Disclaimer: I don't own the transformers, only my OCs and this storyline.

Alien by Perspective

"I am definitely not a fucking toaster."

- Jim Chaseley, Z14

"Beautiful machines from 1920s and '30s, when automobiles were both monstrous and sexy at the same time."

- Neal Shusterman (Full Tilt)

Chapter 6

"I want you tell me everything." Optimus commanded from where he stood, the grey walls of his personal office enclosing himself, Atalanta and several other scrutinising Autobots within.

Atalanta raised a mechanical eyebrow. "Wasn't that the point of poking into my brain?" A chirpy beep only she could hear alerted her that a pop up on her HUB screen was telling her that 'brain = processor'.

Good to know her translator had been left untouched.

The monumental red and blue leader wore a more diluted version of his previous poker face, watching her with sharp attention. "It would be beneficial to hear your own words, wouldn't it?"

No.

"Sure, whatever. I'll give you the short version. Born a human, lived in a parallel universe or dimension or something to you guys, fucking died, met your Gods-" Now, her gods as well, "-changed species, crash landed, tracked Bumblebee down, yada yada yada. You got all that?"

"Ya' missed dat detail 'bout choosin' ta' fly into a black hole, femme." Jazz brightly interjected.

Atalanta's scowl returned as she closed down memories that had started to replay again. "That's not really important, is it?"

"Pit it isn't!" The huge black mech Ironhide growled. "'Tells us just how screwed up that processor of yours is."

"Oh give me a break and go for a swim or something, tin can!"

Atalanta didn't really care that she had the ability to rust as well now.

All the bots bristled, but whom she now knew was called Prowl held back a fuming Ironhide to prevent her retribution. "Your insult lacks logic, as it includes yourself." He bluntly put in his monotone voice.

Atalanta shrugged, not particularly bothered as Prime sighed. "Enough. Thank you, for that explanation Atalanta. Your story, while…incredible, I believe is true."

"Prime!" Ironhide said incredulously.

"I know how that sounds, Ironhide, but her processor showed us incontestable proof. Memories like that cannot be faked, and having a weak processor would not explain how she knew the appearances of Primus and Unicron."

Atalanta grimaced. "I am still here, you know."

Both bots ignored her.

Ironhide clenched his fists. "So what now, we let her roam freely around the base? She's not even a soldier! Pit, we don't need Prowler to estimate the odds that she's a spy!"

"4%." Prowl added. "Don't give me that look, Ironhide. There were no encoded files that enclosed any contact with the Decepticons."

"Wasn't any files wid' above second frame defences neither." Jazz said. All the bots in the room paused, looking at Atalanta with surprise.

"What?" She said, irritated at not knowing what that meant.

"Really?" Ironhide said, ignoring her. "Not even any phagocytic coding?"

"Ratchet ought to be able to sort that." Optimus dismissed.

"Sort out what?" Atalanta said, her armour starting to rise from the frame in stress.

"Who doesn't know about phagocytic coding? Scrap, who doesn't have it installed?!" Ironhide sneered as he glared at her.

She snarled back. "Well me, obviously. I think we've already established that being a fucking robot is a little different to being a 6 foot human. I'm finding it pretty fucking hard to get used to it after 26 years of being pink and squishy!"

"You better watch your glossa around me, femme."

Atalanta's own temper flared up. She threw herself up and across the room, hands in fists and chest out, ready to fight as Ironhide advanced in a similar manner. "Or what you stupid pile of-"

"ENOUGH!" Optimus roared.

The entire office froze but for Prowl, who pushed the two fuming bots away from each other. Atalanta staggered back, still glaring daggers at the tall older mech.

"Ironhide, get a hold of yourself! And you as well, Atalanta." She puffed her cheeks out and bit her lip, glaring back. "I'm going to give you a chance, Primus help me. You will be allowed access to the rest of the base, but are to inform a superior where you are at all times. Ratchet, our medical officer will give you a complete check up and tutor you on our culture, to help you adjust. You will be treated as a new soldier, and will report to training every day. Obey orders, and stay true to the Autobot cause. If necessary, a superior will serve you a punishment, which will most likely be time in the brig."

"Or more training." Jazz cheerfully added.

Prime gave him a look before continuing. "Any insubordination with not be tolerated. This," he gestured between Atalanta and Ironhide, "will stop now. Ironhide is a senior officer, and will also be in charge of your training. Respect him."

A heavy chill set in Atalanta's gut at the sudden, out of place smile that appeared on Ironhide's face.

Great, looks like she would be in severe pain pretty soon. Despite her thoughts, she grit her teeth. "Sounds peachy. Where oh where do I sign?"

"Ow, watch it!" Atalanta yelped at the CMO, whose servo was current holding down her tail while the other pulled at some of the green wiring under her exoskeleton.

"Put a bolt in it, femme!" Ratchet snarled, his eyes not moving up to look at her.

Her first day as an Autobot was not going well. First the talking down from Prime, then Ironhide threatening her not to be late to training, and now being mutilated by the 'doctor'. So far, Ratchet the Commanding Medical Officer of the Autobots had rummaged around her processor (again), installing enough files to give her a nasty headache, and poked and prodded at every single inch of her, not mention the various energon cubes he had force-fed her. At the present time, the medic was tugging at the spikes of her armour.

"This is fascinating… how is it you have predacon and a normal bot's CNA, yet you don't respond so much to your feral instincts?"

