TRANSFORMERS: Aspects of Evil

Written by

Scott D. Harris & Youkokitsune (AKA Hikari)

Chapter 1: "New Arrivals"

Diego Garcia, 1,000 miles south of India, home-base of the Networked Elements: Supporters and Transformers organisation, a joint operation between the United States Army, the British Army and the Autobot warriors. Their ongoing mission was to hunt down and dispose of pockets of Decepticon invaders who posed a threat to the world. In the seven years since they had been established, N.E.S.T. had crushed countless enemy campaigns in every corner of the globe, and with the continued shadow of the interstellar war between the sentient mechanical clans, they would do so again and again, reaching for that bright, bright day when the Autobots could live in peace…if the pen-pushing bureaucrats did not have their way. Garnering support was difficult, but the American government were determined to deport the extra-terrestrial refugees back into deep space. Presently, many Decepticons seemed to have gone into hiding and the members were thankful for this chance to rest and spend time with their families. A skeleton crew were maintaining the island headquarters, so nobody noticed it when the communication array picked up an incoming signal from somewhere outside the stratosphere. A translator programme automatically decoded the message into English on a computer monitor.

…ENDEAVOUR TO OPTIMUS PRIME…MESSAGE RECIEVED…TRACKER UNIT HAS BEEN COMPROMISED…PLEASE RELAY COORDINATES…DO YOU COPY? …IS ANYONE PRESENT?

XXX

High above the planet Earth, a silhouette of a troop transport vessel graced the dusty surface of the Moon. It was cigar-shaped, with two pointed ends and a segmented middle. The name, the Endeavour, was emblazoned across its bow in silver Cybertronian characters. Three of its crewmembers, the captain included, were on-shift, and striving to respond to the broadcast they had received from their ruler on Earth. The captain murmured incomprehensibly to himself and switched off the hailing frequency. The younger of his two crewmates, a contemplative artist by nature, looked up from his hand-held data pad and asked in their native dialect, a jumble of clicks and beeps, "Still can't raise anyone, Prowl?"

The other crewmate, an old warhorse with a voice like rusty nails, piped up before their captain could, "This reminds me of the scouting expedition I led on the northern hemisphere of Zorgax 9."

"Didn't you tell us that was when everybody back at base was destroyed by the indigenous plant-life, Kup?" Prowl countered in a dry manner.

Kup made a sound like huffing through his ventilation shafts, "Listen ya turbo-revvin' young punk! No plan's perfect, ya know!" There was an awkward pause where the only sound was the inner humming of the ship, then the old Autobot continued, "But when all communication is lost, it's never a good thing. I got this feelin' in my processor that something may've gone very, very wrong." His companions looked at him and then at each other. They nodded their heads in agreement.

XXX

Nevada was bathed in warm, comforting noon light. The grounds of St Furman's College were bathed in the ethereal light, an exclamation point on the prideful perfection felt by all. A crowd of spectators stood watching the students receiving their official diplomas, ready to finish ascending that grand ladder of education and climb up onto the platform of the wide world. Positioned behind the spectators were a row of no less than nine vehicles, their metal shells sparkling in the sunbeams; a black truck, a dark yellow 4WD, blue, yellow and red cars, magenta, blue and purple motorcycles and most curiously of all, a whopping great blue truck cab painted with brilliant crimson flames. No one put claim to this rather colourful convoy, and no sound came from them. Everyone, mechanical and biological alike, was deathly silent and listening to the well-dressed man on the stage. He was announcing the last name on the rather lengthy list.

"…And may I present this diploma to the final student in the class of 2013, Mr Samuel A. Witwicky. Well done, my boy, you proved me wrong."

Sam stepped up to receive the holiest of holy documents, looking intellectual but in actuality sweating to death beneath his robe and four-cornered cap. He cast his smiling gaze out to the crowd. Down near the front, his mother was crying waterfalls of joy as his father looked mildly embarrassed while trying to comfort her. Next to them, his long-time girlfriend Mikaela Banes smiled approvingly as the tall, square-jawed Latin-American man beside her gave him the thumbs-up.

The speaker continued, "I speak for not only myself but everyone here at St Furman's when I express how proud but sad we are to see this talented assemblage of students-"

"Get on with it, baldy!" someone called out, followed by a round of stifled chuckles from their compatriots. The speaker took a moment to regain his composure and cleared his throat, "Leaving our hallowed halls. May their futures always be as bright as their minds and imaginations. Thank you." The spectators burst into hearty applause as the students, as is customary, threw their caps into the air.

"Hey, Witwicky," said another student, "wanna come party with us?"

