Kup looked at the monitor on his desk and let out an annoyed grunt to his aide, Wheelie. “Not one but four ‘turbo-revvin’ young punks to straighten out this semester. I’d signed on as a teacher for Velocitron’s Basic Programming Verification and Advancement School to share my lifetime of experience, but when I gotta drag them to class all the time, I wonder: is it worth it?”

“Don’t worry Kup; you’ll get them back in their seats because of your dedication!” Wheelie cheerfully encouraged Kup but mentally added And because you like a captive audience for your long-winded oration.

“Still I wonder if I should have followed Blurr’s lead and become a private coach. I mean, as 'the mech that trained Blurr' I should fetch a premium, right? Instead I’ve been at this for vorns and most ‘bots forget they ever even knew me. Reminds me of the time there was this weird virus that…”

I hope this will be enough to avoid the story and change topics Wheelie thought, and then said “I thought it was because you get to see life anew through fresh optics?”

“Ah, yeah… so anyway, you sit tight and just observe this ol’ bot use his eloquent charm to win them back. First up is a ‘bot they call ‘Breakdown’. Hm… with a name like that, I think I know what approach to use” Kup at last fell silent as he and Wheelie entered small, two rooms used for counseling and detention. A single light shone down from the ceiling on a simple table and two chairs; mostly because no one felt like dedicating a lot of materials that could be used for racing for something as elementary as Basic Programming Verification courses. In it sat a yellow figure with a simplistic four-wheeled ground vehicle design that matched Breakdown’s records. Wait, this says he should be white not yellow. Guess they made a mistake. Kup began to speak “All right Breakdown, can you tell me why… you’re laughing?”

“It’s you, slow mo. You wanted to make me wait. Dragstrip–” he slapped his hands to his chest plate for emphasis “–doesn’t wait! That’s the whole reason I don’t like to waste time here. You suckered me here with that sleek nurse bike. Well blue ‘bot, you’re too depressing. Your classes are slower and more boring than all those stupid diagnostics. At least the test courses were fun for the first five cycles, but now it’s all gotten old, fast… like you.”

Dragstrip shot out of his chair and out the door, knocking Wheelie down on his way out. “If you think you’re going to waste anymore of my time, you can suck on your cheery orange motorcycle’s kick stand!” He was as fast as his mouth, out of sight before Wheelie got back on his feet and Kup could get out the door.

“For one so small he was both quick and quite strong!” Wheelie said, embarrassed. His last words were so very, very wrong. Wheelie shuddered at the mental image and hoped the next problem student would just try to manhandle him: that would be less painful. He began reading the file and shuddered again: Rams other students for fun: see photo. He glanced into the waiting room “Looks like Wildrider is a no show.”

They took a break to get there bearings, and the next two students arrived. Kup and Wheelie entered the first room again, and saw Breakdown, a white car with the same design as Dragstrip, which wasn’t a huge surprise: until you graduate from Basic, you are restricted in body type. “So Breakdown is that why you weren’t here on time?” Breakdown just kept quiet, constantly shifting his gaze around the room, lingering for a minute on the lights, the door, Wheelie, and Kup. “Your attendance isn’t much better than your friends, but we usually find you visiting the Medic and with actual injuries. You seem to get hurt. A lot.” More silence greeted Kup’s concerned gaze. “I want to help you lad, but I can’t if you won’t let me. Wildrider, Dragstrip, Dead End… are they the ones responsible for this?”

Kup had failed a lot of times over his immense life, but it never got any easier. He even checked his notes to make sure the kid wasn’t somehow mute from a recent injury, but he just wouldn’t talk. Kup gave up disgusted he couldn’t get through to someone that so obviously needed help. No use but to press on Kup thought. Wheelie also watched Breakdown leave. He wanted to share his observations with Kup, but he found himself alone in the room: Kup had already entered the next room. It held their last student in need of counseling for the day and must have locked the door without thinking. The student was already talking, and for once Kup was silent.

“You want me to waste time in classes to verify what all the schematics that have been performed in triplicate confirm: that I am perfectly functional? While part of me can dimly appreciate the irony of filling my meaningless existence with similarly meaningless precautions, I don’t really fancy that. I mean, what is life anyway, but an ultimately failed endeavor, fighting entropy as it drags us to the natural state of this universe? We are all but food for rust. I might as well endeavor to enjoy this life while I can, even if that joy is tainted forever by the truth that life is meaningless. We are cosmic accidents. I have tried to relieve the misery by seeking out company, but I am dooming myself to watch them fail in the struggle as I inevitably will, unless I am the lucky one and the first to go.” Dead End continued, but Kup wasn’t really aware of exactly what he was saying. He had processed the first few words, even had planned on pointing out a ‘bot of Dead End’s philosophical bent could dig his treads into the advanced courses once his fundamentals were accomplished, debating to his laser core’s content on a wealth of issues. However the dry, droning voice seemed to drain him. He felt like powering down for a nap right then and there. “You don’t look so good. Far be it from me to prolong our mutual suffering, but perhaps we should continue this conversation after you’ve had a chance to recharge?”

“Y-yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll meet you back here… tomorrow. The same time.” Kup could feel his optics dimming. Why am I so tired? Dead End had already gotten to the door and unlocked it. Wheelie was so concerned that he forgot Dead End, who slipped out of the room.

