Basically, it involves putting Transformers into the main 616 Marvel Universe.
Now, with the impending release of 80.5 for IDW ReGeneration (aka Marvel Transformers) in May, it would be completely remiss of me to not also bring back MU:TF from it's inactive state with some new continuing stories, also for a limited time and run...
Don't worry, you won't have to read the archive of old stories...everything will be relatively "caught up" within the introduction story (but not to such a point that it detracts from said intro...).
That being said, there's going to be a "one-shot" of four titles set to be released:
Ghost Rider "Spark of Humanity"
Spider-Man "Web of Intrigue"
Transformers "Generation 2"
And, because you were extra special enough to read that, I'm rewarding with a preview of Ghost Rider
The darkly lit bar was a reflection of its drunk denizens within its dusty carapace. A ragged figured opened the creaky wood door, as the regulars paid no heed to the newcomer. His beard was ragged and wild, a black labyrinth of
soot and unknown sediments. The leather jacket seemed to mirror the beard, itself a magnet for the elements of the streets. Underneath the jacket, the few knife gashes and bullet holes hidden by an oddly untouched black t-shirt.
The worn black leather chaps over a pair of faded and holey jeans completed the ensemble of a destitute road man. The man briskly walked up to the bar, with his brown leather boots clomping upon the wooden floor.
The portly bartender, accustom to such hubris, simply asked the clich? favored expression of those of his trade.
"What will you have mister?"
"Jack and coke, double. No ice." The man promptly sat down to a loud squeal of the stool. He was met with the sounds of drunken disapproval; he merely slid over to the next stool.
"In town for long mister?" The bartender belted out yet another time honored question.
The man was no fool and knew the true purpose of the question. "Just wanting a good few drinks without much trouble other than the headache in the morning. I'm quite used to that one."
The bartender seemed a bit more relaxed by the answer. "You and everyone else in here."
"I'm quite certain they don't have headaches like mine." The man swiftly grabbed the glass and swallowed the contents in seconds, and motioned for another.
"Is this going to be cash or credit?" The bartender hesitated before pouring another.
The man swiftly showed the bartender a 100 dollar bill deftly wrapped over a plethora of one dollar bills, without any of the other regular patrons catching onto the display. "Cash."
The bartender gave a nod. "Appreciate that."
The next drink was more a triple than a double, as some other patrons entered the bar.
"Hey there Smitty." One boisterous voiced boomed into the bar, as the nearly ghost white man with a buzz hair sauntered as he saw the new face, along with his equally and similarly hick dressed compatriots. "You're actually getting new customers. Will wonders ever cease?"
"My name's not Smitty." The bartender only mumbled loud enough for his new
patron, which was more of a warning of trouble ahead. "What will you gents have?"
"Aw, skip the pleasantries. We ain't here for the drink this time." As if on cue, it seemed most of the regular patrons left their spirits behind and fled out the door before fearing becoming spirits themselves.
The bartender gave a sigh. "Let my new friend take his leave before we conduct our business."
The man looked at the five gentlemen, and just merely shook his head. "Being as I'm a stranger to these parts, I thought I should receive a more proper and cordial introduction."
The leader of the gang shook his head. "Out of towners are called that for a reason, get out of town."
The man simply laughed at the puzzlement of the gang leader's minions. "Oh man, that was horrible, even your boys here agree."
The leader merely gave dark glances to the various equally horrible denying looks. "What the hell?"
"You have no idea." The man dismissed the presence of the gang by motioning for another drink.
The leader asserted his crew and proceeded to step to the man. "I'd like to show you my idea of hell."
"Okay, good recovery." The man stood up. "Today's not a good day for you to conduct your normal business. Be on your way."
The leader, more expecting pleading or some form of submission, look dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"
"Be on your way." The man seemed to reach within his pocket and seemed to grasp whatever object was hidden within it's depths.
"I hope that's a gun and not a knife my friend." The leader snapped his hands as his cohorts produced various bullet shooting armaments.
The man merely produced a part of a circular stone artifact. "Actually, it's just a medallion."
"He's going to go all Gandalf on us?." A burly cohort blurted as the focus was drawn to him for a moment. "What?"
As the man whispered incomprehensible words, he screamed as he was seemingly engulfed in fire. The gang could merely watch the transformation of the man's head dissolved into a skeleton that was alight with ungodly flames.
"The blood of the innocents reeks upon your souls." The inhuman gravelly voice seized up all the men with a chill. "And, the Ghost Rider shall seek vengeance."
Just as the spiritual demon was about to proceed with his threat, the klaxon ring of police sirens were a welcome solace to the gang.
"Screw this, I prefer the cops!" The leader rushed out of the door, with the bumbling followers behind.
"You shall not escape penance so fast." The Ghost Rider quickly followed the escaping men, and for a moment, the entity seemed as confused as the men outside the bar.
A lone white patrol motorcycle, perhaps a relic some thirty years old, stood on its own idling with a low hum. Each of the gang members were avoiding the motorcycle and running toward their escape vehicle.
"That's his ride!"
"I thought it was suppose have flames and stuff too!"
"I don't care how he's controlling that bike, let's just get out of here!"
The men quickly entered into their car, and proceeded to make a quick exit. The Ghost Rider finally seemed less entranced with the spectacle of the standing motorcycle as the crooks made their exit, his focus now became about
their pursuit. With a quick jump, the Ghost Rider reached out and touched the motorcycle with his hand. As the ethereal flames transferred into the bike, it did not begin to shift with the burning fires. Rather, it jumped and
squealed as though it reacted in pain. The Ghost Rider uttered long dead words as the flames down died from his host, as he resumed human form, and transferred completely into the bike. The medallion moved itself by way of slow flame to the gas cap as the human slipped into unconsciousness on the concrete driveway. The motorcycle idled only for a moment as the wail of true sirens alerted it. It produced a similar looking human solid hologram atop its seat as it changed its color to jet black, as it sped in the opposite direction of the sirens.
The motorcycle stopped for a moment as its holographic rider dissolved away. It attempted to change back to its pristine white coloration, but the fiery flames fought it back to jet black. The motorcycle seemed to spurt out a
bunch of wild frantic vocalizations that one would equate to cursing. Finally, it stopped the fight and allowed the black coloration to stay. After the fight, it seemed only to rest for a moment.
With clockwork precision, gears and mechanisms began shifting and altering, as the back of the motorcycle split in half and extended into legs, the central engine and body converted into a chest like structure, the front of the
motorcycle folded into the back, as a head was formed above the chest. As the robot was now in its more humanoid form, it seemed to constantly scan its arm and legs, almost in a feline-like manner. The process took three times, each one seemingly more intensive than the rest. As it shook his head, it changed back once more into its
motorcycle form. It produced the leather bound rider atop its form, and proceeded once more onto the open road.
Edited by Blacknife, 26 April 2012 - 10:47 PM.