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Transformation Act V: ONE

Deviation Actions

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Author's Note:

For your information, the companion story Entr'acte takes place at the same time as this Act does, and the events in both stories overlap. I would be grateful if you would read both stories, so that you can get the full picture.

Act V

One

Scene i

"Prime!" The low growl cut through the fog of his powered-down CPU.

Blearily, the Autobot Commander jerked into static-riddled semi-consciousness."Whuzzit?"

"Get up, Prime." A dark shape leaned over him. It was familiar, but wrong somehow. He powered up his optical sensors.

And then Optimus bolted upright, fumbling his weapon out of subspace. How in Primus' name had the Decepticon gotten in?

Megatron's optics widened, glowing red in the dim chamber. "Easy there, Oppy. It's only me." He spread his hands palm-outwards, but an amused grin played across his sly visage. "I come in peace."

Optimus stood swaying, his naked face a mask of uncertainty. But the barrel of the long black rifle never wavered in its aim.

Megatron stared down the length of the weapon Prime was training on his spark. He was puzzled. This seemed like more than just the usual disorientation muddling a bot after an emergency reboot. "It wasn't on my schedule to scrap you in your berth today," he quipped. "But I suppose I could check again..."

The black gun did not move a nanometer. "How many of the others did you kill in order to get to me?" Prime's voice was cracked, unsure; and his brows were knit in doubt and confusion.

"None, more's the pity." The grin slid down off the Decepticon's roughcast features. "You all right?" he asked.

Blue optics blinked. Off. On. The gun dropped.

And Optimus Prime sat heavily back onto his berth, subspacing his long rifle. He pounded a fist against his knotted brow and swore under his breath. "Don't do that, Megatron!" he snapped, shooting a glare in the big gray mech's direction. "Your trademark Evil Overlord Smirk is not the first thing I want to see when I boot up!" He scrubbed a hand over his bare face, and grimaced. "Primus give me strength!"

Megatron wanted to laugh, to say he hoped that the Autobot's old protocols never wore off, if they were going to provide him with this kind of entertainment. But a second look at his bond-brother's stooped shoulders made him mute the words.

Still growling, Prime drew himself once again to his feet. "All right!" he rumbled, as his galloping systems finally began to slow, "Who is it this time?"

The Enforcer's report was succinct. "A scuffle between him and Blitzwing," Ultra Magnus informed the Commanders. "Apparently Shockwave stepped in before it could get any more out of hand." He gave Megatron a scrupulously correct salute, but it was to Prime that he looked for approval. "I'm sure you can imagine how well that didn't go," he added, carefully addressing both faction leaders equally.

Optimus huffed in frustration, glanced over the information on the arrest record, and typed in the required validation codes. Still frowning, he turned to face the Dinobot captain.

"Him Blitzwing ask for it." Grimlock's voice was loud and unapologetic, cutting in before Prime could say a word. "Him talk slag about us; get pounded. It simple." He ignited his energy sword, and stabbed it deeply into the floor. "We Dinobots fighters. It what we do best."

The hulking mech loomed up in his tall general's face, resting one dark hand meaningfully on the hilt of his hot, thrumming sword. "But now you say War is over. You not want fighting any more. Maybe you not want fighters, either." A challenge flared across his red optic band. "What you do if we not stop, eh Prime? Shut us down? Throw us in Locker?"

"I hope not," said Optimus grimly.

"You stubborn heap of mindless slag!" Megatron cut in, rounding furiously on the broader dinobot. "You will not disrespect your commanding officer like this!"

But Grimlock wasn't listening. With surprising speed for such a bulky mech, he closed in on the Decepticon Leader. "Oh? What you do about it?" he snapped, "Shoot big hole in Grimlock, like you do in Starscream?" There was an audible thunk as the huge mech flicked an irreverent finger against the purple insignia embossed on his enemy's chestplate. "Me know you of old, Megatron. Me not trust you with scrap."

Prime saw his Enforcer unslinging a large pair of stasis cuffs, and grumbled a curse in frustration. "Stand down, Ultra Magnus," he growled, motioning the tall Autobot back with a firm hand. Optimus had been online for less than a breem, and already he was drawing on the last tiny vestiges of his patience.

"You sure you don't want me to put him offline for a quartex or two?" the Enforcer hissed dryly. "We could call it 'Behavior Likely To Cause A Breach Of The Peace'..."

