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Transformers: War's End


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All right. If you just want to read my story, skip down past this bit. But, I feel like I need to rationalize my need to write this fiction (I've never written fanfiction before). G1 has been rebooted so many times (professionally, even), so why do I feel like I should do so? Simple. I'm not satisfied. What I've always wanted to see/read/encounter is the story of the G1 continuity, from start to finish, starting in 1984 with the original Autobots and Decepticons and ending with Action Masters. The Marvel Comic did the best job of this, but they were plagued by (understandable) toy-selling issues.

 

Dreamwave came along, made some people happy, but most people sad.

 

IDW really was showing me promise, but in the end was a disappointment.

 

So am I going to be so arrogant to claim that I can write better than the professionals who wrote those stories?

 

No. But I'm going to try my darndest.

 

A couple words about the style I'm going for. I'm going to try my best to think of good reasons for whatever Transformers gimmicks/technology appeared between 1984-90. I'm purposefully vague on the descriptive details of the characters, since I'm writing to a specific audience (you!). I feel the film-script-present-tense style fits this world the best. I could go on for a while, but I think I'll let you be the judge from now.

 

Enjoy! Chapters 1-5 are already done; I'll be posting them throughout the next week. Wish me luck on completion.

 

 

I remember when they came.

 

Nineteen-eighty-four. The year George Orwell had written about. I was only nineteen—just a child—but I knew the world was transforming. We’d been fighting a cold war against a cold country since before I was born. Reagan was in office. It seemed like we were getting to the point where people could do anything. Even though I came from a blue-collar family, I felt optimistic about everything. My dad had moved to Oregon to work on some kind of new energy-mining process. The government was paying us well. We had been working at it for three years before things started to go wrong—but I’m getting ahead of myself. In the middle of summer, 1984, as I was enjoying a late, light lunch in the break room, I got a call from my dad.

 

“Spike?â€

 

“Hey, dad. I’m eating. Cheers is on, it’s a new episode. Can I call you back?â€

 

“You’re eating? Where are you?â€

 

“I’m in the break room. AC still doesn’t work.â€

 

“Where’s your car?â€

 

I looked out the window. My car, a banged-up old 1960s Volkswagen, resolutely sat in the parking lot.

 

“Right here. Why?â€

 

“Are you sure? The police just called—they said your car was burning rubber all over the interstate. Driving like it was demon-possessed. Some old lady called you in after recognizing it.â€

 

“I—what?â€

 

“I know, but that’s not the strangest part. She said no one was driving.â€

 

TRANSFORMERS: WAR’S END

 

-Part 1-

-Chapter 1-

 

THE MAD CAR!

 

Spike: “I don’t get it. My car’s here, and I’m the only guy who can drive it anyway. O can’t even start it—“

 

Sparkplug: “Don’t take my word for it. The police told me it went off the road right near the McDonalds on East Furman. They’re there right now. Why don’t you go take a look?â€

 

Spike: “I’ve got refinery duty.â€

 

Sparkplug: “I’ll come in and cover for you. Go ahead, weird stuff like this never happens.â€

 

Spike: “If you say so.â€

 

Spike bolts down the last of his chicken salad sandwich, throws off his yellow hard hat and jerks out the door. Landing in the driver’s seat of his Volkswagen, he peels out of the crowded parking lot. Behind him, casting deep shadows in the evening sun, rises a large volcano. A vast number of pipes run from its base, leading to several grayish buildings. The entire complex is humming with human activity. As Spike drives off the grounds, an airfield containing two gleaming F-15 Eagles can be seen in the distance.

 

The industrial complex quickly turns to forest. A military sergeant waves and smiles at Spike as he drives through a checkpoint. The dirt road soon turns to pavement, then leads to a highway.

 

When finally onto the open road, Spike twists the radio on. A confident voice issues from the speaker.

 

“This is WBGH, your one-stop-shop for everything O-L-D-Y. I’m James ‘O’ Brien, that’s ‘O’ for ‘Oldies,’ ladies and gentlemen, and now the news.