“Kup, what happened? What is amiss” Wheelie helped Kup out of the room and also wondered Why’d I wait so long to assist? They made their way to the Medic’s office and she said they’d both seemed low on Energon, Kup more so than Wheelie. In the end the medic decided the stress of the day was just more than Kup or Wheelie had realized and sent them home, reminding them to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s meeting.

“I must be out of it; I don’t even remember my own ramblings.” Kup chuckled.

--------------------


“Ha ha! I beat all you flat tires back to base!” Dragstrip failed to grasp that he couldn’t gloat very well if he was the only one in the abandoned junkyard where they liked to hang out. This was probably for the best, as it kept the others from bolting his mouth shut. Dead End and Breakdown arrived next. The last member of their group to arrive was Wildrider.

“Woo-hoo, did you see the damage I caused on the way in here?” Wildrider shouted.

“Yes Wildrider, we noticed as we waited for you to complete your circuitous route. I appreciate your desire for wanton destruction, but let me remind you that it is my brilliance that lulled the old fool practically into stasis lock. I was the only one smart enough to use our little piece of salvage: instead of draining others you lot just ended up burning your own fuel.” Dead End showed them a small, mostly grey orb he had wired to his palm. “I just wish I had time to refine my speech. If he had paid attention, I am sure it would have seemed pedantic instead of enthralling.” Dead End didn’t seem to notice Dragstrip and Wildrider were chucking scraps at a towering pile of debris to see who could knock it down, but since Breakdown’s optics barely flickered and never left Dead End. Breakdown, however, wasn’t listening. He was worrying. No, my injuries aren’t from my… slag I guess they are my friends. Guess they haven’t paid attention to notice how everything “breaks down” around me. Good thing too since it is because I know They are always spying on me, and so I have to smash Their spies to stay safe.

“So, how was ‘the Talk’?” boomed a voice from the shadows. You could tell the young Transformers weren’t expecting it based on the carnage that followed: Wildrider and Dragstrip ended up tackling each other as they both swung around to face the voice while Breakdown whipped out a nice, long pipe he’d scavenged for use as a club. It might have been intimidating if he hadn’t sprung an oil leak as well.

Only Dead End appeared calm. “Perhaps you’d care to introduce yourself before the Stunticons add you to the scrap?”

“You may call me Motormaster, and I can’t stress the ‘master’ enough, as I am your superior in the Stunticons.” The deep voice came closer, revealing a large, stout frame that was mostly black and grey, explaining how something that big had hidden in the shadows so well. At the mention of the word ‘master’, even Dead End’s optics flared, betraying emotion. “You tools think you’re the first Stunticons? I know you malfunctions met others in the few classes you bothered attending. The Stunticons have been around for a looooooong time. You’re just the only ones who didn’t wash out this semester. Congratulations.” To their surprise, he wasn’t alone: the school medic was behind him, prepping her med kit. He glanced back and she nodded. “Now get ready to be schooled.”

------------

Kup reflected over his charges this semester. His four delinquents had gone from perennial no-shows to nearly perfect attendance. His second meeting with them was short and sweet: they were all banged up, but the medic explained she had patched them up after a night of revelry and bad decisions made them realize they needed Basic Training. “Nothing more embarrassing than a Velocitronian who can’t drive.” she’d said. Kup had to admit that they’d really straightened up: oh, Dragstrip was always in a hurry, Wildrider still bulled his way through hallways, Dead End would still go on endlessly about the end, but at least Breakdown was showing up and fully functional. I am just that good Kup grinned as he remembered all his past successes.

In a darkened hallway, off limits for some minor repairs, the Stunticons gathered. “How much longer?” Dragstrip whined to his ‘brothers’.

“With the private ‘tutoring’ Motormaster has lined up for us…” Dead End stopped as Dragstrip stood there looking lost. “…the teachers he’s bribing. Anyway, with their good scores we’ve already finished our remedial work and been accepted into the advanced courses. By the end of the semester, we’ll have the essentials we’ll need to use the upgrades the higher-ups will secure for us. Motormaster says it will qualify us for the rescue patrol, and then we’ll have the tools to do some real damage, plus the authority to get away with it.” They all stood there, their optics shining brilliantly in the darkened corridor, savoring the promises of things yet to come.

Author's note:

Here are the "character models", as it were:

Brakedown GTS as Kup.
Ransack as Wheelie, but until someone can digibash it for me in Wheelie colors, use your imagination.

Got My vote! I've got some questions Otaku, but I'll wait until part 2 incase you answer them then

...ooh its fun to be on the other side of mysteries for a change ....

I really liked this, particularly as a concept of wrapping together Kup's history and an alternate (from the cartoon) origin for the Stunticons. And having all of Wheelie's lines rhyming as he bounced between thoughts and speech was a fun touch!

I liked this, seeing the Stunticons as potential Autobots being warped into Decepticons shows not only a nice idea of how Transformers become who and what they are, but how truly evil Decepticons can be in their manipulations!

Glad you liked it. I am working on a second chapter, but about halfway through it seems to have... fizzled. -_- If I can tell a decent story, I'll continue on. There are a lot of things I planned from the beginning that I haven't even touched upon, plus ideas from conversations with others that make me see things in the story I didn't at first. In fact, I have another thread looking for ideas for Stunticons. I am real picky about naming Transformers, so I am trying to stick strictly to name re-uses. I just have too much experience with writers (and myself) having what they think is this brilliant name... and it just ends up bombing. Besides, I am fleshing out an established universe of characters, might as well finish the homages before getting to the creative stuff.

Anyway, for unintentional spoilers, just look at the other thread (I think it's still on the front page even).

