Author's Note: It's been a while since I have been here. Life has been a fun rollercoaster (work, grad school, preaching, etc.), but I have been wanting to "exercise" my writing. Electro is a character I created for the Transformers universe many years ago; and, with the upcoming TF ROTB movie, the plot bunnies have been causing a racket. So, I present this story. It follows the TFP plot with some deviation due to OCs (yes, that is plural; yes, more will join Electro eventually). This chapter specifically takes place shortly before the events of TFP and will lead us into the central plot.

I hope you all enjoy this story, for I have secretly loved delving back into fanfiction writing amidst the business of life. It also allows me to stretch my writer brain, since I hope to publish an original novel one day soon. Thank you for joining me on this journey :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers. Electro is my creation.


I


Electro's comm link pinged. Checking the signature, she sighed and answered, "Hey, OP."

Outside her alternative form, a blue muscle car with red flames rolled up next to her. Electro did a quick scan of the vehicle–its engine, its human driver–and deemed it only cosmetically impressive. The driver revved the engine, eliciting a couple squeals from some human girls. Electro huffed to herself, less enthused. She decidedly activated her holoform. Although her windows were heavily tinted, she knew there would be at least one perceptive human that would notice a driverless vehicle. Especially when she won.

"Electro." Optimus's voice rumbled through her speakers, reminding her of the open comm link. She turned down the volume to quiet his tired, disapproving tone. "What are you doing?"

"Just…taking a drive. Couldn't recharge," Electro said.

A second vehicle took the spot on her left. It was a matte black with orange rims and a spoiler. The passenger window rolled down, revealing a lanky human male. He studied her alternative form, sneering. He shouted, "Were you going for gaudy with that green?"

"Who–" Optimus started, but Electro muted him.

Lowering her own window, she sniped, "It's a green you can see when I pass you at the finish line."

The human, turning red with anger, leaned forward and snapped, "Shouldn't you be waving the flag, princess?"

"Shouldn't you be in bed, kid?"

Absolutely livid now, the human unleashed a stream of colorful language. Electro, smiling, rolled up her window and unmuted the comms. She asked sweetly, "Sorry, what was that?"

There was a long pause. Electro envisioned Optimus shuttering his optics, shaking his head, and searching for a calm answer. She hoped he lectured her quickly, for one of the squealing girls was walking across the road with a flag.

Finally, Optimus said, "I'm locking onto your coordinates–"

"Absolutely not," Electro interjected. The vehicles beside her revved their engines. A pair of bright headlights flashed behind her before veering to the right, taking a space beside Flames. "Semis coming through glowing vortexes do not mix well with humans. They're easily impressed, so your handsomeness may short-circuit them."

"Flattery will not help you," Optimus deadpanned—though, Electro could have sworn she heard a hint of warm amusement. Keys beeped faintly in the background. Electro considered cloaking her signal, but Optimus may consider murder if she disguised herself. "We discussed the implications of racing with the humans," Optimus continued.

"I know, but I'm being careful," Electro said. The girl raised the flag, and Electro watched it waver in the breeze—a red streak against a midnight sky. Not the same Cybertronian grandeur she knew so well, but there was a subtle, thrilling beauty to the moments before an Earth race. "Let me have this race, then I'll take a break."

"This is not a negotiation."

"Why? Because I would win?" Electro hummed. The girl smirked, and Electro knew the flag would drop in mere seconds. Her engine growled with excitement. From her peripheral, she saw the newest member inch forward. "Let's talk about this later, OP?"

"Electro, disengage–"

Electro hung up.

The flag dropped.


Optimus remembered the first time he met Electro. Although the memory was buried beneath eons of war, he had kept it carefully stored away in his memory banks. He had been Orion Pax, then: an archivist in the Iacon Hall of Records. Electro had strode into the Hall with flat determination, approached his desk, and analyzed him. She did not greet him or smile—just stared intently, hugging a stack of datapads close to her chassis. Finally, gracelessly, she dropped her datapads on the counter, leaned forward, and asked if he knew anything about spacebridges. They entered a cautious, back-and-forth dialog: he showcased his knowledge of bridge travel, with the assistance of his records, and she explained her recent project with a new piece of bridge technology. He soon realized that she was a research assistant with an odd way of defining her work, but she had retained a delighted persistence that intrigued him. Much later in life, he would discover that she had been judging him upon that first meeting, trying to determine if he would understand and respect her ideas. Evidently, he passed.