 

“President Reagan issued a new statement on the energy source located here in St. Hillary. He says, ‘with any luck, we might even replace fossil fuels.’ But seriously folks, the rumors run the gamut from atomic radiation to soviets to aliens. Personally, I think it’s Twinkies. Alien Twinkies. But hey, if that means I get to buy a new car, I’m for it!â€

 

A wry grin creeps across Spike’s face.

 

Spike: “If you hadn’t wrecked your Firebird right after I fixed it, you’d be singing a different song, O.â€

 

“In other news, nobody, not even Mr. President, cares to comment on the unusually powerful earthquake in San Francisco two days ago. I don’t see why people aren’t more interested in an earthquake which forgot to have an epicenter? Oh, well. I think the alien Twinkies are behind this one too.

 

“Finally, just this morning, we had United States fighter planes appearing in Soviet air space. Old Ronnie did have something to say about that one, but it was just the standard ‘I deny everything.’ Alien Twinkies? Time will tell.

 

“That’s all I’ve got for news. How about some tunes? I think some Monkees are in order, then maybe some Dave Clark Five, but let’s start with a little Dylan. Ladies and gentlemen, the times are changin’. This is James ‘O’ Brien. The O is for ‘Original!’â€

 

Spike: “O, you wouldn’t know original if it fell on you.â€

 

The traffic on the interstate increases as Spike reaches the Interstate. He drives for about ten minutes before seeing a McDonald’s logo stretch from the horizon. His car is rattling from the high speeds.

 

Spike: “Weirdness, here I come.â€

 

Spike parks his car in the McDonald’s lot, steps out, and peers about, shielding his eyes from the waning sun with his hand. Quickly, he spots a large group of police cruisers surrounding something lying in a ditch along the road. Some passersby and a McDonald’s fry cook are conversing with the officers. As Spike nears the group, one of the cops detaches himself from the fry cook and engages Spike, raising his voice over the roaring overpass.

 

Cop: “Kid, this is an accident scene. Move along, now.â€

 

Spike: “It’s my car. I mean—sort of. I wasn’t driving. But I guess it’s my car.â€

 

Cop: “Are you Spike?â€

 

Spike: “Yeah.â€

 

Cop: “All right, go ahead.â€

 

Spike steps awkwardly into the ditch and crosses the police lines. A low hum is issuing from its engine, and the left rear wheel is rotating in midair. The car is hood-first in the ditch. Apart from numerous small dents and cracks, it is completely identical to Spike’s car, right down to the license plate.

 

Spike stops short, scratching his chin.

 

Spike: “It’s my car all right.â€

 

Cop: “But you weren’t driving.â€

 

Spike: “No, of course not. I just got here, didn’t I?â€

 

The Cop checks out Spike’s identification. They converse for a while, the sun lazily approaching the horizon. Finally, after some joking and laughing, their conversation reaches a lull.

 

Spike: “So…can I just…take it?â€

 

Cop: “All right. Just don’t let us see you driving it next time it freaks out. We got a truck coming to get it outta there.â€

 

Twenty minutes later, Spike is driving the exact copy of his car onto the interstate. He aims a confused glance at his own car, still parked at the McDonalds. As he enters the Interstate, he starts noticing some unusual details about the car.

 

The Beetle is not rattling from the high speeds. Where his Volkswagen had a radio, this vehicle has a solid panel. In the center of it is a blank screen, like that of a computer monitor, only perfectly flat and smooth. It is darkly inactive. Atop the dashboard is a tiny light bulb, set in a metal cradle.

 

Spike: “What’s this--?â€

 

Spike taps the bulb. In the instant his hand grazes its surface, it lights up with a searing heat.

 

Spike: “Ouch!â€

 

Voice: “Oh!â€

 

Spike: “Who?â€

 

He jabs at the blank screen. Immediately, it lights up and a red, robotic face appears.

 

Voice: “Oh no!â€

 

Spike: “Who’s there!â€

 

In his confusion, Spike swerves on the highway. A yellow sports car careens by with a loud honk. Panicking, his hands leaves the steering wheel.