A good name does not a good character make. Just look at half the crew from Beast Wars. Rhinox? Cheetor? Tarantulus? These don't really scream "good" or creative, but good writing made them memorable.

Just like taking a good name and slapping it on a bad character won't make that character any better. Just look at all the Megatrons and Optimus' from the Unicron Trilogy.

I think you missed the point.

Name retention/passing the buck for the win!

I just meant that you shouldn't worry about the names so much. Even if they suck, just write good characters. Good characters trump bad names.

True enough, true enough. I guess I am of the mind that a series like... well, the entire Unicron Trilogy really, and Animated, might as well include as many homage characters as they can. So I guess I just favor using homage characters where it is convenient. So far, that has been everyone I have written about.

I mean, every character in my story, to my knowledge, had no Transformers Armada, Energon, or Cybertron representation. I based the characters on existing toys, which I didn't know if I should list here for fear that it'd count as word usage for the contest. In a week or two (especially when voting is done), I'll start linking to images of the figures I am re-purposing for use as characters.

Oh, and I am aware of the near identically named character Brakedown from Transformers: Cybertron. I figured I could ignore it since a) plenty of people have similar sounding but different names in English and b) in the dialect of Velocitron, who says the names have to be that similar?

that's one of the glorious things about fanfiction...

Alright, if you haven't voted yet, stop reading and vote (even if it isn't for me). All right, now that that is done, enjoy the next chapter (which is not part of the contest, obviously).

Chapter 2: The Other Talk


Motormaster was relaxing in his garage. He busted out some of the good stuff and started fueling up. I deserve this. I burned a lot of fuel puttin’ the latest batch of Stunticons in their place. Sure, being their leader makes it my burden ta bear. It may have been harder than I expected, but boy was it fun. Even if I my hands are gonna need time to recover. Motormaster started lounging in his couch, but instead of seeing what races were being broadcast on his massive view screen that took up the wall across from him, he decided to reflect upon a hard evenings work. Of course, he clicked the view screen on to help reflect, since he’d recorded the event with some drone cameras that, officially, were in for repairs.

“So, how was ‘the Talk’?” boomed a voice from the shadows. You could tell the young Transformers weren’t expecting it based on the carnage that followed: Wildrider and Dragstrip ended up tackling each other as they both swung around to face the voice while Breakdown whipped out a nice, long pipe he’d scavenged for use as a club. It might have been intimidating if he hadn’t sprung an oil leak as well.

Only Dead End appeared calm. “Perhaps you’d care to introduce yourself before the Stunticons add you to the scrap?”

“You may call me Motormaster, and I can’t stress the ‘master’ enough, as I am your superior in the Stunticons.” The deep voice came closer, revealing a large, stout frame that was mostly black and grey, explaining how something that big had hidden in the shadows so well. At the mention of the word ‘master’, even Dead End’s optics flared, betraying emotion. “You tools think you’re the first Stunticons? I know you malfunctions met others in the few classes you bothered attending. The Stunticons have been around for a looooooong time. You’re just the only ones who didn’t wash out this semester. Congratulations.” To their surprise, he wasn’t alone: the school medic was behind him, prepping her med kit. He glanced back and she nodded. “Now get ready to be schooled.”

“Nuh-uh no way!” Wildrider had disentangled himself from Dragstrip and was beginning to pick himself up. “The entire point of the Stunticons was to rebel against you idiots who think they should run everyone’s lives. I’ll be slagged if some fat ‘bot thinks he can waltz in and claim the leadership of the last four Stunticons!” and with that, Wildrider threw himself at Motormaster. Motormaster merely stepped forward into the light and knelt as Wildrider slammed into a gray shin, then continued to kneel down to bring his considerable bulk to bear on Wildrider with minimal effort. This easily pinned Wildrider to the ground, and the sound of metal slowly buckling filled the air. Dragstrip was finally on his feet but it was Breakdown that attacked next, madly flailing away at Motormaster with the pipe. Motormaster seemed to almost enjoy this, probably because it didn’t even scratch him. After a few whacks Motormaster became bored: he caught the crude weapon and with a jerk sent its wielder flying back. Dragstrip one-upped Wildrider by changing to his vehicle mode for a quick burst of speed before slamming into Motormaster, but the loud burst of noise gave him plenty of warning. Motormaster quickly stood and with a kick sent Wildrider into Dragstrip before the young yellow 'bot could get too close.

Only Dead End remained, and he made no actions towards the stranger. He just sat there waiting for a response. “Well, one of you has some common sense and the rest enjoy the classic Stunticon approach to life, so you aren’t too bad. As stated, I am your superior in the Stunticons. I’ve been a Stunticon longer’n you. Don’t give me that look – you guys ain’t the first and won’t be the last. Every group of students has at least a few young bots who realized how tedious these redundant classes are. Most eventually wuss out and accept the status quo. You four may be weak, but at least you got enough smarts to see that it will only get worse. Some young oil drip will get to race instead of you, and you’ll get stuck in the audience, if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky like I was, you’ll be stuck doing everything to help others race… while rotting behind the scenes.”

“So what you’re saying is that I am right and life is cruel in addition to being meaningless? Lovely.”