"Love to, guys," replied Sam, "but I got other plans."

"Suit yourself," said the first. "Smell ya later." They punched each other lightly on the fist and went their separate ways. As he made his way to the crowd, his mother threw her arms around him in a bone-cracking hug while sobbing into his shoulder.

"My b-baby's all g-grown up!" she wailed. "I'm s-so hap-p-py!"

"M-Mom!" Sam choked out. "Need air!"

"Let the boy breathe, Judy," said his father. Judy Witwicky gulped to rid the dryness from her throat and let Sam go. She retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of her flowery blouse and dabbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," she chirped. "I…I just…"

"It's okay, Mom," Sam smiled, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He turned to Mikaela and pulled her into a firm embrace, pressing his lips to hers.

"What the heck," the girl spoke softly as they broke for air, "you deserve that one, college-boy." The tall Latino man slid his arms between the couple to push them apart.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he exclaimed, pretending to tell them off. "How's about you two quit tryin' to eat each other so we can get to the beach…and par-tay down!" At this last remark he pumped his fists in the air for emphasis. Sam and Mikaela snickered together at his enthusiasm. Nearby, Mr and Mrs Witwicky decided to leave the kids to their fun and made their way towards their car. As they climbed into the front seats, Mrs Witwicky inhaled and exhaled deeply.

"I always hoped this day would come," she said, "but I never expected it, you know? I mean it seemed only yesterday that I looked down into Sammy's giggling face for the first time, all chubby and beautiful…now he's a big man, and…and he's got his own life too."

"Yep, our boy sure hit the jackpot," Mr Witwicky nodded, then added slyly, "the kids are off to celebrate, why don't we go home and have a little 'celebration,' of our own, hmm?"

"Oh, Ronnie, you bad boy!"

Outside, a voice within the blue sports car grimaced in a juvenile fashion, "Dude, gross."

"Jolt, quit spying on the humans," scowled an older voice from the dark yellow 4WD, slapping the smaller vehicle with a swing of its door.

XXX

The sizzling of beef burgers and frankfurters was intoxicating. The flames under the charcoal grill were like orange rivers between jet black landmasses. To Sam Witwicky and his friends, a barbecue on the beach was the absolute ultimate way to celebrate his achievement. Their tall Latino friend flipped a burger expertly from his spatula to the bun waiting on the cardboard plate.

"Order up!" he said, handing it to the man of the hour.

"Thanks, Raoul," said Sam, "and, uh, thanks for coming all the way from New York to look after Mikaela while I was away."

"Hey, she's my cousin," Raoul replied, shrugging off the younger man's remark as if it were trivial. "An' 'sides, the Big Apple was gettin' kinda stale, y'know? Down here in Tranquility, a mechanic can talk shop with the cars themselves an' if that didn't make the trip worthwhile, I don't know what did." He briefly gestured with his spatula to the nine Transformers who were spread out in their robotic forms of varying sizes. The smaller ones were on the beach itself while many of the larger robots stood on the grassland just above them. A purple-bodied female was inspecting the hot dog in her clawed hand with curiosity.

"So…what do I do with it?" she asked.

"Eat it, duh," replied Mikaela, taking a bite from her own to demonstrate. It is a rare thing to ingest a hot dog without getting a trace of ketchup on one's lips, but like most women, Mikaela Banes could do it flawlessly, as was their odd nature.

"Go on, Corona, take a big ol' bite."

The purple robot hesitated, then opened her mandibles and slid the hot dog into her mouth. She chewed slowly for a moment, then clapped her palms together while making a happy electronic chirping sound. Her two sisters, Arcee and Chromia, shook their heads in unison. Another Autobot not much taller than the fem-bots placed his hand against his the side of his head and released a groan from his damaged vocal module.

"Hey, ease up, Bumblebee," said Sam, patting his trusty car on the leg, "relax and enjoy the party." It was at this point that the conversation was interrupted by excited yapping, followed by a terrified squeal as two small things came bounding across the sand towards the group. The first thing was a minute blue robot with bug-like golden eyes. The other was the Witwicky family's Chihuahua, Mojo.

"Miss Mikaela, he-e-elp!" the robot shrieked, leaping forward and wrapping all four of his limbs round the woman's left leg. He crawled up to her thigh and started wagging one hand at the yapping dog while urging him to shoo away.

"Mojo, sit!" Sam commanded, and the dog obeyed. "And Wheelie, get the heck offa Mikaela you little chrome creepazoid!"

"Aw, leave Wheelie alone, Sam," said Mikaela, picking up the diminutive Autobot and cradling him like a pet (though to be fair, that had been more or less the role he played since they first met back in 2009).