 

It moves on its own, twisting towards an interstate exit.

 

Voice: “Bumblebee to Autobots! It’s inside me!â€

 

Spike: “What’s—who?â€

 

Voice: “It can talk! It can talk?â€

 

The car pulls into a Texaco station and shuts off its engine.

 

Voice: “CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME?â€

 

Spike: “Yes?â€

 

Voice: “DO NOT BE ALARMED. I AM NOT HERE TO HARM YOU.â€

 

Spike: “Ow. You don’t need to shout. Who are you? What are you doing with my car?â€

 

Voice: “Your car—your car? You mean…OH!â€

 

Spike: “What now—argh!â€

 

With a lurch, the car starts up and jets towards the interstate once again.

 

Spike: “Slow down, whoever you are! If those cops see me—“

 

Voice: “Pipe down, organic being! We have a much bigger problem—“

 

While the beetle twists and swerves between other cars amidst a cacophony of honking, the volcano appears over the horizon. Suddenly, there is an earsplitting explosion. For a moment, the world is filled with a blinding light. Spike is tossed around in his driver seat.

 

Spike: “What’s going on!â€

 

Spike sits up in time to see the angled fuselage of the two F-15s scream overhead, flying dangerously low. He ducks instinctively.

 

Spike: “That’s the air force—

 

BOOM.

 

Spike: “—what are they doing—

 

BOOM.

 

Spike: “—flying--

 

BOOM.

 

Spike: “—so low?â€

 

Voice: “You know about those planes?â€

 

Spike: “Yes, they—oh, no—the base!â€

 

A dark welt of black smoke is now curling from the volcano. It fades out of sight as Spike and the Beetle enter the forest. They drive through the now-abandoned military checkpoint.

 

Soon, the forest gives way to the shadow of the volcano and the industrial complex. The landscape at the base of the volcano is scorched and blasted. Nothing can be seen through the curtains of black smoke.

 

The Beetle parks before reaching the ruins of the compound. Spike hurls open the door and sprints away, jumping over wreckage.

 

Spike: “Dad!â€

 

He fades into the distance. The car remains still for several seconds.

 

With a whirr and a deep, undulating, mechanical noise, the car’s wheels, doors, and windows begin to twist and rotate. Within seconds, the car is gone and a yellow, humanoid figure stands in its place. It raises its arm and a panel flips up. It is the same type of flat screen as on the dashboard. The familiar robotic face appears on it.

 

Yellow Robot: “Prowl? Jazz? Autobots? Anybody?â€

 

There is no response.

 

 

Miles away, the two F-15s streak into the setting sun. They decrease altitude towards a large building on the ground. It is an abandoned factory in the depths of a forest.

 

First F-15: “A job well done, Skywarp.â€

 

Second F-15: “Heh-heh. Sure, Thundercracker. Sure.â€

 

They descend on a makeshift landing strip. The factory is desolate and no humans are in sight. After their jet engines quiet to a whisper, they both undergo a transformation similar to the Volkswagen’s. Both robots are sleek and powerful looking, standing over twice the height of the Volkswagen robot. Angular wings spread from their backs. They are dark blue in color.

 

Thundercracker: “Right, mission’s over, now give me back my dignity.â€

 

Skywarp: “Whatever.â€

 

Skywarp shrugs, and as he does so, the blue fades to a jet black. A violent purple appears to accent it.

 

Skywarp: “Why don’t earthlings paint their jets like this?â€

 

Suddenly, a metal hatch opens from the side of the factory. A third robot, identical to the first two, is framed against the black interior of the factory. His face is shrouded in darkness. He opens his mouth, and a cold, high-pitched voice fills the air.

 

Third robot: “Success?â€

 

Skywarp: “Smashing. But this geek had to make noise.â€

 

He jabs his thumb at Thundercracker, who silently sneers.

 

Third robot: “As long as the plan is immaculate.â€

 

Thundercracker: “Immaculate. You better call Megatron. We’re gonna have us a nice little war, Earth-style.â€

 

Continued in Chapter 2!