“No, I am saying you’re gonna listen to me. I am your superior, but as much as I hates saying it, I can’t do this alone. I said we’ve always been around, grinding our gears as we see the garbage they expect us to take. Well, we don’t take it without finding a way to throw it back at them. We Stunticons control a lot of what happens on this planet. Whatever fool is leading the planet has always been to worried about losing his title and obsessed with racing to pay attention to it. After all, most of the day to day work is handled by all those cogs in government most of the population is barely aware of. Soon, though, we’ll finally step into the light and take this planet as our private race track. Most won’t even care as it won’t change their lives one bit. You lot are mine now, so I’ll be making you worth using. And I am used to my orders being followed, as she can attest to.” Motormaster gestured towards the Medic, who was heading over to them.

“Now, she’s going to fix you up while I finish laying down the law. Oh, think that’s funny, smart guy? Just because you didn’t attack me, don’t mean I couldn’t bust you up. All Stunticons gots power and the will to use it, ‘cuz that’s the only way to survive. The only way to thrive! Unlike the rest, the best like me got authority to back it up. I’m head foreman for the entire Department of Road Construction and Maintenance.” Motormaster seemed rather pleased with himself. At least until he noticed everyone staring at the Medic and not him. “You stupid spawn of a glitch, she’ll finish patching you up soon… lessin’ you tick me off and I gotta pound this into your hard drives the hard way. I control where, when, and how the roads are built. Give me a reason ta get rid o you, and no one will find ya unless an earthquake splits the slaggin’ road in two!

“I’m finished here,” the medic said, standing up and collecting her equipment. “Tomorrow stop in for a quick check and then go meet with Kup. I’ll give you your cover stories for what happened here tonight. Motormaster will continue to fill you in on what’s happening. Don’t give him a reason to call me back, as I won’t come. He just explained what happens to faux Stunticons who can’t cut it here on out.”

“He did?” Wildrider looked utterly lost.

“He will deactivate us and hide our offline remains in a building project so deep that a disaster will be required for them to be unearthed.” Dead End stated in his voice that seemed almost bored.

“Oh.” Wildrider’s optics flared as he finally comprehended the threat, and more importantly, the challenge to his courage. “Oh, you think can break me? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it here and now!”

“I want you to return to school like good little ‘bots and attend most of your classes. Skip a few every now and then to avoid being too suspicious, and use that time for special–” Motormaster cracked his neck “–training sessions with me or one of my agents. You’ll also be receiving tutoring to get you caught up and out of your Basic courses early, because to get clearance for the hardware I want for you, you’ll be needed advance coursework.” Motormaster eagerly watched their reaction. Everyone, even Dead End, seemed more scared of this than they had the beating they received. “You tellin’ me some learnin’ is going to make you turn tale and run. Heh, well ‘try’ to run? Oh well, more fun for me.” And the grin on his face was perhaps the most sincere expression they’d seen there.

Dead End spoke again, finally no longer sounding bored, “What is in it for us? You claim power and authority. We can check public records to verify your standing, but what of your power? How do we know you’re not some pencil pusher who snapped?”

“Pft. I show up. I trash all of yous, and have a medic on hand to patch you back up and that doesn’t tell you how much power I have?”

“None of us have completed basic training, so beating my comrades up doesn’t prove anything. Having a medic on hand just means you have connections, and a school nurse doesn’t scream “power”. If you’re lucky, it might show you have a way with femmes.

“Fine you little oil stain, I’ll show you a taste of my power.” Motormaster transformed into the cab of a semi and plowed out of the junkyard.

“Awww, that ain’t nothin! I crash through all of that for fun myself!” Wildrider said, sounding less scared. After a few minutes, they heard rumbling, and saw Motormaster’s vehicle mode barreling back their way. Only… he had a trailer in tow this time. Motormaster headed right for a stunt ramp they’d jury rigged. He crushed it, but still got some air. He left his trailer on the remains, though, detaching it at the last second. He transformed in mid-air, and delivered a diving punch to… the ground in front of them. The four Stunticons found themselves flying anyway. As the dust cleared and they looked, they noticed that Motormaster’s bare hands had left a small crater.

“H-how can you be that strong… ah, now I see” Dead End was now almost impressed with Motormaster. Glowing on his left shoulder was a disc of iridescent red energy. It began to fade, though, and soon just seemed to evaporate. The others noticed it as well, but unlike Dead End, they seemed puzzled by it.

“C-cyber Key?” groaned Wildrider?

“So you tools know what a Cyber Key is.” Motormaster smug look was infuriating as he continued “Well, this ain’t a Cyber Key it’s–”

“An Energon Chip – simply a compact source of Energon, handy for storing, transporting, and administering Energon in otherwise difficult situations. Our large friend here just downed one with his little stunt… but I suppose that is befitting a Stunticon leader.” Dead End struggled not to sound too impressed.

“That’s better. One of the advantages of being a Stunticon is power. Be it access to these tasty treats or the technology to push yourself to your limits by dumping a load of Energon into your system. Stunticons roll faster and hit harder than anyone else. As my troops, you’ll be part of the rescue patrol directly under me. First you slaggers have to finish your basic coursework. Then ya gotta dig in and pass your advanced coursework for the permits required.” Motormaster stopped to take a question, since it looked like Dragstrip was going to pop a gasket otherwise.

“What permits? We don’t need no stink’ permits!”

