers. Instant cuddly goodness. Your femmes must have sparklings, at least two sparklings. One of each gender would be perfect or make them look like each gender. Oh! Have a naming contest!" he snapped his fingers and practically bounced up and down. "Great public image. Big bad robots with innocent little lives. Then heck, shuffle them off to boarding school or nannies or whatever your race uses. Pull them out when needed then store them away. But you must breed."
"Must breed?" Ratchet vented out, his optics snapping up to Optimus.
"Think of it as a guideline to continue your existence," the human smiled, full charm.
Optimus pretended to rub his chin plates with an armored hand. "Guideline. Marketing consultants need to be able to cover 300 hundred feet of floor space in ten seconds."
"300 hundred feet? Why that distance?" the human asked, pausing in typing out his notes.
"That is the distance between where you are standing," Ironhide began.
"And the nearest safe exit door," Ratchet finished as Prime's battle mask snapped into place. Both mechs backed away as the red energon swords slid out of subspace into his silver armored hands.
"What?" Why?" The human shifted nervously, glancing towards the stairs to the side. To his right, the blonde haired woman placed a restraining hand on the man sitting alongside her.
"But Maggie," he pointed.
"Relax Glenn," she whispered back. "Look at the color or Optimus' optics and the ends of the blades. They are straight and almost fuzzy. They react to his energy levels. Sharp points for battle and curved ends for anger. They have no tips meaning no serious danger."
"He looks serious to me," the computer expert whispered back as the swords were raised straight out on either side of the consultant.
"Run human. Or I will suggest names of nearby hospitals you must be transported to for your injuries," Optimus threatened. He held the swords ready and charged until the man began running down the stairs and across the floor and continued to disappear from view out the door but not from their sensors. "Must breed my spark. It is our choice and sparklings are our greatest joy, not a prop."
STORY ARC
STARSCREAM HAS A FAN CLUB?
Starscream's form shimmered, his normal alt mode of a silver Raptor fighting jet restored. Engines roaring to life, he taxied down the runway and into the air, ignoring the screaming air controller's commands.
Twenty minutes later he locked onto Megatron's broadcast signal. "Why would it be in the middle of a city? What madness is this?" he processed as he descended. Faint sounds of cheering humans reached sensitive alien audios over his own engine sounds. Hovering, his wings nearly shook with disbelief. "They are surrounded by humans and smiling! Megatron is waving at them and the cassettes? They are handing out photos of us!" Transforming, he landed roughly on his feet pads, startling the nearest humans back.
"Hey Screamer! Where you been!" Rumble called, signing his Cybertronian glyph across the jacket a human girl held out for him. The giant sized marker spun in his hand as he moved to the next fan.
"Late unacceptable. Schedule clear," Soundwave intoned. The stocky blue warrior held still as photos spit out of his side panel to land between Ravage's paws. The cassette warrior snarled as fans tried grabbing them away.
"What schedule?" he screeched.
"Fan club meetings. Part of our treaty with the Autobots," Rumble explained as if it should have been clear.
"Are you processor cracked? We're Decepticons not ...not...not," he stumbled over the words.
"MINE!" A girl at his feet pad screamed, throwing herself around his metal and holding tight. Various females began shrieking and grabbing him.
"I'm under attack!" He yelled, pointing a blaster when Megatron's roar nearly deafened them all.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" he commanded.
::Megatron! They are climbing on me:: Starscream sent frantically.
::Don't be a youngling. They are only fan girls. Your fan girls to be exact:: Megatron sent.
::My fans?:: Starscream's optics shuttered rapidly as the concept reached his central processor.
::Humans to satisfy our every need from donating their energy to wanting us. Why conquer them when they throw themselves at our feet pads?:: Megatron waved at the humans assembled around his legs as they nearly groveled.
Starscream glanced down at his. "Uhm hello?" then winced as they screamed, climbing higher. Unbalanced, he toppled over backwards, the females clawing and grabbing across his armor plating.
To be continued...