The end of an era 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.
Bumblebee's first impression of the planet wasn't very good. It was probably partly because of the situation; they were in a hurry like rarely before, picking the first alt form that fit their mass and driving away like there was no tomorrow. But the planet was alien to him and everything he knew, it was full of small particles, on the ground, in the air that made shielding practically impossible, the way they would seem like holes against the full air. The planet wasn't mostly metal. Strangely coloured and shaped things all around that were wet inside. So many soft things like mud or crass or earth. Humans were so small that Ark, easily over two hundreds feet high by the local measurements, almost a mile wide and a mile and half long, was bigger than many of their towns, and their power was so organic that they didn't even have energy fields. He guessed that he would learn to like it with time, though. Maybe it was all just too exotic to take in all at once.
His new alt mode was certainly exotic; it was boxy. As good fighters as the twins were, he was suddenly grateful they weren't there with them. Sunstreaker would moan his lines so it would awaken the dead.
He felt Taser ping his comm. before he heard the engine. His friend approached him from south, driving on a road that would cross his a mile later. They drove fast and met at cross-roads, Taser waiting for him a half breem, his bright, red paintjob very unlike him.
"The only other choice was particularly unattractive shade of greyish something," he mock-defended himself, but then they drove on in silence. The night was heavy on them.
Have the humans really gotten Megatron helpless? Bumblebee asked eventually, unable to bear the tension quietly anymore. Memories of explosions, shouts of pain and hard hands dragging him, his pain, his last shout of pain when he denied... Could the Slagmaker truly die, just like that? Taser didn't answer right away.
"So they told us. But I have a feeling this isn't going to be this simple," he answered and Bumblebee had to agree. Megatron was like a huge star, all bright and terrible, painful radiation, inferno in the void, stars like him didn't fade away, they died with an explosion that peeled the planets into clouds of white-hot dust. He had to be brave. Optimus Prime was there to face Megatron. Optimus Prime, there wasn't one of the cons besides Megatron that was not terrified of him, and on Autobots' side he was the hero you got told about, the one who inspired you to face your fears and exceed your limits.His very name gave strength and courage to all those on the frontlines. And they had the Wreckers.The Wreckers were sent in when things were at their most desperate and they turned the tide of battle, no exceptions.
The shell language became muted when Cybetronian took changed into an alt form, but Taser could tell Bumblebee was tense. He certainly didn't blame the yellow bot; that he was driving to meet his nightmare without a prayer was more then he managed. He prayed he didn't fall back into his glitch.
"At least we are all in this together. And we all look equally ridiculous," Taser grumbled, happy to distract them both. They really did. In bot mode his elbows were pointing backwards, an extra plate his the back of his head and neck like some kind of demented support collar and Bumblebee, who was originally built slender and graceful, had an alt mode that looked like a box on wheels. I was sill better than his brick on wheels, though. He thought briefly about the Wreckers; their triplechangers had to have it hardest, trying to find two alt modes of at least somewhat similar mass and then having to figure out how to get the two forms to fit around each other. Not to mention getting the new parts fit when in robot mode. These vehicles were primitive.
That was when Springer's transmission came, priority one, high alert, like a shot from the night. It wasn't precise military language, just simple and damning.
Hurry up! Megatron has awakened! Their sparks lurched sickly.
The only light was the ghastly red glow of the Deepticon's eyes. Ron was still panicking, his breath quick and heavy, but the damned thing wasn't doing anything to him, at least not yet, and his words were echoing in his mind. Hero of the Battle of Hoover Dam. The squishy that saved the All Spark. Why would a Decepticon help him to keep the All Spark from the Decepticons? He could be lying of course, but Ron saw no reason for him to bother.
"Are you an Autobot spy?" he asked, because it was the next conclusion. It was kind of a cool thought, in addition to being a relief. A spy that had been unable to make his true identity known before he was left alone with a boy carrying an important object (person) to safety, defending him from the evil Nazis, or Decepticons in this case. Even All Spark was cool against his skin now.