Prime didn't reply.

The tall blue mech looked askance at the two bots before him – now snarling into each other's faces, chin to belligerent chin – and shook his head. "There are days when I'd love to commit the pair of them. Slagging gear-grinders." He turned to face Prime "Seriously, Optimus," he said with concern, "It might be much easier just to take Grimlock out of circulation for a while. This isn't the first time he's caused trouble-"

"No, Magnus." The Autobot Commander bit off the words, and stumped over to intervene in the escalating argument. "But I might let you help me bash their heads together," he grumbled over his shoulder to his old friend.

Megatron's temper was making its customary appearance, the slow burn that preceded the explosion. He refused to back down even a nanometer from the steaming Dinobot before him. "What exactly are you trying to say to me?" he growled, dangerously quiet. "If you're capable of saying anything intelligent, that is," he added in an undertone.

Grimlock snorted. "You Megatron maybe fool Prime." He scoffed. "That not hard. Him always weak; quick to forgive and forget." The lumbering bot drew in closer, his growl low and menacing. "We Dinobots not so soft. We remember." He leaned heavily down on the hilt of his sword, pushing it a few more inches into the floor. "You put on good show, but you still same old Megatron: out to get what you want, twisting universe till it squeal. Now you even twist Prime."

"I'm not in the mood to be twisted, Grimlock." Prime stepped between the two fighters, speaking with unusual acerbity. "And I think that I'd notice if anyone tried."

"Oh?" Grimlock swung his heavy head around to hover within a few inches of his commanding officer's, and spat, "You Prime not punish Megatron for killing Starscream. But you arrest Grimlock for punching loudmouth 'Con?" He harrumphed a hot cloud of steam. "You twisted, 'Prime.' You loser."

His glance flicked dismissively over the tall red and blue mech, sizing him up and finding him wanting, as usual. He pointed an angry finger at Megatron. "This piece of slag set himself up all pretty, get everyone eating out of him hand..." He shot Megatron a withering look, then spat, "When you think he your friend, he betray you," he shot. "Every time."

With an effort, Grimlock jerked his sword out of the flooring, and stowed it away. But a derisive sniff marred this small show of compliance. The dark dinobot stretched to his full height, all teeth-etched battle-mask and angry red visor. "Your precious Ceasefire go to Pit with rest of us; wait and see. When it does," he rumbled, sinking into his habitual fighter's crouch, "We be waiting."

And that's when Elita swung happily into the room, calling out in a cheery voice, "Hello my fine mechs. Did you miss me?"

Grimlock whirled and knocked her to the floor before his lagging processor had begun to asses her identity.

Pandemonium ensued. Optimus leapt around the bulky Dinobot to make sure his lifemate was undamaged. Magnus swore, and slapped a cuff around Grimlock's wrist, halting the big mech where he stood. Megatron bellowed, and sunk his fingers into the Dinobot's throat before anyone knew what was happening. "Slag it, stand down; all of you!" shouted Prime. He wondered in consternation if anyone was listening to him at all today. "Elita, are you all right?"

The femme's easy laughter startled the frozen tableau of mechs. "I'm quite all right, boys," she said lightly. "Serves me right, I suppose, for not looking where I'm going." Elita ignored her bondmate for the moment, and held out an arm to the dinobot. "Gimme a hand up there, Grim."

Ultra Magnus silently released the immobilizing cuff, and the Dinobot leader reached out to engulf her small hand in his own massive black one. He carefully drew the femme to her feet. "You Elita OK?" he asked, pointedly ignoring the Enforcer standing just behind him. The fiery glare behind his visor dimmed as he sheepishly met her dancing blue optics.

"I've survived many worse things than a bruised dignity and a dented aft," she replied lightly. Elita patted the bot's heavy shoulder, and was about to give the big mech a friendly shove toward the door; but she stopped, and peered up at him more closely.

Stale heat radiated from the dinobot's massive frame. She could hear his ill-meshed servos snarling against each one another, and an uneven chug in his engine. "What about you, Grimlock?" she asked softly. "Are you all right?"

The giant form sagged. "Me all right," he huffed, though the morose grumble was singularly unconvincing.

"All right, except for being bored, frustrated, and mistrustful?" Elita flashed the pugnacious mech a rueful, understanding smile.