 

Oh, one last thing. If anybody has some advice for me on where to post fanfiction on the net, let me know.

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“Commander. This is Aerospace-1. Two and Three did their job. We’re about to find out if our premonitions were right.â€

 

“Good, Starscream. For once, your punctuality impresses me.â€

 

The robot frowns, and closes the panel on his arm. He calls out to the other two figures in the room, both of them leaning against some glowing machinery.

 

“Operatives are in place?â€

 

The darker of the two answers him.

 

“Like always.â€

 

TRANSFORMERS: WAR’S END

 

-Part 1-

-Chapter 2-

 

AUTOBOTS!

At the volcano, the yellow robot is still standing, silent, watching the tiny figure of Spike. Spike is sprinting to and fro amongst the ruins of the complex. Suddenly, a militant beeping splits the silence. The robot jumps a little, and raises his arm. The panel opens again, but this time, another robot’s face fills the screen, flickering.

.

Voice: “Bumblebee? Whe--re you? What hap-----d?â€

 

Bumblebee: “I’m right outside the ship. We were wrong, Cliffjumper. The sentient life on this planet isn’t mechanical—Cliffjumper?â€

 

The face fades, and a rumbling is heard from the base of the volcano. Rocks and debris are sliding down its surface.

 

Bumblebee: “Blast! Ugh—“

 

He falls to one knee. With obvious exertion, he stands back up and searches the horizon.

 

Bumblebee: “ORGANIC CREATURE! Where’d he go.â€

 

An opaque visor slides down over Bumblebee’s eyes. Within seconds, he locates Spike in the shadow of a particularly large chunk of building. He transforms back into his car form, and drives over the debris towards Spike.

 

Spike: “Dad! Dad—speak to me!â€

 

When Bumblebee reaches Spike, it becomes apparent that the building once containing the break room has collapsed and Spike’s father, Sparkplug, is trapped under the wreckage. Bumblebee appears behind Spike.

 

Bumblebee: “This organism was your friend?â€

 

Spike turns towards his car. His face is dripping with tears and sweat. The dark of night is descending on the scene.

 

Spike: “My friend? He’s my dad, whoever you are, and he’s going to die if we don’t get him out from under there!â€

 

Bumblebee: “I do not fully understand, but I think I might be able to help you—“

 

Bumblebee transforms into robot mode. Spike’s eyes widen in shock. He falls back against the side of the ruined building. Sparkplug twitches and gasps.

 

Sparkplug: “Spike…â€

 

Spike: “Dad!â€

 

Bumblebee: “Hrrrgh…â€

 

With a tremendous groan, Bumblebee grasps the underside of the building and tosses it aside. Gasping, he reverts to his car mode. Sparkplug lies exposed. In the darkness it is difficult to see the extent of his wounds, but they are clearly serious.

 

Spike: “Oh, God. Dad.â€

 

Sparkplug: “Spike…take it easy…â€

 

Bumblebee: “Organic…load your companion into my rear compartment…I’ll transport you to the nearest medical facility…â€

 

Spike glances frantically between his injured father and Bumblebee’s open rear door. Finally, he draws a deep breath and crouches to lift his father.

 

Sparkplug: “Agh!â€

 

Spike grimaces at the sight of the wounds, but he has dealt with injuries before at the compound. He deposits Sparkplug into Bumblebee’s back seat. A trail of blood shines on the ground between Bumblebee and the rubble. When Sparkplug is safely in the back seat, the door closes.

 

Bumblebee: “Now, get in!â€

 

The car pulls around and the driver-side door flies open, nearly colliding with Spike. Alarmed, he climbs in. It pulls out, leaving the smoldering ruins behind.

 

Soon the trees, streetlights, and pale road blur together numbly. Spike’s face is hard and his eyes are focused on the yellow lines of the highway. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

 

Bumblebee: “Life-form, you may tend to your comrade. I can handle this drive.â€

 

Spike: “Wh-what? Oh.â€

 

He gingerly takes his hands off the wheel.