"No." Then again, maybe not. The hands holding him with sharp fingers, four fingers like a cartoon character's, powerful enough to bend something metallic no one had business bending.
A part of him, small quivering part that reminded him of a sparrow or some other miniscule bird, demanded him not to say a thing and not move an inch. Back to the primitive corner of the human mind. Because it was dangerous, it was a Decepticon and it could kill him so very easily.
But another part of him, not even so small a part, was kicking himself to the ass. He was, well, not really an Autobot, more like a temporary ally, and more an ex-abductee than a friend, but he had taken a side of his own free will and own reasons. He was right and he had a friend that needed his help. Cowering wasn't doing anything to help anyone. And while he really, really didn't want to die it was just natural. Almost nobody did and those who did needed some serious help. And even then, when the initial terror was wearing out he realised he was ready to take at least a small risk.
Like when he had defied huge, violent robots to protect Judy, this made him love himself in a way he wasn't familiar with, but was quickly deciding he liked.
And he was hungry. Scratch that, he was ravenous. His stomach grumbling kind of ruined the petrified mood. Ron turned his head to look into the face of his captor. It was expressionless and he had a feeling it wasn't just because it wasn't a real face, but plates of metal.
"If not, why are you doing this?" he asked. The Decepticon didn't give him the briefest glance.
"That is not for you to know," he said and pushed a door open. It was locked, Ron saw a small box with a blinking red light in the darkness, but then the light turned green.
"No, I don't care!" a loud voice bellowed. "I know this isn't your fucking fault, and you're not the one who lost the papers, but somebody screwed up bad somewhere, and we are fighting for our lives here, its Jesus Fucking Christ begun now so release the cargo! We need those ice cannons!" It was a minor act of art, the way his parts separated and changed shape like he was made of clay, passed through the door like a metallic snake and how he took his shape back in the dim-but-brighter, big-feeling room on the other side, his grab of Ron never wavering. The room was full of people.
Soldiers in their army green and arms streaked with dirt and oil, running around looking important, except that the running ceased now and everyone was staring them and now Ron was scared again. Because it was the military and he wasn't supposed to be there. A distant explosion shook the floor and the big cars, equipped with big cannons and other things that didn't belong to cars. But no one was shooting, yet, they were just staring dead silent and Ron remembered how scary Whirl had seemed when he first grabbed him and put him on a high ledge, above a battle raging. Naturally, almost nicely, his captor let his wrist riffle click. The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
"Go away," he said and shot a round through the nearest car and it exploded in a ball of fire Ron had to shield his eyes from.
Of course they didn't. Well, several people scattered from where they stood, but most simply took cover behind the cars and opened fire. The Decepticon that had him turned quickly his arm sockets so that Ron was behind his back. Ron's stomach lurched when he looked at how the arms were twisted and thought that must hurt before he realised how stupid it was. The shots peppered the big mech's hide without obvious effect.
"If you have a cell phone throw it away now," the cool, unaffected voice told him. Despite the evidence of the last day and night in contrary Ron had pretty good sense and he fumbled to reach the phone, only now wondering why his parents hadn't just called him. They had noticed he was gone, right? But the phone's display was dark, even though the battery shouldn't be dead yet, and he threw it as far as he could. He was scared, not for himself. The soldiers were people and killing people was wrong!
"Please don't kill them!" he pleaded, but he knew it was futile.
His cell phone was the only he actually saw exploding, but there was a series of sharp, biting explosions and the room was a little brighter for a second. It had been chaotic just before, but now it was hellish chaos: people screaming and he heard running. He covered his face with his hands; he didn't want to see what would happen if a soldier had a phone in a chest pocket. Or in a pocket just about his hip. There was screaming and he didn't want to know. He was sure he could smell blood and burning flesh and then he threw up. At first he thought that now the thing would kill him too, he had dirtied it, then he didn't think anything as the dry heaves rocked his stomach. The Decepticon had turned his and back to the front at some point and was firing now.
