This story could go on FOREVER. He might end up in like, france, and terrorize the french or something. I dont know.

&& i dont own transformers.

It was like falling. That was the easiest way to describe coming to life so suddenly. It was like he had been falling all of his life and was plunged into consciousness. There was a millisecond of thought, the first things coming to his mind being a violent gibberish, sounding somewhat like 'blurabagahbagahboo'.

He felt cramped, like he was bound together. He strained as hard as he could and...apendages exploded from all over his body.The cage that contained him burst open with ease, sending coins out in all directions like shrapnel. He shifted and changed and locked into place. Now he had arms and legs, a head. And a gun. With no direction in life, no purpose, nothing to fuel him but pure and powerful energy he screamed. Things around him scurried off in all directions. This upset him, these screams and these things.

He did not know why but it upset him. He did not know anything but he was very angry. He raised his right arm and tapped into some part of his mind that allowed him to shoot from the mounted gun. If felt good, as every carbonated missile launched he got a tingle of pleasure, of relief. So he kept shooting. He shot at the running things, they seemed the best thing to target. Target. He didn't refer to it by that name but in his mind he knew that when he aimed his projectiles at something he was targeting. Seconds into creation, he was learning.

Then, something came from his vocal processor. A laugh. He wasn't aware but perhaps something he was feeling caused him to emit sound.It was like when he screamed, it came without him knowing. But then he knew. He knew how to make sound and he knew how to move. Baby steps.


Run like hell, run like hell run, run, dammit run! Rodney screamed to himself. It was a drive to the office, like every other day. But unlike every other day there were giant monsters duking it out in the middle of the road, shooting missiles and guns at each other. All he could do was abandon his car and run in the other direction. Jump over this, avoid that. He ran like hell.

When he thought he had gotten far enough away from the monsters, he stopped and leaned over the hood of a car, catching his breath. "Thirty seconds and i-" FLOOP. He found himself on the ground, holding his head. A little bit of blood appeared on his hand when he observed it, it seemed to be mostly blunt trauma.

Halfway into his attempt to stand up, he was hit with something else, in the shoulder. This time it exploded with cold liquid. For a second he thought it was his blood. He reached over and touched it. Too thin to be blood, what the hell?

He brought his hand, soaked in the liquid to his nose. He sniffed in. "Is that, is that Mountain Dew?"


It was like a child playing. He must have fired off over a hundred missiles already, and gotten quite good at aiming. The environment started to make sense to him now. These running things were the life form. They were different from him. They were not him. He understood. The road he walked on was black, and littered with abandoned metal objects.

The smaller gray road to his right was un littered by these things, and so he stepped over to the sidewalk. It had been an hour and every time he tried to shoot a missile the chamber was empty and it would click. If he did not attempt to shoot, however, the chambers would begin to fill with new missiles. His young mind came to the conclusion that the longer he waited, the more he could shoot again. He liked to shoot.


In the events of the battle, nobody cared to notice the six-foot tall machine walking off into the distance, out of the city, into the desert...