“We Stunticons are about to take over. We are brave, though, not stupid. We ain’t gonna do it with a big war. We’re gonna do it piece by piece, and using as much of the current system as we can. Why blow up your enemies house when ya can just steal it from him instead, maybe even force him to be your slave? So while we could arm you guys how we liked, it’d out us way too soon and every other Stunticon, be they newbies like you or old vets like me would have to burn too much energy to rightfully take what is ours. So you punks gotta get yourselves in gear and passin’ courses so we can get the permits you need for Stunticon mods. I already showed ya one. There are so many more. Mods that will let us rescue ourselves from the system. With our clearance, we can justify tearin’ all over this stinkin’ planet!” Motormaster noticed they were finally paying attention to him, and only him. ’Bout time! “So go back to your recharge berths, get some rest, and report to the nurse first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure you stick to her story exact: she’s an expert at it! Don’t let it slip that she’s a Stunticon, neither.” Motormaster stared at them until they got up and took off. They were shaken, and followed his instructions exactly, not even discussing this amongst each other.

He didn’t follow them, but any thoughts of ignoring his orders vanished when they saw the bent pipe waiting for them at their recharging berths. He hadn’t shown them his helicopter drone yet, and that was to make sure he had a way to keep them under his thumb without straining himself. Little tools won’t know what is worse: me somehow sneakin’ past them and beating them back to their home, or that I might have had another lackey waiting in the wings, watching them take their beatin’.

Motormaster snapped back to reality as his computer chimed. Heh, a hero’s work is never done. Motormaster sped off to help with a bridge collapse. This should teach’em to under fund my projects. My take home pay was an insult even cutting every corner we could find.

Author's note:

Since they merely received cameos last chapter, I figured I'd link them down here.

Energon Optimus Prime is Motormaster, but once again you'll have to mentally re-color it to fit his classic G1 color scheme.

Ariel Paradron Type is being re-purposed as the as-of-yet unnamed medic.

Mach Alert was first on the scene. It was a secondary road that wound through a mountain valley. At least this is a chance to do more than patrol the main highway. When the call came over my comm. unit, I couldn’t make out much: just that something was wrong. I’d figured it was smarter-than-normal delinquents racing the back roads, but it was on a military frequency. Even after the mess with the Decepticons, we barely have or need a military on this world.

What Mach Alert discovered unnerved him: it had indeed been a military transport. The Planetary Defense Grid, of course. The Planetary Defense Grid is composed of two networks of satellites: one designed almost exclusively for monitoring their star system for incoming threats while the second houses the weaponry needed to destroy anything problematic the first detected. And the cargo is… was the control systems required on the ground. My sensors aren’t showing any signs of personnel or the cargo. As he was about to radio in to dispatch and see if any other units were nearby, he was interrupted.

“I say, some help would be most welcome.” The cry for help didn’t sound especially distressed. In fact, it sounded almost bored.

How on Velocitron did he escape my sensors? The voice came from a gorge at the base of a nearby cliff. In less time than it took to cover the distance, Mach Alert had re-scanned the area. As he stood over the edge, his vision confirmed his suspicion: a combination of topography and debris had masked the energy signature. Except it still shouldn't take a narrow focus scan aimed directly over this area to detect something.

“Coming citizen!” Mach Alert’s mind was racing faster than most of the planets citizenry. My scan says just one mech is buried under the pile; no one else is nearby. He isn’t severely damaged but his power level is low, and he can be safely dug out without the rest of that cliff avalanching down on us. It isn’t too deep, so I should be able make it down there and back up with him. It still seems suspicious, so I don’t feel stupid sending dispatch a request for back-up.

Firing off the request, Mach Alert carefully made his way down into the gorge and cautiously approached the rubble pile. Double checking his readings, he began to dig. I’ll uncover his head first; hopefully he’ll be easier to question that way. The white helmet and crimson face of the mech were dirty, but didn’t show signs of any real damage. “Can you remember your name, rank, and serial number? What are you doing here when your transport was scheduled to follow the super-highway all the way across this sector?”

“My name is Tracks. I rank as the best fashion designer on this planet, and my serial numbers are my personal business. For a cop, you’re as bad as the paparazzi!” the voice was dry and somewhat annoyed sounding. “We were forced to take a detour and then some army grunt pulled us over and began hounding me with questions. I was about to put the rude fellow in his place when unfortunately, my driver did it for me.”

“Your driver?" Mach Alert worried since that meant another unaccounted for victim or possible suspect.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, I have my reasons: as I said, I am the best fashion designer on the planet. I can’t believe you’re not wearing any of my patented Bod Mods… how rude of me. I do make the best, and I suppose they are a bit out of the range of a low-level civil servant,” and Tracks gave what Mach Alert assumed was supposed to be a sympathetic look, but Mach Alert got the feeling Tracks was hoping for a reaction.

Mach Alert maintained his composure, continued carefully excavating and inquiring of Tracks. “I see: so your driver hauls your wares for you?”

“And myself. It’s no good to wear my tires bald traveling between shows, so my driver graciously ferries me with my latest Bod Mods. Besides, someone has to make sure my Bod Mods aren’t damaged during transit. They are in such demand after all. I have all sorts of speed and performance enhancers – all perfectly legal I’ll add – as well as cosmetic Bod Mods, be they chips, programming, paints, or panels!” Tracks paused as if basking in an afterglow.

“And your driver assaulted the guard who pulled you over?” Mach Alert took advantage of Tracks' moment of silence.

“Oh, heavens no. Before my wit was interrupted, I meant to tell you that my driver put that chap in his place, but it wasn’t intentional. Someone sent him flying through the air and he crashed into the guard. I couldn’t get a good read of who did it: my sensors barely registered the assailant. I mean, he was clever: he attacked me with the sun at his back, and the solar radiation blocked a lot of the readings. Even my Bod Modded optics couldn’t perceive more than a dark blur. I tried to get into a better position to teach the cur what for, but he got a lucky shot in and sent me into the cliff. Then the coward blasted the rocks above to bury me. My comm. unit was damaged so feared I was in for a long wait. I think it was only a few cycles before you arrived. Did you see them leaving?”

