Hello. I just wanted to say, I DO NOT own the TFs. I DO, however, own Draft and her trine, thank you very much. The others…and the whole Seekess thing…I don't own. Duh. Anyway, enjoy!
"Oh, slag, it's them!" one of the ground soldiers screamed. He couldn't help it; jet alt mode, wings, arm-mounted rifles…All pointed to his immediate death.
"Slag it all!" one of his comrades yelped. He threw down his weapon (which probably wouldn't have done him any good anyway) and held his hands up. Not that they usually took prisoners. Still…they could always hope, right?
"Primus, save us, it's the Seekers!" another soldier yelled.
"Which ones?" someone who wasn't quite so up close and personal with the elite troops asked.
"Does it matter?" the first soldier demanded. "We're just as dead, whether it's the rainmakers, cone heads, or….Primus, I hope it's not those psychos."
"Wait a cycle! Those aren't Decepticons!" his friend exclaimed.
"What?" someone at the back gasped.
"I think you've got a few million wires crossed," someone else agreed. Then the first soldier got a clearer look at the 'Seekers', and saw something was different.
"No, no, it's true! Look! Look at their wings! They've got the Autobot insignia on their wings!" he shouted, his own disbelief evident in his voice.
"Hey, they're right! They're Autobots, like us!" another soldier cried. The whole squad was nearly shaking in relief. They'd been fighting the Decepticons for almost a stellar cycle, and they were close to being overrun.
"No," a new voice – one none of them knew – contradicted. "Not like you." One of the three newcomers was talking to them, having landed in time to hear the end of their conversation.
"Holy slag!" the squad leader whispered. "They aren't like us! No, they're girls – Seeker girls!"
"Seekesses," the leader, an optic-smarting scarlet, corrected. "We're Seekesses. I'm Draft. Are you boys ready to kick some Decepticon skidplate? We are."