He shrugged, saying nothing.

Elita reached up and laid a soothing hand against the cheekplate of Grimlock's toothy mask. "It's going to work," she told him. "It has to work." She sighed, and drew down the bot's black head, and clumped hers against it tiredly. "We'll all have to make sure it works," she continued, "Even when it's hard. Even when we don't want to do it. Because if this fails, Grimlock... If we fail... There is nothing left to go back to but death. Please, Grim," she whispered, and even the thick-plated Dinobot was surprised to hear such pleading from the usually matter-of-fact femme. "Please try. We need everyone. We need you."

The Dinobot leader stood motionless for such a long time that the watching trio of mechs wondered if he had shut down. A sharp hissing came from his tall, massive frame, as its pent-up pressure was very slowly released. At last he nodded. Wordlessly, Grimlock gave Elita an awkward pat, and a nod of acceptance. Then he shouldered his way out through the door of the Command Center without a glance at the three silent, watching mechs. His slow footsteps faded away down the corridor.

"That tin-plated hunk of junk should never have been sparked!" Megatron fumed. "He never could see straight, not even back when I was his handler back in the arena."

Far down the long hallway, an outer door clanged shut; and the Dinobot's powerful engine growled away down the hill.

The Decepticon began pacing angrily back and forth. "Waste of scrap is more trouble than he's worth," he grumbled. "We should decommission him, Optimus."

The tall Autobot caught his bond-brother firmly by the arm, halting him midstride. "Listen to what you're saying, Megatron," he hissed. "Is that what you really want? I won't live that way. And what's more, I don't think you want to either."

"Slag off."

Ultra Magnus shook his head in grim humor. He left Prime to sort out Megatron, and stared out the window after the departing dinobot. "Well," he huffed softly to himself, "I suppose I'd better go tag along after the big glitch, just to make sure he stays out of trouble for a while."

Optimus overheard him. "Leave him be for a while, my friend," he said gently. "He just needs a chance to cool down; and you know he won't do that with you following him."

The heat from the dinobot's grimy, overclocked motor was still there in the room, even after he had gone. "We could just get Ironhide to douse him with liquid nitrogen," Ultra Magnus quipped dryly. The blue Enforcer shrugged his tall shoulders. "I hope you know what you're doing, Sir."

"So do I, you daft fragger!" Megatron groused. "I don't understand why you let a loose cannon like him wander free." He would have liked to go head-to-head with Grimlock. It had been almost three orbital cycles since he'd gotten to scrap anyone, and he missed it. "The rest of his ragtag team will be manageable, I believe," He continued, with a sharp chuff of cydraulics. "But that one... I don't know."

"We have to give him time, Megatron. We have to give all of us time. I refuse to punish anyone for breach of the peace accord unless I am forced to." Almost unconsciously, Optimus reached out to take hold of Elita's hand. "The penalty is too high to be doled out lightly," he said sadly, pulling her close.

The femme leader gave her bondmate's fingers a reassuring squeeze, and flashed him a quick, private smile. But it was to all three of the mechs that she spoke. "This change must come freely, or not at all," she said firmly. "If we force their compliance, then it would have been better if we'd never stopped fighting."

Optimus nodded in grave agreement. But Magnus and Megatron's faces remained impassive.

"We all need to believe the best of each other right now." Her steady gaze passed from one mech to the next. "You have to believe in each other."

Across Prime's memory banks flashed a recollection of the terror he had felt at seeing Megatron's smirking visage as he came online. "Believe the best of each other..." he repeated to himself. He shot out an arm, and hooked his fingers into Megatron's armor, shocking the warrior into a defensive stance. There came a grinding clang as he butted his helm roughly against the dark brow. "Even you, you obstinate old glitch," he murmured affectionately, and smacked the gray mech with an inarticulate growl.

"Yes," said Elita with no trace of humor. "Even Megatron."

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming," the Decepticon sneered. He turned on his heel, and stalked out of the room.

Megatron strode distractedly along the corridor, his head high, optics fiery, mouth set; but his thoughts were a mad jumble of disorganized input. He wore the appearance of contented purpose; but in reality he was much less settled in his new role than he let on. He missed the wild dreams of conquest with which he had always comforted himself. He ached to feel again the sweet, illicit release of the kill; to watch the light in another's face die; to inspire the onlookers' terror. He worried that his power was fading. Grimlock had never kowtowed to him, it was true. But not even the Dinobot would have spoken out so forcefully - so fearlessly - against him before. And that thought galled him.