"How could you," he whispered, utterly disgusted. If it didn't have its cryptic reasons it would have killed him too, just like that.
"Most of your modern appears to have been reverse-engineered from the Decepticon technology, these cell phone contraptions included. The self destruct mechanism is still included and I hacked into the system," it explained and how horrible it was that it misunderstood? Where were the Wreckers, he wanted this thing blown into itsy, bitsy little pieces!
But the Wreckers were elsewhere, he could still hear them fighting, and no one stopped the Decepticon as it marched into the far wall of the room and something blipped. Then the wall opened up and Ron saw a night sky, smelled rain-scented air, felt a breeze. He closed his eyes and imagined nothing of it had been real. The thing took some long strides and then put Ron down, carefully if not gently. Ron opened his eyes and saw that he as facing a cave. Well, it was more like a glorified crack in the stone than a real cave, but he could crawl in and in the darkness he would be invisible. The next the Decepticon put some kind of spherical object down in front of the cave. He felt a little dizzy, like something was rolling off it. His mouth still tasted like bile.
"This creates false reading that will disguise the white space the All Spark creates. Don't get caught." His voice was ever so blasé. Ron felt his insides heating with anger.
"I hope you will burn in Hell, just that you know," he hissed between his teeth. The Decepticon just looked at him and said:
"I won't." Bizarrely, for one mad second it seemed sad. And then it walked back inside the mountain base. It almost seemed like it was trying to wipe its hands clean and harsh, metallic noises, like muttering under its breath, sounded almost revolted.
Ron gazed into the now dark room, thankfully too far and the night too dark for him to see any details, the All Spark cool and soothing in his hands, facing the blue shifting shape as it disappeared into the darkness. There was no revving of the great engine, no dark rumbles or clicking of the riffle, only the resonating purr, tame for now. He lived. Thank God! The soldiers were dead, but he lived. What about Judy? And Reg, of course?
They will come, the All Spark promised him and he didn't even understand to be surprised.
Megatron, still slightly disoriented, could feel a spark very familiar drawing nearer very fast. Where the All Spark was now was anyone's guess, but Optimus Prime would get his hands on it, without doubt. Then he would have to fight the Autobot leader. Megatron had fought him often and brutally, frustrated beyond all measures by the Prime's stubbornness. He had asserted his dominance over battlefield after battlefield, over matter after matter. No one dared to rise to resist his will, except his weak-sparked counterpart. And now the infernally annoying Wrecker that dared to try and kill him. He hadn't let either Optimus or the Cube go, not in a way that truly mattered. He hadn't relinquished his claim and now there was no fleeing further. He wouldn't let either leave, no matter how they tried. Because they made everything possible, and so the Lord High Protector had eviscerated everything for them. Let the whole Universe bleed.
He'd had the right. He was the strongest.
Optimus had stared across the table, but it could have been the whole city of Iacon, so vast the distance that lay between their minds. It had been cold, though not as cold as the North Pole vorns later. A host of words scrambled inside of them, all of them fighting each other to get out. A decimated Council crushed underfoot.
"Get out!" Optimus had shouted.
Megatron threw Springer off of him, but the Wrecker wasn't down yet. Springer shot at Megatron from the ground trying to bring him down. Now it was clear to Springer that a vorn in ice or not, he could not win against Megatron. He could win time, however, and get the Decepticon leader where the Prime could get to him, preferably already heavily damaged. All right, then. He had a plan. Maybe Megatron wanted the All Spark over everything else, but as the Wrecker commander Springer would be too tempting a target for the Decepticon's commander to not finish off, especially if he was retreating. Megatron would be willing to follow after him and it was a dangerous plan, but it would work and that was what mattered.
We must move this battle out into the open. Prime is arriving with his troops, Springer sent them. It was time to earn their reputation again.
On the other side of the battle injured Topspin was fighting with even more injured Mixmaster and owning the combiner on the cracking floor. The cackling chemist really didn't stand a chance when he decided to pick a fight with Topspin.