“No, I think you’re mistaken.” Mach Alert had finished digging Tracks out, and began to help him up. Tracks glared at him, shrugging Mach Alert’s hands off and getting himself up. Mach Alert realized he had offended the high strung, injured mech. “I only mean that your chronometer is likely also damaged. I am sure it’s a high quality piece but combat is combat. Your trailer and driver are no where to be found. Tell me, how long did you know your driver?

Before either of them could continue, another came speeding along the road. Mach Alert recognized the vehicle’s design, but not the energy signature. Looks like someone’s a fan of Blurr... though given that loud, yellow paint job it could be a studied insult instead. As he transformed another difference was quite clear: his head was a reinforced battle mask, his optics barely visible behind his visor. As Mach Alert began dodging their fire, he realized his foe’s weapons were also battle grade. Mach Alert readied his own weapon, derived from the emergency booster rocket under the spoiler of his vehicle mode. “Drop your weapons!”

“Oh, you think you can hit me? Forget that, punk!” with that Mach Alert’s opponent began to glow and he shouted “Cyber Key Power!” and with that the key appeared and quickly slotted into the space on the yellow one’s back.

His appearance isn’t the only thing copied from Blurr: even his Cyber Key grants similar wings and boosters. This guy is a total knock off. Too bad he’s a good one! like the form’s namesake, the assailant went zigzagging around Mach Alert with his blasters going full tilt. Lucky he lacks the skill to go with body: I may not be fast enough to avoid his assault, but I can minimize the damage long enough for me… to find… the pattern! and at the end of that thought Mach Alert discharged his own weapon, not at his target’s legs but across his attacker’s main sensors. Blind and failing to disengage his Cyber Key, at last the streaking figure slammed into the same cliff face that Tracks had been buried under. This time no rockslide buried the crasher. He was still and his energy readings, such as they were, dropped. Pausing to re-scan and be certain, Mach Alert was finally satisfied. “All right. You have the right to remain silent…”

Before he knew it, Mach Alert was down in the gorge as well and the “knock off” had him dead to rights. “I knew it was a lucky shot! You should have made sure I stayed down, idiot!”

“No, stop!” For the first time, Tracks didn’t sound bored. In fact, he sounded terrified as began flailing to draw the newcomer’s attention. “He’s the officer who got here before you and dug me out of the rubble!”

“What?!? Someone beat me here? Me, Dragstrip, part of the Elite Rescue Patrol? No slaggin’ way!” his words were emphasized with exaggerated gestures, and Mach Alert took this time to scan him and try to confirm his story.

I can’t find much about this “Dragstrip” in the Velocitron Police Department Database: a relatively new agent, yet his clearance is beyond my own. I can’t even get permission to try and match his energy signature to the one on-file for confirmation… Mach Alert’s next thought terrified him I can’t even confirm it’s the same signature I scanned as he approached! Mach Alert prided himself on his prowess at tracking. Lots of speeders thought they could lose him, but none ever had. His sensors were thought to be the best on the force. I know I scanned him correctly… yes, there it is again! His energy signature shifts just enough that he reads as a different mechanism when I go to re-scan him, or scan him for more than a cycle.

“Hey meter maid, what are you staring at?" Dragstrip himself was now staring at Mach Alert "Tracks confirmed you weren’t one of the attackers. I mistook you for a straggler. Turns out the military agents were plants and set up a detour. The Stunt Icon here-”

“Stunt Icon?” Mach Alert interjected

Tracks answered the question, sounding incredulous “You’ve never heard of the Stunt Icons? I’ll throttle that Swindler. I told him to advertise more! By now everyone on this planet should know who we are!” Tracks then caught himself, and returning to his normal, bored sounding conversational tone began to explain “The name is derived from one of the major languages spoken on the planet where they found the Omega Lock. Roughly translated, it means someone representative of fantastic, daring driving. I am quite the renaissance robot: an artist not only with design, but my very movement! We chose to use an alien tongue to help draw interest. After all, Override and Hot Shot were both caught regularly speaking in it. Given your rather disappointing reaction, I guess I overestimated the cultural alertness of our fellow Velocitronians. I confess I can’t resist a chance to show off my talents or my wares, and this gives me a venue to do both. In fact, I was actually on my way to our next show. Swindler, he’s my agent and manager, was supposed to have made sure everyone in this hemisphere knew about it. That is the problem with Minicons: sometimes they think too small.” Realization seemed to dawn on Tracks, “That is probably how they knew I would be coming. Figures the wrong sort would pay attention to the ads. And those cads were planning on both robbing me and using my driver and trailer as their getaway car!”

Mach Alert was trying to take it all in, It does make sense that they’d have a high ranked rescue patrol to function as a back-up for the actual military: the military is so new and spread so thin and if something did go down, the Rescue Patrol could most effectively evacuate and protect civilians. Still, something seems off: I think I’ll try and stick close to this case for a bit longer. “Dragstrip… sir. Let me escort Tracks to the nearest repair center. His celebrity status may delay us and someone as important as you are is clearly needed elsewhere. I just need you to clear that with dispatch.”

Dragstrip was happy to get the respect he felt deserved and quickly agreed “Yeah? Yeah! You do that.” Dragstrip radioed it in.