He almost tripped over Rumble and Frenzy, as the two little mechs stepped out of a doorway in front of him. "Watch where you're going, you scrap-licking runts!" he complained. But he turned back to them after a few paces, his curiosity aroused. "Hey," he called after the retreating bots, "How's, uh, how's living with Blaster working out?"

The two little mechs looked up at their Commanding Officer, their faces set in almost identical expressions of defiance. "We'll survive," said Frenzy bluntly. "It ain't always easy livin' with a buncha slaggin' Autobots around, but-"

"-But then, you'd know all about that now, wouldn't you?" needled Rumble, breaking in.

Megatron scowled, and bit back a retort. His minions should never believe themselves able to rile him. But there was suddenly something familiar about the way these two acted, the way they looked out for one another. He crouched down before them, his hands on his knees, and examined the minions more closely.

Realization dawned, and Megatron broke into a great, unbridled laugh. He sat down on the floor, still shaking his head. "Slag me," he said, chuckling. "No wonder you two always called yourselves brothers!" He pinched the bridge of his nose in a manner that was more than a little reminiscent of Prime. "How long?" he demanded. "Was it after Soundwave and the other Cassettes-?"

Frenzy snorted. "Slag, no!"

Rumble gave his Commander a cheeky grin. "Old Badness-Bot himself... still as blind as a byte-bat!"

"But how- I'd forbidden it!" Megatron remonstrated.

"You recruited us, you'll remember" the purple Cassette retorted. "And you took us as we came."

"Both together, or none," recalled Megatron aloud, as a smile tugged up at one corner of his mouth. "All this time..." He shook his head, bemused. "How did you keep it a secret?"

Rumble lifted an impudent optic ridge. "You're not gonna like the answer, Boss..."

"It was easy," said Frenzy flatly. "You had no idea what you were looking at. You wouldn't have seen our spark-bond if we'd worn signs."

"You didn't care enough about us to look," put in Rumble accusingly. His expression was as cocky as ever, but his crossed arms and planted feet spoke to the purple mechling's long habit of protectiveness. "Besides," he continued, "Hardly anyone really understood us Cassettes. I mean, after a while most of the guys just thought of us as sort of... pieces of Soundwave. No one paid close attention to us as ourselves."

"Their mistake," put in Frenzy. "We got away with all kinds of slag because of it. It's like I always said: if you're gonna be a 'Con, be a Cassetticon" The black and red bot shrugged a shoulder. "Having the same design probably helped, too. I mean, everyone already kind of expected us to act alike..."

"But-" Megatron flailed, "Soundwave...!"

"Oh, he knew," replied Frenzy.

"And he never told me?" Megatron felt his temper rising again at the thought that his most trusted lieutenant could have kept him in the dark about something like this.

Rumble's half-shrug mirrored his bond-brother's. "We made it part of the contract," he said bluntly.

Megatron clenched his fists. "I'm going to fragging kill that Smelter-spawn!"

There was a moment of dead silence, in which the temperature of the corridor seemed to drop several degrees.

Frenzy broke it. "Uh, Boss?" the little black mech's voice was unusually brittle. "He did that job for you."

"It's not working. Why is it still not working?"

Thousands of blue crystals hovered at precisely-calibrated levels, at precisely-measured intervals, in a pattern that a carefully-vetted team of architects had followed with exactness. Prowl stood in the center of the rebuilt Helix Gardens, and looked around him in mute frustration. It had taken him months of exhaustive searching to unearth the ancient blueprints, but he'd found them at last. The group of artisan-mechs had rigorously adhered to those original specs. His team had worked so long, so diligently, clinging to the memory of a place that had once been one of the jewels of Cybertron. They had labored with such hope...

Yet still, the crystals refused to sing.

"I don't know why it's not, Grapple," the tactician replied quietly. "I just don't know."

Prowl watched the yellow crane transform, and listened to the angry roar of the craftsmech's big motor as he spun away. "The Pit take us all!" he cried in bitter disappointment. "Why can't we do it?"

From behind him came the sound of a small engine. Wheels rolled to a stop on the smooth ground; light plates slid across one another in easy transformation. A slim hand touched his arm, and Prowl turned to greet Firestar with a small, tight smile.