"This is the end of Devastator," Topspin taunted his opponent, his optics dim, in energy-conservation mode, "You'll be but molten scrap when I'm through with you."
Mixmaster was at a huge disadvantage at the moment, but it didn't last for long. His gestaltleader intervened the fight. Topspin, who had really taken out everything he had on Mixmaster, was in trouble now. Scrapper was a ruthless warrior, partly because few thing were scarier that gestalts when a member was threatened. Topspin briefly compared Scrapper to Silverbolt when Slingshot had gotten into fight with somebody bigger and stronger, but it wasn't a good time to reminiscence. He was forced on the defensive, Mixmaster at first just watching and snickering appreciatively, but soon joining in the fight again. Topspin was able to handle the double team with effort, but he couldn't keep it up much longer. But then a huge form loomed behind the two Devastator members and knocked Scrapper violently away. Broadside was badly damaged from the blast Megatron had dealt to him, but his sheer size compensated.
"Thanks, Side," Topspin shouted over the roar of battle. Together, two on two, they danced their way towards the great bay doors.
The two terrible twosomes fighting were one thing, they were mostly even. Retreating through a straight, narrow corridor with no cover when your enemy had so much more firepower and better armour was an invitation to destruction, Springer knew. He had his simulation computer, extra battle computer installed for situations just like this, analyze the situation. Variables: length of the corridor, maximal speed capability in the corridor, material of the roof, blast required to bring it down, length of time it would stand against Megatron. The result was that he had only two astrosecond's error marginal. Too tight for his comfort, but he had to do it. Optimus Prime had arrived.
Prowl had once described his approach to fighting with a reluctantly admiring: "I'd think he was suicidal if I didn't know him better." Time to earn that too. Even questionable praise from Prowl was hard to come by.
The battle was fluid like dance macabre. He dodged fire, fired himself, sprung into the corridor and fired his second last missile straight up. He turned and run. The air heated behind him with a boom, but more matter fell down to replace the first block. Out of corridor into the bay, the block gave in, but the two seconds had been enough. Both Broadside and Topspin would risk death if they fought any more, but now the Prime had arrived. A chaos reigned outside, Constructicons trying to get together to combine, Twin Twist had ended up fighting Barricade. Hailstorm had arrived. Into this whirlpool they thrust through the busted doors.
Optimus Prime saw Megatron and Megatron saw Optimus Prime. Hailstorm didn't bother to lock optics with Taser, who blistered with fury. Time moved in slow motion.
Optimus Prime looked at Megatron, determined. It had been rather long time and his memory, while sharp to the last pixel, had still become dull on the emotional scale. His brother was intimidating as always, Optimus could see the telltale scorch marks and blistering from weapons fire on his chestplates and the subtler dents of a collision along his shoulder armour. It was not a sign of weakening, but a warning; a way to display the soldier of soldiers' strenght for having survived all that had been thrown at him. This I have survived, his once gentler, if not exactly gentle, brother said without words. Dare you try to best me? He did, he had to. But where was the All Spark? It was necessary for him plan to end this all.
"Optimus Prime!" The harsh voice rumbled through the damp night air like cannon fire.
"Megatron." Megatron's tread was confident as he approach, it echoed against the dam with many ghosts.
Starscream hadn't stopped swearing blue streak since the beginning of the completely out-of-hands battle. He had not stopped mentally damning Soundwave to the Pit in every way he knew for not delaying Optimus Prime more, the Wreckers to follow him since they hadn't had the good sense to get anything done and Hailstorm just for the good measure. Before things got more out of hand, he decided, Megatron would die. Never mind the All Spark, he wanted that at least. And then he would again leave the atmosphere and return to Cybertron, curse the slag-scorched place it had become.
With this in mind he dove to intercept Ironhide.
Taser had no idea who he had been before Endgame, but he knew Hailstorm had been the one to name him. He had told him so when they had laid a trap for Calabi-Yau.
