Sapphire225: Bwahahahaha! I made another story! This one, however, is more serious and stuff. Anyway, this story is called Human Retaliation and, well…just read.
Disclaimer: Think about it people. If I really owned Transformers, Do you think I would be on this site? However, I do own the humans in the story. And no, this isn't a Mary Sue, nor is it about a girl or about one person. Remember, Optimus Prime has lost to Megatron this time in the final episode, and the surviving Autobots were fighting back against his Decepticon forces…or, they had. Oh, and Unicron was finally destroyed since OP was killed. Anyway, let's begin the story.
Cybertron's moon was now gone. It existence now oblivious to reality as it seemed to have disappeared from the universe. The former threat was now only a small memory at the moment. Bigger matters stood in the way. The Autobot leader was permanently offline. He had plunged into the gigantic planet-eaters maw, and seemed to immediately vanish along with the monstrous devourer. It was a very confusing battle. It was hard to decide what the victory was for. Was it to mourn for the loss of the Autobot Commander? Or was it to celebrate the defeat of Unicron?
Either way, the questions would never be answered, since the Decepticons decided it would be a different day. It would be the day the Decepticons would claim dominance and reign.
Three months later…
It was over. They had lost. The opaque sky hadn't changed ever since the defeat of Unicron. But on Cybertron, it was different.
The ground was illuminated by the lifeless dissembled bodies of the soldiers. It was impossible to not find them. They had lain sprawled out across the metallic floor. Energon seeped through most of their bodies. Glass from shattered optics pierced their arms and legs. Some even their sparks. There were limbs scattered about, static protruding from the torn wires and quickly fading. Heads of the fallen were also scattered about, far from their own bodies, with faces of horror planted upon their faces. Some of the faces weren't full, as some were either torn from the rubble or from the blast, leaving small bits and parts lying about.
The whole battlefield would have seemed to be an open grave, if it weren't for that one survivor.
He held his arm socket, where his arm used to be, energon seeping between his fingers and spilling onto his disembodied arm. He clenched his teeth, trying to withstand the pain, but with very little success. The right side of his visor was shattered and the glass scattered across the ground. His body was beyond his internal systems to repair. He would have looked for help if it weren't for one thing. The only thing that stood in the way of being able to live another day...
His legs were gone.
The explosion had been so huge; he was surprised that he was the only survivor. He didn't know if he was the only one, but the fact that he had lost the ability to stand or even lean upward to look around made him come to that conclusion.
He wasn't comfortable in his disposition. He could barely move and was surrounded by his fallen comrades. He couldn't understand why the heck an Autobot rookie, such as himself, was able to survive instead of his higher ranking comrades, some his friends. They had more experience. They had survived much more battles he had ever fought. They were more likely to survive.
So, why didn't they?
Why did his Commanding Officer sacrifice his life if it were to be only taken in vain? Was the war over the minicons meaningless? Both factions had raged war for millions of years, and it so happens that the Decepticons were winning...
No, the Decepticons won.
However, the Autobot youth was interrupted from his thoughts when he heard faint clashes of metal against metal. 'Someone's coming…'
As the steps grew louder, the damaged soldier twisted his head to his right, his cheek lying against many glass shards, which scratched his cheek a bit. Through his undamaged optic, he was able to make out a figure. To his relief, it was coming for him, as if he had heard his silent mental cries for helped. He had abandoned all hope an hour ago, not long after he came back online.
As the figure came closer, the young mech's voice began to return. With a strain, mainly because his jaw was in so much pain, he was able to mutter only one word.
Even though his voice was barely audible, it seemed that the newcomer was able to hear him. The figure came closer and closer. The Autobot's hopes were near its peak, as the figure came towards him. It was until the figure was now only a few meters away until the young robot was able to make out the figure. He focused the right side of his visor to the mech's shoulder, hoping to find the insignia that would reassure him that he would be able to live to see another day, or at least know that he wasn't alone.
His hopes dropped to absolute fear.
"I'm sorry. But you won't find that here…"
It was clear. The figure was a decepticon. He wasn't Cyclonus, but he was sadistic. Probably even more sadistic than the Helicopter bot' himself. His form towered over the petrified rookie's body. Even if he could stand on his legs, which were missing, he would have measured the bot to be at the most a few meters taller than him.
The decepticon kneeled down to the gravely injured survivor's side. He looked like the fallen loner, who had given up his life in order to show the danger of the planet-eater which threatened to devour Cybertron. Only, he was green and silver, with his red maniacal optics met his frozen visor.
As if hell had opened its doors, a gun slowly rose from the decepticon's side and hovered only a mere meter from the young mech's forehead. With a sadistic grin, the enemy let out a chuckle and lowered his head to the traumatized youth's audio receptors, his gun lowering with him, trailing itself to the side of the Autobot's temples. Then, he whispered his greeting.
"Welcome to death's door."
And with absolutely no remorse, he pulled the trigger.
Date of Creation: Unknown
Wow. I forgot what made me make this story. I got part of the idea from Ashana's story, Revolution. Anyway, please review. Criticism is welcomed.