That singular meeting should have ended their interactions; however, the next solar cycle, she returned, burdened with fewer datapads but overflowing with questions and tangents. Then she visited again and again, perhaps allowing a cycle or two to pass before slipping into the Hall and hovering around the desk. Eventually, the questions deviated from bridge technology to personal discussions—and he distinctly remembered her quickfire answers: favorite place in the city (a raceway in the northern part of the city), favorite occasion (the light festival of Tyger Pax), favorite drink (take me out for one, and you'll find out). The relationship evolved from there.

Optimus also recalled Electro's penchant for racing. He did not discover her recreational activity until several orns into their courting. Coincidentally, he had been invited to an illicit racing competition—a significant one, according to Jazz, the instigator. Normally, he would have declined, but his spark felt oddly drawn to the event. The designations of the racers were not provided, but Optimus thought he recognized a green alternative form with black and silver accents. When that same racer won and transformed at the finish line, Optimus had been astounded to see Electro, her bright armor and bold grin disappearing amongst the throng of cheering observers. He abandoned Jazz, waded through the mechs and femmes, and found her cradling her prize and glowing with victory. When her optics landed on him, she froze for a klick; then, smiling sheepishly, she sidled close, rose to the tips of her pedes, and whispered, Did you see me win? He had intended to reason with her about the dangers and implications of illegal racing in Iacon, but his obstinate spark had spun with secret elation at her joy, her coyness. At that moment, he realized he had started to fall in love.

The war had disrupted such sports on Cybertron, and both Optimus and Electro had left behind those times—at least, until they arrived on Earth three stellar cycles ago. Electro had quickly discovered that the humans also participated in racing competitions—legal or otherwise—and she had slowly integrated herself into their culture. Though Optimus understood her motives, he had warned her against racing with the humans for two reasons: first, she could unintentionally harm the humans due to the vast difference between Earth and Cybertronian technology; second, she was beyond the confines of the base without the team's knowledge, making her susceptible to a Decepticon attack. Nevertheless, despite his concerns, this was her third outing this orbital cycle.

He vented softly. She was as restless as himself. They may not be sparkmates, but somehow, their emotions seemed to affect the other.

He locked onto her coordinates, noting that her signal was moving fast. She had already begun the race. He adjusted the coordinates, intending to enter the scene a safe distance away from human observers. Before he could pull the lever, the monitors chimed, detecting another energy signature. Optimus optics flicked to the screen. Electro's signal pulsed strongly, but a second beacon flashed a few hundred feet ahead of her. It was masked, preventing Optimus from identifying the bogey's signature. Other than Electro, however, all the Autobots were stationed at the base. Nor would any of them have a reason to mask their signature from an ally.

Optimus activated the groundbridge, transformed, and barreled through the swirling vortex.


When the flag dropped, all four vehicles burst forward in a balloon of dust. The newest contender–a crimson vehicle with yellow rims and blacked-out windows–darted ahead while Electro, Flames, and Orange Rims vied for second place. Flames and Rims hovered too close to her right and left; so, with a sharp punch of her brakes, she dropped away from them and veered to the left, taking the inside lane on their first turn. Rims swung wide, grazing Flames' paint, and muffled human shouts ensued. Once the road straightened, Electro sped past them and closed the distance between her and Red.

Eons ago, Electro had partaken in the illicit street races of Cybertron. She still remembered the dazzling lights of the cities, the smooth traction of the raceways, the spark-racing competition between her and other fast-paced Cybertronians. The race was a place to escape reality–to escape herself, sometimes, when her processor would not stop whirring. When the war began to rear its ugly head, however, she had retired from the speedways and began to learn the layout of the battlefield. Still, the absence of the race had tugged at her spark, and she longed to be battling on the streets, not in a warzone. Therefore, when she discovered that humankind also loved the thrill of a car race, she slowly started to reignite her old passions. Most of her outings had gone unnoticed—until this orbital cycle. Aside from tonight, Optimus had caught her racing two other times. Usually, she returned to the base to find him in their room awake and waiting, so she was surprised that he had commed her this time—and subtly threatened to intervene.

