Transformers Prime

A/N: These are gonna be som short stories about Team Prime turned into humans. Got this idea based on the G1 episode, "Only Human". Also Arcee's 'humanized' appearance as a human is based on the cover image that I take no credit for. That goes to BlurrzFire on DeviantArt. Also, this story is not serious in any sense of the word. Characters may or may not be in-character. I don't know, i'll play it by ear.

"Prime!"

Optimus sighed softly in preparation for what was possibly another complaint of a destroyed military base.

"Yes, Agent Fowler?" Prime responded calmly, effectively masking his just slight annoyance. He turned his head from regarding the monitor Ratchet was currently analyzing and pivoted his body to regard the government official through the monitor.

"It looks like Team Prime will be doing their first innercity mission," the dark skinned man uttered. His expression was hard to tell, but there was definitely amusement in there somewhere.

"I do not follow," Optimus admitted, not quite getting where Fowler was going with this. Ratchet was at Optimus' side, next to the monitor, and he only grunted in response.

"It means one of you 'Bots need to bridge over to New York. Apparently, a Wanted Man needs to be thwarted before he gets his hands on some important technology."

Arcee had overheard when she walked into the command hub and snorted in amusement. Trying not to hold back a laugh, she interruped Fowler with a question.

"Wait, you want us to do what? Isn't that what you're 'police' are for?" Arcee asked with air-quotes. Even though she didn't sound sarcastic, Fowler had to frown in annoyance.

"Judas Priest-" Fowler growled in annoyance and pinching his nose. "I'm gettin' to that! Apparently, the technology is of 'Bot and 'Con origin." Fowler looked down, and as he was on a screen, he must have been referring to a sheet of paper.

"A...Cardinal Psychic Pack?"

Optimus' optics widened in response. "A cortical phsyic patch," he muttered in thought. "This man, he was associated with mech?" Optimus guessed.

"Yes, Indeedy. You need someone stealthy to either retrieve or destroy the object. Thought you guys should know since this tech is kind of your jurisdiction."

"Optimus, allow me to do it. A motorcycle can get through a lot of areas in the streets. And i'm the smallest."

Prime glanced at Arcee as she pitched her reasonable argument. She was his first choice to scout and retrieve the psychic patch next to Bumblebee. "Very well," Optimus agreed.

"A psychic can be useful technology to reverse-engineer. Another necessary addition to healing equipment," Ratchet added, keying in the coordinates provided by Fowler.

"Alright. Just make sure you take care of this quick, fast, and in a hurry. We don't need everybody and their momma freakin' out about a transforming robot in the city," Agent Fowler concluded, cutting the transmission there.

"I'm simply grateful that the children aren't here. No doubt Miko would have been trying to sneak through the bridge and follow you," The medic commented with a tired sigh. Optimus half-smiled at Ratchet's mild frustration before turning to Arcee.

"Remember, Arcee. Your holoform is of most importance. None of the civillians in," Optimus paused to look at Ratchet questioningly.

"New York," the red and white 'Bot clarified.

"New York are familiar with our kind. Be careful," Optimus continued. Arcee nodded, stopping herself from rolling her eyes.

"No worries, Optimus. This'll be easy."

Optimus didn't say anything to that, and they all instinctively looked towards the activating Ground Bridge. Arcee walked forward until reaching the base of the walkway and then transformed, driving through the portal. Optimus didn't know why, but something about humans having posession of a cortical psychic patch did not sit well with him.

"Alright, men. Our boss' client needs not only this Psyche Patch thing, but we need that Neutronium canister over there," Dutch pointed, across from him, an armored truck with a flammable warning symbol. As leader, Dutch's overcoat was slightly flashier than the rest of his men's, complete with a rolex watch. The furry lapels were what kept him ready to rob the next bank. He was going to be the next Al Capone one day. He could feel it. The rest of his men, all dressed in black trench coats, with sweat pants, black leather gloves, and motorcycle helmets. Sure, they looked a bit ridiculous, but it was practical head protection, and it would conceal their identities. Dutch's black helmet happened to be slightly flashier, with gold paint trims along the sides. Of course, they have motorcycles waiting for them back at the dock's entrance.

Dutch pointed to two men. "You two, I want you to distract the driver and whoever else is in there," he ordered. The two nodded and made their way to the Truck. Dutch then pointed to the last four men. "Two of you get the drop on the douches driving the truck, and tie 'em up. The other two, you're with me to go and get that back door open." They all did their gang sign to show their understanding of the orders and went to complete their respective duties.

Meanwhile, in the Truck, Tom and Wesson were playing cards on the makeshift table they were using from an oversized notebook between the driver and passenger seat. Tom was standard security for Dock operations, so seated at the driver's seat, he wore the usual blue oxford and black slacks. Wesson, a truck cargo escort, wore similar clothing, sans his shirt, which was a black polo with the Truck's logo.