Most Decepticons wouldn't agree with him, valuing flying models and especially jets above everything else, but to Endgame his new mech had been perfect. The sky was already theirs, now it was time to own the ground and the new one's secondary weapons system was best suited for hand-to hand fighting. Long range discharges in the air would only endanger his own troops. Even his smaller frame could be of use, being the size of most of their ground-bound enemies would get him into places where the big jets just couldn't get even with the help of grease and a crowbar. So Endgame had reformatted and upgraded and mathematics had probably played on the background, simple and soothing. Taser could imagine it. He had seen Endgame do so unto others.
His programming had been a flawless mix of lethal preciseness and neverending bliss that twisted all Endgame's mechs into works of art, perfect loyalty among the deceptive ones, like a touch of purest white and splash of energon blue complementing the commander's own purple. Endgame had once told him, in the middle of interfacing, how arts had never been of any real interest on Cybertron and he had chafed, being constricted by limited understanding. Megatron's cause had let him out to play. He had spent cycles with Taser.
"He reminds me of a certain general that became the Lord Protector before our lord's time. Ampere, he was called," Hailstorm had said. Endgame could admit to a parallel to the mythical hero, the one who had crushed the slave ring of Kaon before the reformation and beginning of the Golden Age and ruled beside Sentinel Prime. How ironic. Most would only see the obvious and take it as a statement of what Taser was, an electric discharge weapon, but he and Hailstorm would know the punch line. Hailstorm had probably watched him with amusement, he couldn't be forgiven for his part in the naming and Endgame had opened a panel to write the new name into Taser's processor. We are all lunatics in a bedlam, Taser thought.
And he charged.
Once, one of the pathetic flesh creatures that had gotten a hold of him had gotten poetic. In ice Megatron hadn't learned much of his captors and had absolutely no desire to do so, but he was not deaf and that one poem, read out loud, had actually pleased him. It probably wasn't the soldier's own. These drones didn't have the spark to create even words, put them together and make them mean something.
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Indeed he did and it was time to remind the lambs of this.
A series of explosions aimed to Optimus, but they didn't come close to connecting, weren't supposed to. He heard Ironhide growl angrily beside him as the weapons specialist fired at Starscream, but had to cease fire as Whirl flew into line of fire, intercepting the Decepticon Air Commander mid-air.
"That was the only warning shot you get, Prime. Hand me the All Spark!" Megatron roared.
"Never, Megatron!" Optimus shot a round back. The next shot was aimed at his head.
Walter Simmons felt like someone had stuffed his head full of cotton, but he forced himself to stand straight and analyze the situation. He had been informed that his son had arrived in the company of suspicious people. He had ordered the ready team to extract his son and capture the strangers. He had passed out, obviously. Now there was a fight, one that shook the structure of the base, and his people were running like headless chickens, not caring where, not capable to say more than N.B.E:s and battle. Plural. For a little while he had thought it was the Soviet Union agents trying to get their hands into the Project Iceman. If wished were fished nobody would starve and the damn liberalists would stop whining about the Third World countries.
And they had moved the Ice Man from the Arctic base to a more secure facility to avoid things like these. He remembered his cell phone acting up. As much as they had needed funds, his predecessor shouldn't have chosen communication equipment to the development project. The fool.
The gun in his desk drawer probably wouldn't be of much use against the technological harbingers, but it was the principle that mattered. He would no go unarmed. He had to get out of the base and coordinate the regrouping of his troops. Calling the army in would also be a good idea. He had to see to it that the new ice cannons were ready. Sector Seven's time had come and they had lost the control of the situation completely. There would be hell to pay.
Once there was a boy named Ron Witwicky who dreamed about a mystic cube from outer space and an alien war. When Ron turned six, the cube told him he had to go away for a while, and it would be better if Ron forgot about him and the visions in the meantime. He promised to come back someday and then Ron would remember.
"I'm pretty sure that you used to be a boy, or, male," Ron told the Cube in his hands, huddled into the cave-like crack. He was tired, he was waiting for something, he was hungry and hurting. Some days it didn't pay to get up from your bed. He had seen, or heard rather, people getting killed. Killed for real, not like in movies.