 

Spike: “I have a name—it’s Spike.â€

 

Bumblebee: “I see…Spike. Spike, I am…sorry. This should...not have happened.â€

 

Spike: “No, it shouldn’t have. And I haven’t even asked myself why I seem to have a intelligent, transforming car. Hey—watch out! Other folks are driving!â€

 

Bumblebee: “Apologies. I am not your car. Also, I do not know where I am going. Please give me the coordinates.â€

 

Spike: “Damn. I didn’t even think. The hospital is thirty miles from here—Dad!â€

 

Sparkplug is breathing hard and fast. Bumblebee’s leather seats are glistening with blood.

 

Sparkplug: “Spike…don’t worry about me, Spike…I have to tell you something…â€

 

Spike: “Don’t try to talk, Dad.â€

 

Sparkplug: “It’s all right…ugh. I’ve seen worse things…in the war.â€

 

Bumblebee: “Spike, I am still driving aimlessly.â€

 

Spike: “Just drive! I’ll tell you when we get there—“

 

Sparkplug: “Spike, listen—I don’t have long—the energy…Government is using it…for military…â€

 

Spike: “Dad, don’t talk like that—what? The military?â€

 

Sparkplug: “We don’t know…huge…information leak…shouldn’t know…agh!â€

 

Sparkplug grips Spike’s hand. For several minutes, there are no words. Sparkplug’s grip grows less and less tense until finally, his hand falls away.

 

Sparkplug: “Goodbye…â€

 

Spike’s head falls forward onto his father’s chest. The silence continues until finally, Spike sits up. His reddened eyes seem to refocus, and he peers out the window onto the road.

 

Spike: “Take this exit.â€

 

Bumblebee: “Affirmative.â€

 

Spike: “And slow down, for God’s sake. Look, go into that garage.â€

 

Bumblebee: “Yes.â€

 

Bumblebee obediently pulls into the garage of a modest one-story affair in a run-down neighborhood. A Firebird with a bashed-up front bumper is parked out front.

 

Bumblebee’s engine whines to a halt. Spike bolts from the car, leaping over a pile of pizza boxes, and shoulders through a back door. Within minutes, he returns, followed by an overweight young man wearing a leopard-print bathrobe.

 

Man: “What’s this all about, Spike? I have to go back on the air in a half-hour--â€

 

Spike: “For once, O, shut up for a minute. Look.â€

 

Spike opens Bumblebee’s back door and gestures at his father’s body.

 

O: “What’s—oh, God. Oh God!â€

 

He turns violently away and retches.

 

Spike: “Pull yourself together. We have to take him inside, get him away from this car.â€

 

O: “Spike, that’s your Dad! And what’s the matter with your car? What’s going on?â€

 

Spike: “Just give me a hand.â€

 

Reluctantly, O helps Spike lift his father’s body from Bumblebee’s backseat. O’s nose wrinkles and he touches the body as if it might burn his skin. Sparkplug’s clothes are stiff with dried blood. They disappear into the house, stumbling over the pizza boxes.

 

A minute later, Spike returns, alone.

 

Spike: “All right, car. It’s time for you to talk.â€

 

Bumblebee doesn’t reply. Spike throws open the driver side door and turns the ignition key. There is a dull groan. The instrument panels light up, but the engine doesn’t activate.

 

Bumblebee: “Turning…the key…doesn’t actually do anything. The whole…front dashboard…just a facsimile…â€

 

Spike: “Whatever. I want to know who you are, why you duplicated my car, and why my father’s blood is on your seat.â€

 

Spike chokes on the last sentence. There are a few minutes of silence before Bumblebee answers him.

 

Bumblebee: “I’m called…Bumblebee…if you want…more answers…I’ll need…some fuel…â€

 

Spike: “What do you mean? The fuel gauge is at full.â€

 

Bumblebee: “…a facsimile…do you have…energon?â€

 

Spike: “I don’t know what that is. But I do have something.â€

 

Spike exits the car and digs through the pizza boxes, eventually returning with a fuel canister. He opens Bumblebee’s gas cap.