"Hm. Looks like I have royal flush," Tom uttered calmly as he placed his hand on the notebook.

"Oh, come on. Two wins in a row? You were playing so bad at the last cargo stop," Wesson complained, laying down his hand also on the notebook. His hand was so close to being his own royal flush with spades, except his cards were an ace, king, queen, then a three. The three ruined it. And there went his fifteen dollars. He was beginning to reach into his pocket when a tap was heard on Tom's side window.

"Huh? I thouht that the pick-up wasn't for another fifteen minutes," he asked Wesson, who only shrugged in response. The driver opened the door, seeing two motorcyclists.

"What can I do for you guys?" he asked courteously. One of the cyclists began to explain that one of their Motorcycle's was failing and if they knew where they could be directed to the nearest motorshop. Tom began to explain which route to take, not noticing two more cyclists already reaching the other side of the truck and managing to knock out Wesson.

"I think you can take a left at the nearest light," Tom explained helpfully, pointing to a street not too far from them. The two men not in conversation with Tom gave a thumbs up from inside the vehicle.

"Thanks!" one of the men in front of Tom appraised, before revealing the wooden bat behind him and promptly knocking the hapless security guard out.

"Too easy," one of the goons bragged, droppnig the bat a distance away, rolling off to rest at the base of some barrels.

Before even thirty seconds passed, the back doors of the Truck was forced open allowing acess to the Neutronium canisters. Both teams met up inside of the cargo space.

"We only needed one, but...Why don't we just put the bikes in here and just take the whole freakin' van?" Dutch suggested.

"Sounds good to me. I feel like actually resting in here," one of the men said tiredly. Dutch laughed before beckoning two men to him to help him retrieve the bikes.

"Hey, looks like we got an extra bike here," one of Dutch's men observed. Yeah, definitely extra. While they all had customized black Akroporvik Morsus, Black Choppers. This one was a sports motorcycle. And it was blue. And kinda pink in different spots.

"The heck? What's it doing right in the middle of all our bikes?" Dutch's compatriot had no answer to his much valid question. He just shrugged.

"Whatever, let's just get our bikes. Forget that thing," Dutch's friend suggested. He agreed, and they both kneeled down to remove the kickstand from their respective bikes.

"Here, hold this thing will ya?" Dutch requested, pulling a collapsible cylinder from his overcoat's pocket.

"Friggin' thing's heavy." Dutch's friend said, surprised at how heavy the device was. It was definitely alien tecnology, with a lot of glowing trim lines marking along the cylindrical device. The both of them weren't paying attention when a helmeted woman in a jumpsuit instantly digitized over the blue motorcycle.

"I think i'll be taking that," the woman said smugly, before suddenly charging forward mere feet, ramming into Dutch's friend, launching him in the air, causing the device to to sail in the air also. The strange woman grabbed the device as it sailed past her, and the motorcycle's engines revved. Dutch saw his friend flying past his face, and he landed next to the barrels where a wooden bat lay. That was at least fourty feet away. And this girl barely pushed her bike forward. Girls are not that strong.

"Okay lady, hand over the thing," Dutch warned, pulling out his pistol. He never really killed anyone with it, and he wasn't trying to make today a first. Maybe he could just shoot her motorcycle and scare her if she didn't comply.

"Not happening," she said, the motorcycle suddenly charging towards him. As he was only feet away, he had to leap to safety. Because of this, he couldn't get a clear shot at her. And she was careening right towards the Truck!

"Aw, great. She's probably a Fed," Dutch realized, running to get close to the truck, and warning them to retreat.

The men poured out of the back of the truck to see a woman on a motorcycle drifting past the truck, and a gun barrel popping out the side of the motorcycle to shoot at the Neutronium canisters. They didn't dwell over there long enough to wonder why a motorcycle had that kind of artillery.

"Dude, this is 007 type crap she's pulling, let's get out of here!"

One of the men were wise enough to throw a tracking bug on the side of the motorcycle before running off.

"That'll teach her to mess with us!" he said to himself. Victor Drath wouldn't be happy that his client's neutronium got blown up. But at least he couldn't be mad at them. He tagged the dummy responsible for botching the operation. Dutch and his men sped off on their motorcycles back to their base of operations.

"That was too easy. Right, Sadie?" Arcee mock-asked to her holoform. She commed for a GroundBridge, and drove in with the psychic patch in her possession.

Some minutes passed before the hapless man that met the front of Arcee's motorcycle came to. His head was ringing, and he found himself situated next to a pile of barrels and a discarded wooden bat. Looking around, he noticed that all of his friends had left already.

"Guys? Aw, come on!" he yelled into his black helmet.