She understood Optimus's relative concern. First, he feared that the humans may either realize that Electro is, in fact, a driverless car, or she may inadvertently injure one of them. She promised utmost caution, highly aware of the humans' vulnerability. She never ran them off the road or utilized her innate electrical powers to pop their tires or fry their engines. That would be foolish and cruel. Second, Optimus reminded her about the Decepticons' presence on Earth and her susceptibility to attack. She countered that the Decepticons rarely, if ever, adopt a ground-based alternative mode; and, furthermore, she would be in greater danger while scouting for energon. If he was that concerned about her safety, she had said, then he was welcome to join her and watch her win. He seemed less than enthused about the suggestion.

Truly, she had no intention to worry Optimus, and she felt a prick of guilt in her spark for willingly entering another race. Yet, she also noticed a restless energy within the base. They have been cycling through a suspicious lull, searching for energon deposits and waiting for the Decepticons to finally show their faceplates. Optimus was the worst of them, his mood gradually growing grimmer. Of course, he was a Prime, and he was responsible for Autobots on Earth. It would be strange if he was unconcerned. Still, she struggled to remain under that tension, and the fast-paced open roads gave her space to go and not think.

Finally, she reached Red's position. She pressed down on the gas, drawing close to his bumper before veering right and pulling up alongside the sports car. She would have kept pace with him until the return trip, but suddenly, Red rocketed forward and swerved in her direction. His bumper nearly crashed into her hood, and she hit the brakes hard, wheels spinning for a spark-stuttering moment. Scrap! She thought. Is this human brave or stupid? She could not peer inside the vehicle due to the tinted windows, so she attempted to perform a quick scan. However, Red tapped the brakes, forcing her to drop away to avoid collision. Seemingly satisfied, Red zipped ahead, fast approaching the U-turn.

Engine roaring, Electro chased after Red, rapidly closing the distance between them. Red veered to stay in front of her, blocking her chances of swerving around him. Dauntless, she shot forward and, in the mere seconds before she crashed into Red's bumper, she snapped left and let half of her tires hit the dirt. As they took the hard turn, her tires gained enough traction to keep her from spinning out; and, once the road straightened again, she hit the gas and passed Red, her tires bumpily returning to the asphalt.

She barely had a reprieve to celebrate when her comm pinged again. Electro internally rolled her optics, not bothering to check the signature. "OP, it's a little late for—"

"OP?" a new voice sneered. "Charming nickname, but I don't think that quite works for me."

Electro's spark stuttered. She flicked her side mirrors to look at Red behind her. She saw no obvious markings on the vehicle; and, when she performed a quick scan, she was blocked by a masking technology. All the Autobots were at the base, and Cliffjumper was the only red-armored bot—and this vehicle was missing the signature horns stationed above the grill. That left one option, and it should be impossible: a Decepticon. Why would a 'con willingly race with humans? What does he have to gain? she wondered. Distracted by the new situation, she had slowed her pace and allowed her opponent to draw beside her.

"Speechless, are we?" the Decepticon chuckled. "You know, I didn't realize your fearless leader allowed such irresponsibility among his Autobots."

Energy crackled along her frame. "Has Megatron become lenient about insubordination?"

"No need for him to know." He hummed."Unless, of course, I can knock off an Autobot." Electro caught a flash as one of his rear panels shifted, revealing a miniature missile launcher. She heard the grin in the Decepticon's voice as he said, "Let's have a real race, shall we?"

He released the first missile, and Electro swerved to avoid the projectile. It struck the asphalt, creating a jagged pothole that would surprise the human racers trailing behind them. At least they were not caught amid the gunfire–and Electro wanted to keep them uninvolved. However, there was still a crowd of humans waiting at the finish line, and she did not want to lead a Decepticon to them. Scanning the terrain, she noted a side road that peeled away from the makeshift racetrack. A small part of her spark simmered with disappointment, abandoning a good race; but she could never forgive herself if willingly endangered innocent humans. Therefore, engine grumbling, she darted in front of the Decepticon and adopted the new pavement. It was rougher, filled with dips and rises that threatened to damage her undercarriage, but she continued to push her speed, allowing the speedometer to ratchet higher and higher.