“When will my trailer and driver return so we can get underway?”

Dragstrip chuckled. “Well, that will be a while. Your trailer is going into evidence. Your inventory is also evidence and as such we’ll be taking that as well. Your driver is a vital witness and we’ll have to take him someplace secure. You’ll just have to drive yourself.”

“What?!? I mean, yes, I understand, regaining his composure, Tracks turned to face Mach Alert again. “You heard him then, officer. Let us make haste incase those ruffians managed to cause me real harm. I can’t let this keep me from making my next performance, and if I hurry we can get a shipment of replacement merchandise sent in time as well.”

Mach Alert obeyed, not wanting to annoy the temperamental Tracks: he was now officially the only link he’d have to the case. He is my only official link to this case, so I’ll have to keep him happy. If I don’t, its back to just catching speeders. While that is an important job, I can’t shake the feeling that there is something big going on here.

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Authors note: I posted in a bit of a rush. I finally found a new job, so instead of waiting for inspiration I am just waiting for time to write and post. If you see something you think is a typo or similar error, go ahead and PM me.

I have finally started linking to the existing characters whose models I am using for my own. After all, it is canon that they re-use character models for so many in the Cybertron series, and while I try to be descriptive, Transformers are very visual given their nature and I just can't seem to do them justice without bogging down the story. I know, I originally planned on doing it weeks ago, but life got in the way.

This chapter we have...

Crosswise as Mach Alert. As usual, the paint job isn't right and I still lack the time and know-how to digibash this (volunteers are welcome and encouraged ). His color scheme should match RiD Prowl. That's right, I worked in a Car Robots/RiD homage.

Our "Stunt Icon" fashion designer is brought to life by Cybertron Hot Shot with G1 Tracks' color scheme.

Our first proper Stunticon homage since Motormaster is courtesy of Cybertron Blurr except using Blurr's Armada head. And of course, the whole thing still needs someone to re-color it using his classic G1 color scheme.

to bad the wings weren't out in this picture

Hurray! Thanks Destron: it is nice to "see him" fully.

Some will notice I changed the name of the thread, since it is no longer just my contest entry but an ongoing fic.

Some may also be wondering where the next chapter is. Mostly in my head still. I won't bore with details, but work and a sad, personal matter (my favorite cat, left in the care of my parents on their farm, was killed by stray dogs ) means it is going to be a bit for the next chapter.

Chapter 4

Mach Alert’s mind raced while he sat in the waiting room. He had persuaded Tracks to head to a small, out-of-the-way town for repairs. At first Tracks wouldn’t hear of settling for anything but the best care, but Mach Alert’s quick mind and even quicker vocalizer convinced him otherwise. First he got Tracks to relax by encouraging Tracks to talk about his favorite subject: himself.

“Well, Mach Alert, it was clear even before Basic Programming that I was destined for greatness. I was taught by the instructor who trained Blurr. Alas, he was never able to arrange a meeting, but the venerable mech wanted to focus on me and not his past successes. He knew I needed to become my own bot, lest I become a mere knock off.”

Mach Alert had taken it all in. Tracks had gone on in great detail about his early life and career, though he tended to leave out the names of those he encountered. Mach Alert’s access to the police database allowed him to fill in some of the blanks, but it was a challenge. I have a sneaking suspicion the challenge comes from multiple sources. I am sure Tracks is embellishing the facts. What is listed of his Basic Training scores is indeed impressive, but also woefully incomplete. The second part of it is the lack of information overall. I wonder if he or this “Swindler” Minicon has connections, as any details that could potentially contradict Tracks polished image would fit into the gaps.

“Founding the Stunt Icons was a logical step on my path to greatness. Oh, I know that some of the others you meet later will take credit for them. They did have some crude idea of a performing show. It was my genius that really guided the development, though, and my Bod Mods that make them look as good as they possibly can while performing.” Tracks finally started to cover more recent personal history.

“How many of you are there?” Mach Alert sensed Tracks frustration at no longer being the sole focus of their discussion, so he quickly added “It is hard to believe there is anyone else as talented as you on this planet.”

This seemed to placate Tracks a little. “Indeed, there are only a handful that even approaches my brilliance, so I’ve had to utilize my magnificent processing power and adopt a triple pronged approach. First, I have many protégés that aren’t full Stunt Icons yet. Besides being wonderfully affordable labor, they will gladly test out new stunts for the show, providing a lot of comical mishaps to entertain the crowds and warm them up for yours truly.”

“Second, a lot of the group are actually support staff. Huffer, my poor driver, is indeed a Stunt Icon. He may lack my style and grace, but he still pulls his own weight… several times more, in fact. When in comes to engineering, he’s rather skilled. He contributes a lot to set design, and when he does do a stunt, the crowd loves his pessimistic shtick as he moans and groans and generally makes a fuss. You’d almost think he didn’t really want to be there. Total opposite of his brother Pipes. Pipes is no where near as talented, but his enthusiasm is most endearing. He is always willing to try new stunts. Hopefully Huffer's time with the authorities won't distract him from his duties: he will of course fill in for Huffer until this whole legal mess is sorted out."

Huffer and his brother Pipes have a record for illegally trading in controlled substances. Pure luck neither has been recognized. Or indifference on the part of the local constabulary. This would have annoyed Mach Alert if the next comment hadn’t been even more illuminating.