Not any more than I am a female now, in the biological meaning of the word. There are parallels to parthenogenesis in my situation, so female is a good allegory now, but in truth it's about how you perceive me. When you were a child you perceived me as another boy.
Ron hunched his shoulders. She, he, it, whatever. She was so alien and he felt like he'd had a friend that turned out to be… something he really didn't… he had no idea. But it wasn't a nice feeling.
"You said you are going to create zygotes?" he asked. Zygotes sounded like some kind of weapons that shot lightning bolts, but what had that to do with being a father? Unless Autobot guns were sentient too? Could they kill on their own?
I am bound, in a way, to the Prime and I can tell he has decided to end this war once and for all. I can not allow the war go on either, but I can not allow the children of Primus to die out either. I am a semelparous organism now and in need of gestational carrier. I am sorry you were introduced to this chaos, but the situation wasn't under my control. I have to do damage control.
Ron didn't understand what the All Spark was saying and he had a feeling she was doing it on purpose and this was really beginning to bother him. Not just the abducted by aliens, secret army base massacre, abducted again by an evil alien thing that bothered him; though that definitely had a part in it. Ron thought he was going crazy. Not angry-crazy or even 'aliens do exist' crazy, though that had a hand in it too. He was insane crazy, because here he was talking to a size-shifting alien mother cube about giving birth to guns because of his great-great-grandfather's glasses.
"Am I crazy?" he asked, even though he wasn't expecting an honest answer.
No, you are not. I am sorry about this. Your mind was not made to understand everything that I am, Ron. I have to act as an allegory which your mind can understand. But rest assured, zygotes are no guns. Now they come.
Ron panicked briefly, his mind providing all kinds of horrifying pictures of murderous Decepticons that would kill him and take the All Spark. Then he thought about Wreckers. He really wanted to see Sandstorm or Springer right now.
"Ron! Are you there?" Judy's voice called him and it was even better. He crawled out of his hiding base and waved his hand to the darkness.
"I'm here!" he shouted. A little pebble fell from above him and he looked up. He was maybe five meters down the canyon wall and Judy and Reg were standing up, trying to find a good way to climb down to him.
"Don't bother, I'll climb up," he said and measured the All Spark in his hands. Then he threw it with all his might and it landed on the stone with a quiet thud. He had climbed into trees a lot when he had been younger. It couldn't be that different.
Judy knelt down to touch the All Spark. It had grown to be bigger than life in his mind, but in truth it was pretty small. So much power, the world's greatest power plant. And it needed her, necessarily. It made her feel important, but also very small.
"Hi there. I promise to take good care of the little one," she whispered. She petted it in soothing patterns. Reg was shuffling his legs beside her, but she couldn't pay attention.
"There is something wrong with Judy," she heard him whisper, "first she said that she was a teabag and then she begun to sing 'We are off to see the Wizard'." Teabag? When had she said that?
Ron was breathing heavily; it hadn't been as easy as he had thought. Judy seemed to be okay, but calling herself teabag couldn't be a good thing. What if she had hit her head? Then his gaze shifted to the All Spark and he felt a compulsion. Parthenogenesis literally translated as virginal creation. He didn't know how he knew, no, he did. No reason to be in denial. Judy was all right and zygotes were no guns. The All Spark was letting them know what to do. He knelt too and took a hold of one of the Cube's corners. The metal bent under his fingers like clay. He pulled, he twisted and pulled again, with all his might. Nothing happened; he was doing something wrong. Maybe he should try asking nicely.
"Separate, please. That's supposed to happen," he tried. No results.
He was clearly going the wrong way about it. He was thinking the wrong way. Violence would do little against the All Spark and its not like she didn't know what needed to be done. It was supposed to be a natural process. Natural. The enlightment hit and Ron felt extremely stupid for not thinking about it right away. He lift the All Spark, turned it upside down, letting the corner hang and put his cupped hand below it. Like a drop of syrup, slowly but steadily, the drop grew bigger and heavier, the strand connecting it to the Cube thinner and thinner until, with a plop terribly loud to his ears, the corner dropped into his palm.