"It is beautiful," she said softly

"But dead," Prowl replied shortly. He turned to the red femme beside him. "How could we have failed?" he demanded. "I chose the best mechs we had for the job. I'll personally attest that none of them strayed from the blueprints by so much as a nanometer. What can we have done wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong," Firestar assured him. "You simply overlooked something."

"What is it? What have we forgotten? I checked and rechecked everything!"

Firestar shook her head, and gave him a rueful little smile. "Prowl, who built the original Helix Gardens?"

In all his research, Prowl had come across the names a few times. But he'd been far more interested in the instructions themselves, and had paid their designers little heed. Besides, the original architects had perished vorns ago. His clipped reply was impatient. "I don't remember their names! Their identity is beside the point..." He paused, finally noticing her somber expression. "Isn't it?"

"No," she replied. "It's the whole point. You of all mechs ought to remember..." Firestar raised her gaze to the fathomless optics of the Autobot Second in Command. "You can't have forgotten what it was like to have her, Prowl," she chided him gently. "Not you."

The black and white mech bowed his head. "No," he whispered. It was fairly common knowledge that his bondmate had been killed in the Decepticon's first offensive. But he resented Firestar's speaking of her, nonetheless.

"No mech ever built this place alone, my friend," continued Firestar gently. "Designing a garden like this required a small team of both mechs and femmes."

"Do you think that still matters?" asked Prowl uncertainly. "We followed the specs..."

Firestar fought down her rising exasperation. "There's more to beauty than a blueprint!" she flashed. "You mechs are straightforward. We see around the corners. It's always been that way! And a garden is more than some old lines on a page!"

She turned away from him, and strove to restrain her harsh feelings. Her temper rose out of her own pain, she knew, and taking it out on Prowl wasn't fair. "What I mean is," she said, fighting to keep her voice level, "I suspect in this instance you'd need the creative impulses of a femme to temper the mech-corps's strict adherence to specs."

He looked at her then, an unspoken question flaring up in his optics.

Firestar shook her head sadly. "I don't think I can anymore," she said. "I've lost who I was, somehow."

The Autobot Second looked down at the slim femme, at the crisscrossed scars that the war had left upon her, and hope slowly died from his earnest white face. His mouth hardened. Silently, he put an arm around her shoulder, and drew her in. Wordlessly, the two of them stared out over the failed, dead gardens.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had to become a soldier. And now, try as I might, my old programming is unrecoverable."

"I'm sorry too," said Prowl.

"It happened again, didn't it? I can see it in your face. You know, others besides me are bound to start noticing soon."

Confronted by Elita's shrewd accusation, Optimus was stubbornly mute.

"Have you spoken with Megatron about it?"

"Not yet..."

"Have you asked Ratchet's advice?"

Prime sighed. "Elita, there are some things even Ratchet can't help with. There has never been a spark-bond like Megatron's and mine in the history of Cybertron. He's muddling along by guesswork, the same as we are. It's just a glitch. It'll go away. I won't pester him about it."

The pink femme tightened her lips. She'd been watching her bondmate much more closely than usual lately. He was holding himself together – barely – but the facade of composure was beginning to crack.

Elita wondered if she ought to see Ratchet herself on his behalf, whether he wanted her to or not.

Optimus guessed at her thoughts. He vented a long sigh, one that took with it some of his practiced military posture. "Please, Elita. There are more important things at stake here than my reaction when Megatron catches me off guard."

"Oh really." Elita said stiffly. "Like what?"

"It's a very long list."

He was fidgeting; his fingers distractedly moving over her light plating, testing the set of her armor, the strength of her joints. "Don't worry about me, 'Lita. I've got this under control."

"For now..."

At first, long ago, Elita had chided her lover for the way he would constantly check over her frame whenever they were alone together. She'd even once accused him of not trusting her. "I've told you I'm at 100%, and I expect you to believe me!" she'd shouted.

But all that was a long time ago. As the war lengthened, and more and more of their comrades had been lost to it, Elita understood better her bondmate's need to reassure himself of her well-being. She let habit take over now, and relaxed against his bulk. She couldn't hold onto her frustration with him for long. Not with such a strong flood of affection pouring into her spark through his darting, anxious fingertips.