“Third, we aren’t limiting ourselves to this planet. More and more of the old Cybertronian colony worlds are being discovered, and the cultural differences make some of our rather distant cousins seem as alien as the organic life that is out there. The societies and technologies developed in response to such different colony worlds resulted in a plethora of entertaining options. I say, shouldn’t we be getting off this highway soon? We can be enjoying the sights and sounds of the city soon, and you’ll get to see my adoring public. If we keep going this way, I’d have to get repairs in some small town garage.”

“Certainly sir. Well find a large city where you can find state-of-the-art facilities. I am certain you’ll have ample reporters wanting to hear a personal account of how you were found; buried in debris with your entire shipment of merchandise long gone. At least the military aspect will remain classified, and I’ve heard there is no such thing as bad publicity.”

Mach Alert had gauged Tracks’ ego correctly: after a few cycles of driving in silence, Mach Alert broached the subject again. “Of course, if we stopped by a smaller town, no one would be aware of it yet. As elite as your systems are, you hardly took any damage. Your celebrity would be enough to convince the locals to focus on how a superstar was visiting their town on the way to his next big show, and we might even be able to get all your care for free while boosting your ticket sales.”

Another moment of silence, and then Tracks responded “…You know, officer, I believe I have misjudged you and sorely underestimated your cunning. I shall not make the same mistake again.” Tracks tone seemed apologetic, but there was something else there. Mach Alert was certain he’d overplayed his hand and Tracks would be much more cautious in what he said and when he listened to Mach Alert in the future. “I believe you are correct: between my status as a celebrity and police escort, we shall have far less trouble if we seek a repair bay in a less populated area.” Tracks’ voice returned to a pleasant, conversational tone. “At the next show, we are introducing some new Stunt Icons. A local appearance should allow me to win the sparks and minds of the fans so the fresh faces can’t upstage me. Unfortunately we share our agent so whether I like it or not, I have to have “partners”.

Tracks really doesn’t like the new faces headlining their next show, and it didn’t take any detective work to figure it out: he stated it clearly and repeatedly while we made our way here. At least I learned more about the ‘Stunt Icons’.

Even though he had twice succeeded at his goals, Mach Alert was not happy. I feel like a Decepticon, conning bots into doing what I want. This has got to stop. I may be investigating a mystery, but it’s barely official police business; I can’t justify it as undercover work. From now on, I’m going to blend in with my surroundings except when Tracks actually needs a bodyguard. Given that the medics have given him the all clear and he’s just finishing the paperwork that might not be for long.

A megacycle later, Mach Alert realized how wrong he could be. Well, it is great that the repair work for both of us was free of charge, but I can’t believe how popular Tracks actually is. I really do need to get out more often. He’s nearly toured the entire repair facility, giving autographs to other patients and the staff. Mach Alert’s mind continued to drift: going over and over earlier events while waiting on Tracks. Then he saw something that nearly crashed his systems.

“No.” It is amazing how a single word can contain so much terror. Mach Alert’s training in the police force had prepared him for quite a bit. It wasn’t enough to keep his laser core from turning to ice at the sight of them. The two beings he least wanted to encounter when trying to keep a low profile and maintain his focus had just gotten off the lift to this floor of the repair bay.

“Hoo-wee! Check it out little brother!” the larger, silver mech bellowed.

“Our faaavorite stick in the mud. What are you doing here Mach Alert?” the body design of the second was nearly identical to the former leader of Speed Planet, Override. The voice and blue color scheme clearly were not, but nonetheless were known to Mach Alert.

And once again, a casual scan failed to detect them so I didn’t have any warning. A focused scan confirms it, though. Mach Alert mentally braced himself and then managed to sound politely formal “Greetings. I can’t go into details: official police business. In fact, I am going to have to ask you to turn around and leave. I’ll accompany you down into the repair bay’s lobby, and you can tell me who you’re here to see.

“Whoa there, pardner; our manager Swindler wanted us to look in on our buddy. Some yahoos roughed him up on his way to our next show. In fact, I was hopin’ you could flex your legal muscles and maybe look in on-“

“Tracks.” Mach Alert’s optics twitched as he spoke, and he stopped in front of the lift.

“Wow. Looks like Mach Alert’s keen detective work pays off again. How’d you find out about our new gig already?” the blue mech asked, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Before Mach Alert could answer, Tracks strolled in, a crowd of admirers keeping a respectful distance behind him. “Thanks again for your amazing hospitality. I look forward to seeing you in the audience!” Tracks was looking at the waving fans, but he was rushing towards the lift, arms spread. He hurried them all in and the lift doors closed behind them. “What are you two doing here? You’re supposed to keep a low profile until you’re official introduced at the show!”

Mach Alert’s head was spinning as he connected the dots. These two are the newest Stunt Icons. Why did they have to be Stunt Icons? Reformed Decepticons would be easier to handle and less suspicious than these two; slag militant Decepticons only drew as much attention as they did. Why does it have to be my brothers, Wild Ride and Speed Breaker?
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Author's note: this installment is late for numerous reasons. First and foremost, I am trying to get several chapters ahead before posting, since I keep letting little things slip to soon... or too late. >.> I wanted to at least get one more chapter up before the new year, and this is fairly rough, since right before posting I realized what I should add to it. Hopefully I still have some readers left. I have a decent start on the next chapter already, and more importantly have begun to write down a lot of the finer details I was just keeping in my head. Like what the actual Tech Specs for the characters are. Maybe I'll post some of them.

Oh, and I am trying to learn how to digibash, finally.

A belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Mach Alert is cool no matter what universe he's in.

Good chapter. I like where this is going.