The Decepticon grumbled over the comm, "Forfeiting already?"

Electro flicked her mirrors and ensured that the Decepticon was still chasing her: he was, though he seemed more concentrated on avoiding the ruts in the road than attacking her. If she could pull him far enough away from the humans, she could transform and give him a true fight. Ahead, the rough road reconnected a paved highway. She grimaced as her tires bounced over the threshold, squealing as they found better traction. Before she could properly take off, though, a missile struck her rear tire and spun her. Scrap, scrap, scrap, she silently cursed. She was forced to transform, skidding on her pedes for a klik before coming to a stop on one knee. Her audials picked up the Decepticons transformation and quick pede steps. She lifted her optics and caught a flash of blue-white electricity, and she raised her servos to catch the prongs of an electrocution staff.

Electricity crackled along her forearms and shoulders, and she felt the immediate burst of energy. Despite the moonless night, the world seemed to brighten and sharpen. She felt revitalized.

The Decepticon growled, "Why won't you fall?"

Electro tightened her grip on the staff. "I'm a bit of an anomaly," she quipped. Then she reversed the electrical flow, sending the received energy down her arms, across the staff, and to the Decepticon. There was a nanoklik delay, then the Decepticon's optics widened as arcs of electricity singed his servos and armor. He quickly dropped the staff with a cry, stumbling back and batting at his armor.

Electro swiped the staff from the asphalt. The reversal of energy had fried the circuitry in the staff, ruining its stunning abilities. With a huff of her vents, she tossed the staff at the Decepticon's pedes. "Got any other tricks?" she asked, her armor still humming with electrical currents.

The Decepticon snarled, snatching up his useless staff. He seemed prepared to retort, but his optics shifted to look beyond Electro. Not wanting to lower her guard, she sent out a scan of the area. A familiar signal appeared on her radar, approaching her from behind. My hero, she mused.

Shaking his helm, the Decepticon said, "Let's finish this race…another cycle."

He shoved the staff into his subspace, then transformed and sped away in the opposite direction. Electro relaxed from her battle stance, watching the Decepticon's taillights disappearing into the darkness. Another transformation reached her audials, followed by an even tread that drew beside her. She flicked her optics up to Optimus at the same time he glanced down at her. In the background, echoing across the desert plain, engines roared and tires squealed, accompanied by cheers and whistles as the race reached its stunning conclusion. Electro was confident she would have won, if one of the racers had not been a Decepticon in disguise.

She nudged Optimus's arm. "Sorry you didn't see me win this time."

He vented, pivoting toward her. "Electro, that was reckless."

She gestured toward the speedway. "No humans were harmed, and they had no idea that they were competing with an alien race." She then nodded in the direction of the Decepticon, who had long disappeared into the dark night. "And I dealt with the 'con."

Optimus's optics narrowed in thought. "I feared a Decepticon presence when a masked signal appeared near your location. He scrambled communication, so I could not reach you."

And I feared what had befallen you, was the unspoken piece. The Autobots had been blessed by relative peace from the Decepticons, but the team knew that reprieve would end eventually. Electro, however, expected that grim reunion to be different: picking up the Decepticon warship's signal on their radars, or simultaneously uncovering an energon deposit. A random human race in the middle of an Arizonian desert was not a plausibility in her processor. Neither did Optimus, she assumed. He may have given the warning, but the chances had been slim. The humans were the immediate concern while the Decepticons were a vague possibility–as they always would be, until the end of the war. If there is an end, she thought guiltily.

The silence had stretched between them. Optimus finally said, "Electro, rules are set in place for your protection, not to prohibit you." He paused, then said softly, "I understand you miss your former life on Cybertron–many of us do. But for the time being, while we reside among beings that do not know of our existence, we should limit our involvement in human affairs. And with the more immediate threat of Decepticon attack–"

"Traveling alone is dangerous," she concluded.

