AN: Welcome to my little experiment. For the entire month of February I will be working on this story as a challenge to myself. From a list of 100 themes, I'll choose twenty-eight to write one chapter every day that is 200 words or less in length (minus any AN I might include). If you're a follower for one of my other stories, then you can see how this would be a bit of a challenge for me ;P. I'll also be writing it all in first person because I have very little practice with that perspective, and the ultimate goal is get this little story completed by the end of the month.
Each chapter will be named after the prompt I used for it, and the list I'm using can be found on the dA group 100ThemesChallenge (Variation 1). The story will also be set in the Prime universe prior to "Out of His Mind". With all of that out of the way, I hope you enjoy :)
Word Count: 200
My number is R-49S-7.
I am like any other Vehicon within the Decepticon ranks.
I work. I fight. I obey.
The only thing that sets me apart is the weld mark that runs down the armor of my left leg. It was deemed unnecessary and a waste of supplies to properly repair by our current leader, Lord Starscream. Others within our ranks sport similar shoddy medic work after battles—a patch of scratches here, some weld marks there.
However, I am the only one whose welds are specifically placed on the left leg. It's shaped like the lightning I've seen on the isolated plains on this world. One jagged line travels from the knee joint to my ankle joint, occasionally branching out in thin lines.
Other than that, I am nothing special. I am the same color, build, and personality as all of the other drones. I was built to serve the Decepticons cause; to be loyal to our true leader; to be expendable.
So how the frag did I end up waking up in a human's body shop with this nutjob banging out the dents on my frame after an Autobot ambush I was supposed to be offlined in?
Transformers © Hasbro