"Gimme a break," Sam huffed, "sometimes you show more affection for that little robo-rat than you do for me."

"Well, at least he's faithful," Mikaela said curtly, intentionally repeating something she had said five years ago. Sam could feel his cheeks heating up as a tell-tale blush spread over his features. He turned away and started wolfing down his hamburger.

"Woo, domestic," Raoul chuckled. Up on the grassland, Ironhide turned to Ratchet.

"So much for them wanting to mate," said the black warrior.

"On Earth, some females eat their mates," replied the yellow medic. Ironhide said nothing. Earth was strange enough already, he did not appreciate that rather surreal mental image, amusing as it appeared. Perhaps I should warn Bumblebee.

XXX

The Endeavour continued its slow crawl towards the blue planet below. They still had no idea where on this Earth their comrades were and frankly, Prowl was not willing to make a move until they received some kind of answer. The shift was changing and their other three crewmates were making their way to the ship's command bridge. A youthful, athletic soldier stood in Prowl's way as they met in the hallway.

"Still nothing from Prime?" he asked. Prowl shook his head.

"In that case I reckon we should go down and look for them!"

"Don't be foolish, Hot Rod," said Prowl sternly. "We have no idea what's on that planet. Going in without assessing the situation would be tantamount to a suicide run. You should know that." When Hot Rod tried to respond, Prowl raised his hand to silence him, then marched towards his quarters.

"You know," said Kup, "when I was a young 'bot, I would've gone no matter what my superior said if I thought it was the right thing to do."

"And you taught that boy everything he knows!" Prowl exclaimed as his ventilation shafts chattered in the robotic equivalent to a shocked stutter. He turned to head after his young charge, but the next thing he felt was the vibration of roaring thrusters. Unable to maintain his balance against their sudden increase in speed, Prowl crashed into Kup, who crashed into their artistic companion and all three of them slammed into the wall.

XXX

Heathrow was the largest of the United Kingdom's airports, third most active in the world and number one for handling international passenger flights. Prestigious, organised, efficient, though nobody expected it to be the landing site of an alien spacecraft. The black, almost cylindrical vessel appeared like a magician emerging from a tank of water, screeching down towards the ground faster than any aeroplane. For a second, the crew in the control tower thought it was a shooting star, but that was before they could make out the seamless edges and the familiar dark red emblem staring out at them from just above the nosecone.

"Control tower to all incoming flights, veer away!" cried the operator with urgency.

"This is flight 84," crackled a response, "what's going on, control tower?"

"A bloody great spaceship! That's what's going on! Now veer the hell away!" The planes swerved like dancers in the atmosphere as the Autobot ship streaked past them like a great, black phantom. Mere yards from the surface of the runway, it stopped dead, its thrusters shutting down to be replaced by gentler hover turbines. Six landing legs slid smoothly out of the sides and it touched down. All sound from the ship dissipated and it was deathly quiet and still.

"If the Ministry of Defence don't know already," breathed the operator, "let them know."

XXX

Jason Pringle, the Secretary of State for Defence, sat in his office at the M.o.D.'s Whitehall headquarters, viewing the surveillance footage brought to him by his subordinates. He rubbed his temples and sighed. He had just been given the job, and quite frankly he did not feel ready to deal with an interstellar incident just yet. He looked at the lines of bureaucracy available to him and then made his decision.

"Let the Yanks deal with it, the robots seem to like them. Get John Keller on the blower."

"Yes, Mr Pringle," his assistant nodded.

XXX

The call reached Keller at the Pentagon and within the hour, it had been relayed to Optimus Prime himself. Leaving the majority of his warriors to continue enjoying the beach party, the Autobot leader, accompanied by Ironhide, swiftly returned via boat to the base at Diego Garcia. They were greeted by a 40-something man with olive skin, dark eyes and a receding but distinguished hairline. Agent Reginald Simmons, formerly of Sector Seven, had been reinstated as a government official, only now his main duty was acting as a political liaison between the White House and N.E.S.T. (or as certain soldiers called him, 'the Autobots' secretary). He had proven himself during the big battle of '09 (referred to as 'the Egyptian Conflict') and so, despite previous friction with the organisation, was welcomed into it. As the great blue Peterbilt rolled up with the black Topkick in tow, Simmons saluted them.

"The Secretary of Defence is on the phone," he reported, "he wants to speak with you, Optimus Prime."