"Indeed."

With a long sigh through her vents, she transformed, headlights flickering on and illuminating the darkness. Optimus glanced down at her with mild surprise. She said, "Care to escort me home, OP?"

He tilted his helm. "If you sustained damage during the attack, I can comm Ratchet to groundbridge–"

"No damage, just a lot of energy," Electro said, accompanied by a rev from her engine. "And let's be honest about two things: one, you and I both have too much on our processors, so we might as well take advantage of a long drive. Second, do you really want to explain all of this to Ratchet right now?"

Optimus hesitated for a couple of kliks. Then, without further discussion, he transformed, folding down from his towering stance to a red-and-blue semi. Electro, quietly relieved, began to roll forward. She pinged Optimus's personal communication line and said, "See, sometimes I'm reasonable."

Optimus dodged the comment. "What is troubling you?"

"I could ask you the same." There was a beat of silence, then Electro added, "Lately, you only power down for two, maybe three hours. I'm no medic, but that sounds like a poor sleeping schedule."

"I didn't realize I woke you," he rumbled, apologetic.

"We may not be bonded," Electro said, "but I sense when your spark is restless."

A bittersweet topic. She had known Optimus for eons–before the war had begun, before he was given the mantle of Prime, before their affection was confined to stolen moments. She remembered an age when he had been a brilliant archivist with an edge of calm innocence that made his spark endearing. Her facade of aloofness had cracked when she met him, and she had let him chip away at that wall for centuries. Now, her spark could not imagine a galaxy without him.

Optimus had intended to propose to her, but those plans crumbled under the weight of an upcoming conflict. His involvement with Megatron, their opposing paths, and the violent escalation of the Decepticons had transformed not only Optimus and Electro, but also the entire planet of Cybertron. During a lull in the early part of the war, while they were both stationed in a stronghold at Iacon's center, Optimus officially asked for her spark. Initially, she had been overjoyed, her spark nearly leaping from her chassis; then, the reality of their situation crashed into her, and she was frightened by the future. Sparkmates shared everything–memories, emotions, thoughts, and so much more. It was a beautiful bond of trust, love, and intimacy, but under the shadow of death and destruction, a bond seemed too dangerous. If Megatron or any Decepticon discovered that she and Optimus were sparkmates, she would only become a liability. She did not want that for Optimus, nor did she want that for herself. Therefore, she had accepted his proposal, but she gently placed a stipulation: once the fires of war had been smothered and Megatron's forces were suppressed, then they could solidify their bond.

Now, eons later, they remained in the same predicament.

Electro wondered if Optimus heard her inner turmoil, for he sighed and admitted, "It has been many cycles since Megatron has joined his legion here on Earth. A Decepticon appearance increases my suspicion that he may be returning soon."

Electro cycled through her conversation with the Decepticon. He did not reveal that Megatron was here on Earth, but he did not contradict her coy remark, either. Megatron was alive somewhere in the universe–a threat the Autobots were always awaiting. Still, she gave Optimus a little pushback. "Despite wanting to knock me off, he seemed relatively harmless. It wasn't a coordinated attack."

"Hmm." He drifted to avoid the remains of roadkill. "Still, I feel something…terrible is coming."

It was moments like these she wished they were bonded. She wanted to wrap his spark in hers and soothe the worries that plagued him. Unlike Optimus, she did not possess confidence in her words, constantly searching for the right response. But she had no other way to give him comfort, so she said softly, "We don't know what the future holds and when Megatron will return–if ever." She closed the distance between their alternative forms, driving close. "But, if he does, you have an entire team here ready to stand with you. You don't have to face it alone." She paused, then added, "My spark is with you always. I will never abandon you, no matter what may come."

"Neither shall I."

Their lonely drive slipped into a melancholy silence. They kept their comm line open though, allowing unsaid words to filter through the low hum of static. She did not deviate from her too-close driving distance, and he never pulled ahead or fell behind. It was a rhythm–one they knew and loved well. Though she occasionally scanned the area for any rogue signals–waiting for the Decepticon to reappear with reinforcements–she was not afraid. Whatever darkness may come, she knew her spark would never be alone.