"How should I know?" She squealed as a wrench made contact with her helm. "OWW! Did you just-"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up? Or is your processor more scrambled than we thought?!"

Atalanta growled and leapt away from the medical bed, her tail wiping out of Ratchet's grasp. "You're the one's who was groping my tail, you pervert!"

"PERVERT?!" The CMO roared. "I'M A MEDIC YOU FRAGGER! How am I supposed to perform an examination, with a pointed stick?!"

"OH PLEASE!" She screamed back, throwing a shelf of extra mesh binding onto the floor. "WHAT DOCTOR THROWS WRENCHES AT THEIR PATIENTS!? You're probably some hobo bot they found floating around a nebula with a spray painted red cross!"

"FLOATING AROUND A-RIGHT, COME HERE YOU INSOLENT FEMME!" Ratchet charged, pulling another wrench out of his subspace. "I'LL SHOW YOU HOW A WRENCH IS A PERFECT SEDATION TOOL!"

Atalanta squealed and rolled away, her tail flicking out to grip the leg of a metal chair and launch it in Ratchet's direction. He jumped over it like a hurdle, releasing a battle cry and breaking a selection of flasks above the femme. Atalanta crawled along the floor on all 4, her Xeno DNA activating as her claws dug into the metal. She moved in a blur up the walls and to the ceiling, her tail grabbing onto whatever she could reach and hurling it at the volcanic CMO while dodging his endless supply of wrenches and hurling curses and insults in every language she knew back at him.

Bumblebee looked down at the large crimson mech he was wheeling down the halls in what could only be described as a transformer-sized wheelchair, its wheels resembling those of a multi-tiered truck. Next to him, the navy blue and white medic Jolt was pushing along a strikingly yellow mech that greatly resembled the red one. Both had bright blue optics, a thick build and sleek, aerodynamic plating, as well as being, at the moment, extremely battered.

They were covered in dents, large enough to indicate that whoever had hit them had very large fists, and had splattered paint and scratches everywhere. An odd, zesty smell hung on them, a large orange peel stuck behind the neck of the red mech.

This one, despite what to a human would have been a very blackened and swollen face, had a lopsided, jaw-breaking grin that exposed a lost tooth. The golden mech was leaning lazily back with a more reserved yet smug smirk, excitement also dancing in his optics. Apart from several scratches that he kept woefully glaring at, he too was littered in bruising dents, though his face had somehow remained untouched.

"It's as if you like Ironhide pummelling your plating." Jolt muttered, shaking his head. "Primus knows, Ratchet'll probably have a go at you guys before fixing you up."

"And after." Bumblebee agreed, chuckling at the proud look both mechs wore.

"Aww, those two need to loosen their afts up!" The red mech laughed loudly. "That was pure comedy gold!"

Jolt snorted. "Sideswipe, painting the mech with the largest guns green and covering him with citric fruit isn't 'comedy gold'. It's suicide."

"It's not as if Ironaft's previous paint job was doing him any favours." The golden mech vainly drawled. "And the smell's an improvement."

Bumblebee sniggered, carefully avoiding a NEST officer who stood in the corridor frozen in shock. "Sunstreaker, you think everyone has a bad paint job."

"Well, compared to me, of course."

As they approached the Medical Bay, loud banging and scratching metal rang through the corridor, an endless wailing of noise bursting their audios. All 4 mechs winced, Sideswipe groaning and covered his with both servos. "What the frag?! We haven't seen the Hatchet all day! Why is he angry now?!"

Jolt opened the sliding doors of the room open, tense and ready to dodge any flying objects. When the mechs saw what was in front of them, their processors stuttered in shock, optics wide and mouths hanging open.

In front of them, the Bay was an unrecognisable war zone, with shattered glass, unknown liquids and pointy medical equipment littered the floor. Nearly all the furniture had been overturned but for 2 beds at the end of the room, and their CMO was literally jumping up in the air with rage, apparently actually out of wrenches and trying to get a hold of a grey blur that was ripping holes in the ceiling.

A flash of silver snapped in a flick against the side of Ratchet, whose yell was drowned out by the impressive cracking whip sound that echoed around the Bay. The upside down figure paused to drop from the ceiling and, like a feline twisted in the air to land on the side of a wheeled table on the balls of her feet. A terrifying display of bared teeth opened up to release an amplified, animalistic roar. She kicked both legs out together while supporting her weight by her hands grasping the bar of the table, knocking Ratchet backwards. He slid to the feet of the newcomers.

Atalanta advanced, her claws extending even further, as she screeched "I'LL SHOW YOU 'UNCOOPERATIONAL PATIENT!"

She was a whirl wind of dancing copper curls, blazing blue optics, cruelly jaggered armour and swinging hourglass curves, moving like a pendulum as Atlanta dashed forward.

Despite the automatic response to turn on their weapons systems, along the twin bond, an unspoken emotion verbally described as 'hellloo' was exchanged.

Sorry for the unacceptably long absence, but I'm back and present to you chapter 6!

So Atalanta made it (sort of). Now an Autobot (kind of), she's ready to fight alongside the other baddasses and kick some Con' aft, right?

Eheh.

Well at least the twins have finally (or really are about to) met our heroine. But it's not exactly a coasting ride ahead…

In other news, I auditioned for a play recently, that is being taken up to The Edinburgh Fringe Festival (a big thing for the arts scene in Britain), and I got in! Yeahhhhhh (explosions in back ground).

Please review and tell me your inner secrets (or just what you think).

Love,
Renzin xo