"Understood," the mighty truck responded from somewhere inside its cab. With a whir of gears and pistons, thousands of mechanical parts shifted and reintegrated themselves into two towering robot warriors. They went inside the base, a collection of connected balconies and stairways set about with enough space in-between for the Autobots to move unhindered. Simmons quickly climbed up to a platform and grabbed the phone receiver lying on its side. Optimus nodded in acknowledgement and the agent punched a button on the side of the cradle, transferring the call to the loudspeakers hanging beneath the platform.

"Prime, this is Keller," boomed the amplified voice of the Secretary of Defence, "you weren't expecting any, uh…relatives, were ya?"

"Not to my knowledge, Mr Secretary," replied Optimus in some confusion. "Have more protoforms made planet-fall?"

"If by 'protoforms,' you mean 'whacking great black cigar,' then sure, why not?"

"Cigar…" Optimus paused, turning to a nearby computer terminal. A thin beam of blue light shot from a point on his forehead becoming a conduit between him and the computer's internet connection, downloading the information straight to his processor. After a split-second, the connection faded and he responded, "You mean the ship was shaped like this 'cigar'?"

"Hit the nail on the head, Big Red," said the voice of Keller.

"It could be the Misson," Ironhide chimed in, "or the Brightstar, maybe the Gideon…"

"Or the Endeavour," said Optimus, "I know for certain Prowl's crew made it off Cybertron alive. Mr Secretary, where did the ship make touchdown?"

"Heathrow Airport," replied Keller, "I hope you like fish and chips, Prime, because you're heading for Britain."

XXX

The two Autobots, accompanied by a small platoon of N.E.S.T. soldiers, arrived at the airport in good time. Throughout the whole voyage, Optimus had been trying to open a hailing frequency with the vessel, but there was no response, and an increasing feeling of disconcertion welled up inside him. What if something had happened to the crew? Could they have been intercepted and boarded by Decepticon raiders? The thought sent a chill down his spine. Rolling up the runway to the vessel, Optimus and Ironhide shifted back to their humanoid shapes. The Autobot leader reached for a specially built megaphone carried on a military jeep and put it to his steely lips.

"Crew of the Endeavour," he said, his rough, deep tones echoing through the megaphone, "this is Optimus Prime. If anybody in there is still functional, please respond."

"Don't you know it's rude not to answer when someone calls you back?!" Ironhide thundered in Cybertronian. Optimus moved to silence him but within an instant, the door of the ship was blasted open and a hulking, steely blue figure rampaged across the tarmac, grabbing the (surprisingly) shorter robot by the shoulder and shaking him vigorously.

"Don't you speak to me about manners, ya little glitch!" Kup snarled. "I was teaching you about manners when you were just a hatchling!" Two heads peered carefully round the side of the door; one was boxy with two yellow fins curving out of the sides, while the other was rounder with a solid, wraparound faceplate and long, pointed ears.

"What a welcoming committee, eh, Wheeljack?" chortled the first.

"Tell me this is just a nightmare, Sunstreaker," groaned the mortified second. Optimus slid his arms between the ranting elderly robot and his former charge in an attempt to play the referee.

"Kup," he said, "I'm sorry for Ironhide's rudeness, but please calm yourself, you're worrying the humans." Kup glanced at the gathered N.E.S.T. soldiers, government operatives and airport staff clustered together a few yards from them. All were on tenterhooks, either clutching their weapons cautiously or striving not to wet themselves in fear. After a thoughtful pause, Kup shrugged, "A little fear's good for 'em. Reminds 'em they're alive."

"Be that as it may," Optimus said, clearing his throat for emphasis, then realised he was not sure quite what to say, "it's…it's good to see you again." As this conversation continued and the Autobot leader explained the basic rules that their species had to adhere to on Earth, a purple car drove into the airport car-park. Inside, there was the crackle of a communicator and a gentle, commanding voice murmured, "Strika to mother-ship, the target has reached terra firma. Will continue monitoring and report any significant findings.

THIS IS OUR CAST LIST

FOR THE NEW CHARACTERS

IF WE WERE ACTUALLY MAKING THIS MOVIE.

Tilda Swinton..........STRIKA (Lotus Elise)

Jonathan Rhys Meyers...SUNSTREAKER (Lamborghini Murciélago)

Alan Rickman...........PROWL (Ford Granada Mark II)

Bruce Campbell.........KUP (Renault Radiance)

Adam Savage............WHEELJACK (Nissan Cube)

Jason Statham..........HOT ROD (Dodge Charger LX)

Stephen Fry............TRACKS (Chevrolet Corvette C6 ZR1)

Anthony Anderson.......JOLT (Chevrolet Volt)

Helena Bonham Carter...CORONA (Ducati 1098)

Ben Barnes.............RAOUL BANES