It was round and beautiful and he could swear he felt pinpricks of electric life from it.
Judy had looked at Ron's attempt, calm and happy. She felt like she should feel otherwise about this, but she wasn't sure how. It was very hard to think beyond the happy haze. When the fragment, the but, the egg dropped into Ron's palm she lifted the hem of her shirt baring her stomach. Her mother believed in many strange things, aliens, sprouts and conspiracies. Maybe she should give sprouts a chance too. Her mother also believed in the Moon.
Women are connected to the moon by our blood, our hormones and our souls, one of the magazines had read. The first step in claiming the gifts of menstrual cycle was to become re-acquainted with Mother Moon. Putting aside all the scientific phenomena of the way the Moon affected the earth's tides, weather, animals, fluids and moods, symbolically the Moon had a lot to teach them. In myth the Moon was a primary female archetype travelling the great round of Birth, Maturation, Death and Rebirth each month. This was a primal fundamental cycle of the universe of which every single living thing participated. Virgin birth, sexuality, gender, but no gender. It was a fitting union.
And then Ron pushed the egg against her stomach. It hurt when it touched his skin and it hurt more when it turned into odd, dense liquid that slowly went through his skin, seeping through and the silvery hue disappeared deeper, into invisibility.
"Ron, make it stop hurting me!" she screamed, doubling over. It hurt, it hurt, it HURT! It stopped hurting after few endlessly long seconds like somebody had turned a switch. Her head was light, so light.
Judy was still straining for breath, but there was a big, numb feeling inside her, little hot and nothing more. She could feel pinpricks in her fingertips, toes, nose and ears and her hair was standing in her head. Even her tongue was prickling and she wondered if putting your tongue into a socket would feel like that. Jane had screamed a lot, when Judy had dared her to do so in third grade. The heat was pooling inside her, in the likeness of sinful flesh and it felt good. She petted her stomach.
"I'm sorry, so sorry; I didn't mean to hurt you!" Ron was babbling and Judy gave him a smile. He was so sweet.
"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," she whispered and stole a kiss.
Ron, Judy, for such young humans, barely older than children by your reckoning, your ability to mature and accept this new responsibility is admirable. You have great strength and courage and a very open mind.
Reg flinched, scared. He could hear that! Whatever it was, he could hear it too. Maybe the fight had released some kind of chemicals and they were all high as kites! It was the only possible answer.
Ron had just broken a piece out of the All Spark and put it through Judy's stomach. First he had been abducted by aliens and two human henchmen and though there were no medical experiments he'd now had to witness something that resembled suspiciously an alien artefact sex. Either he was high as kite or just cursed, but he hadn't deserved this. An explosion broke the night again and he grimaced. The army would come, this was like the end of the world and Ron and Judy were just cuddling after mystic cube sex!
"Get up! We must go!" he dragged Judy up first, because she was lighter. Ron then rose on his own.
"So we must," he stated, his voice very mild and agreeing and suddenly Reg had a very bad feeling about it.
Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.
astrosecond 0.498 seconds
breem 8.3 minutes
cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)
mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours
deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks
stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months
vorn 83 years
AN: Wow, this one was hard to write. The All Spark caused me a lot of trouble.
The All Spark could have spoken to Ron right away since they had already established connection once, but humans tend to think they are insane if they hear voices in their heads ( unless they really are crazy, then it may feel like normal.) She got Ron used to the idea step by step, always little more weirdness. Judy hadn't gotten the preliminary introduction, as you could see. Poor Judy.
The poem recited was Tiger by William Blake. I don't own it. By the way, the human reading it was Walter Simmons himself.
And when Ron was a little boy he saw the All Spark as a friend, another boy, because that was most natural to him.
Taser's alt mode is 1960 Studebaker Lark and Bumblebee's Volkswagen Beetle (like in G1).