 

Bumblebee: “What…you doing back there?â€

 

Spike: “I’m going to fill you up. Or is this a facsimile too?â€

 

Bumblebee: “Not…facsimile…but…embarrassing…â€

 

Spike: “Ooookay.â€

 

Under the gas cap, instead of a standard gas can is an indented hexagonal area with a closed shutter in the center. As Spike uncaps the fuel canister, the shutter opens with a sharp “ping.†Spike begins pouring in the fuel.

 

Bumblebee: “Eugh!â€

 

Some fuel squirts back out through the opening. Spike tilts back the canister, raising his eyebrows.

 

Bumblebee: “No, keep going…it’s just…gross…â€

 

Spike shrugs and continues pouring. Finally, there is a clunk.

 

Spike: “Had your fill?â€

 

Bumblebee: “Yes. It’s crude, but it should power me for a while.â€

 

Spike: “All right, ‘Bumblebee.’ What kind of a name is that, anyway?â€

 

Bumblebee: “It’s a code-name. I have a proper name, but…I haven’t used it in years.â€

 

Spike: “Well, don’t bother telling me. What I really want to know is, what are you?â€

 

Bumblebee: “I’m a shape-changing life-form from the planet Cybertron. Our ship crash-landed in your mountainside.â€

 

Spike: “And my head’s an Apple Macintosh. You’re some kind of Government project.â€

 

Bumblebee: “Believe what you want, Spike. But I’ll answer your other questions. I assumed the form of your car because it was a mechanical life-form close to our ship. Our computers are damaged, and in our ignorance we believed this planet to be home to mechanical life like ours. We planned to demolish our way out of the mountainside, since what we thought were life-forms were well out of the way of our charges. We assumed the organic life was…parasitic.â€

 

Spike: “Parasitic.â€

 

Bumblebee: “Parasitic. Foolish, I know. But—“

 

Spike: “You’ve just answered my third question. You blew your way out of that mountain because you thought the humans in the compound were inconsequential. That’s why—that’s why my father didn’t live through the night.â€

 

Spike slumps down against Bumblebee’s left side.

 

Bumblebee: “But that’s just it, Spike. The explosion you saw—we don’t have any charges powerful enough to cause that kind of blast. I don’t think my people did it. And…I’m sorry for your loss.â€

 

Spike stares grimly ahead.

 

Spike: “He was ready.â€

 

The roar of cars on the nearby interstate is the only sound for several minutes.

 

Spike: “What do you mean, ‘your people?’ Assuming I believe you actually are some kind of alien robot.â€

 

Bumblebee: “My people are called Autobots.â€

 

Spike: “Autobots. I should have guessed.â€

 

Bumblebee: “But we aren’t the only ones. There are others—“

 

Before Bumblebee can finish his sentence, O appears at the door, looking pale and distressed.

 

O: “Spike, you had better come up here and see this.â€

 

Spike: “Can it wait?â€

 

O: “No!â€

 

Spike reluctantly leaves Bumblebee and follows O into his house. The smell of old pizza is prevalent. O leads Spike into a living room, on the wall of which is displayed a large poster bearing the words “PURPLE FUNGUS.†O ushers Spike to his large front window, which is covered by dirty Venetian blinds.

 

O: “Look. Look at my car.â€

 

Spike peers through the blinds. O’s Firebird sits calmly in the street.

 

Spike: “What? I don’t—“

 

O: “Who fixed the bumper, Spike?â€

 

Spike’s eyes widen. Just then, a booming voice is heard from all directions.

 

Voice: “Please exit the house slowly. We know you are in there.â€

 

Spike and O cautiously cross into the kitchen. They gaze out of the bay window to see, in the driveway, a green army jeep. A soldier is stepping out, brandishing a loudspeaker.

 

Soldier: “I repeat, exit the house. It is no use to resist. Surrender your car and everything will be fine.â€

 

Continued in Chapter 3!

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