"What if it doesn't work?" he whispered, after neither had spoken for some time.

"What if what doesn't work, 'Rion?"

Prime's fingers stalled. Elita hardly ever used his creation-name; but when she did, it was a coded message, both permission and request for him to be the mech beneath the mask, instead of the figurehead of all Cybertron. He loosed a long, slow hiss of pressure from his taut cydraulics. "Everything," he replied stonily.

One by one, Prime shut down the command protocols which he usually ran: the systems which maintained his bearing, his countenance, his demeanor; all the programs he'd written to help him look like a leader. He shucked off the shells which he'd built to cover up the simple young mech who'd once been called Orion Pax. Then the old Autobot hefted his bondmate into his arms, and sank tiredly onto his berth.

Elita nestled into the familiar place across his knees and wrapped her arms contentedly around his neck. She smiled to herself as Prime's restless fingers began gently tugging each of the plates at her back one by one.

"I don't know if it can last," the red mech admitted. "We've given ourselves for this fragile armistice, but the slightest disturbance could undermine it." He chuffed. "Slag, if this all goes to the Pit, in a few vorns the few bots who are left may not even remember our names!"

Prime jimmied a piece of her armor that had not quite met his exacting standards of security. "Are we just fooling ourselves?" he asked. "How can I possibly expect a bond between Megatron and myself to direct the actions of over a thousand free-thinking mechs?"

Elita shook her head against his boxy red shoulder. "You can't," she replied. She threaded her fingers through the cords of his neck, and stroked them in the soothing way she knew he loved. "It's not what you've done that matters," she told him. "It's what you are doing."She looked up, and met his troubled optics with what she hoped was encouraging smile. "Just keep being yourself. You haven't led us astray yet."

"I'm not the one everyone's following lately..." He snorted, and demanded abruptly, "Why is it Megatron who gets the hero's acclaim? This hasn't been easy for me, either. Or for you..." He knew his complaint was foolish. But it was always a relief to give vent to his emotions – even the unworthy ones. (Or perhaps, especially the unworthy ones.) And this was Elita, after all.

Elita grinned widely. "Orion my love, are you saying that you're... jealous of Megatron?" She quirked him a gently mocking brow.

Optimus broke into a rueful chuckle, and returned her grin in spite of himself. "Maybe a little bit," he admitted. "Everyone loves him now. Even you. But I..."

"You don't?" she asked, curious.

His mouth twitched into a sudden grimace. "I can't forget-" He hissed, dentals bared, and pressed a hand to his brow. "There are times, when he walks into the room unannounced... I panic. I panic for you, for all the Autobots."

"I've seen it. So has Jazz, come to that. And I'm fairly certain Prowl knows as well."

"Good," he growled with some bitterness. "They'll be ready to take him out, if he decides to betray us."

"Do you expect him to?"

Optimus fought back his fear, but there was no hiding from those perceptive blue optics. "Megatron has never been a trustworthy mech," he sighed.

"I trust him."

"I know you do, sweetheart." He pulled her tightly to him. "And in my saner moments, so do I. But I remember everything he's done. I remember all the things he's capable of. And I worry."

Elita straightened her backstruts, and took Prime's head in her hands. She examined him closely, her expression thoughtful as her fingers traced over the lines of his long-forgotten face. The agelong war had taken its toll on her bondmate. The carefree mech he once had been was almost entirely extinguished. Almost. She called quietly back to that young bot. "Orion? Sometimes, it might be better to forget."

Prime chuffed mirthlessly. "I can't, dearest. I dare not. I'm an archivist at spark; and I don't believe in forgetting."
This last Act is likely to reach 40,000 words. I had this wonderful epiphany of how the whole EpicSaga MUST end, and it's going to take a long time to tell it properly. Let's just say the scope is HUGE. I'm about 2/3 of the way through telling the story, and pegging away at it with might and main. Words cannot describe my love for this story. I craft every sentence with love. It takes forever, but I hope the end result will be something of real worth.

Love to all readers. You are dearly appreciated.

--Prime out.
© 2010 - 2024 Ha-HeePrime
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Sanzosgun's avatar
I love the part with Rumble and Frenzy. Also this line: Megatron wanted to laugh, to say he hoped that the old protocols never wore off, if they were going to provide this kind of entertainment. That's just so...Megatron.

FIRRIB or FIBRIR?