raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2021-07-20 12:55 am
raisedbymoogles) wrote2021-07-20 12:55 am
Entry tags:
what if TFG1 S3, but Primacy worked on magical girl rules?
my TF muses finally deign poke their heads in again and it's this. Look, I don't know, I do not control the hyperfixation.
Nearly at the odd corkscrew ship that was their only hope of escape, Arcee cried out, “Wait - where’s Hot Rod?”
Their leader startled and turned. “I’ll find him,” he announced after a moment, and started running back down the way they’d come up, back into the rapidly-crumbling ruin of Unicron’s body.
“But, Prime-!” Spike called after him, and snagged the back of Daniel’s exosuit before his son could move more than a step to follow.
“Board the shuttle, get it ready to lift off!” their new Prime ordered over his shoulder. Then he was gone from sight, presumably to delve into the heart of darkness in search of the wayward Hot Rod.
For a moment the Autobots were paralyzed with indecision, torn between the promise of escape and the urge to go and help their fellows. Springer was the first to snap out of it. “You heard the mech,” he yelled over the din of Unicron’s death throes, “roll out!”
And though Arcee let out a sparkbroken little cry and Daniel struggled against his father’s hold, the Autobots did just that.
*
The new Prime didn’t go far.
“Return, Hot Rod,” he whispered, and the veils of blue light that had obscured him from his friends fell away as the Matrix fell quiescent once more. He pressed his hands to his own face, searching for the stress-cracks that had resulted from his sudden growth, but the metal was smooth and uncracked under his fingertips. He was small, lightly-armored, and suddenly shaking with exhaustion. A far cry from Rodimus Prime.
“Okay,” Hot Rod whispered, and got moving.
He already knew what he’d say by the time he reached the shuttle skewered through Unicron’s optic glass - though it was nearly rendered moot when the metal under his treads began to buckle and break. He took one last desperate leap - fell short - and Jazz, quick to act as he was, deployed his grappler. The hook on the end latched onto Hot Rod’s elbow, and Ultra Magnus himself steadied Jazz as the smaller mech reeled Hot Rod in. The hatch closed behind them, Springer punched the thrusters, and the shuttle leaped free just as Unicron’s final moments ended explosively.
The shockwaves tossed the ship about, but its inertial dampers were apparently something to respect; it was almost peaceful watching the stars and the gouts of fire and debris from Unicron’s shredded body wheel by the viewport. “Hot Rod,” Ultra Magnus said, breaking the silence. “Where’s the Prime?”
Hot Rod made himself blink. “Huh?”
“Can’t miss him, glowy blue light show of a mech,” Jazz put in. “Ran off to find you, and here you are…”
Don’t mess this up, Hot Rod prayed. He’d never been a good liar, and Jazz was one of the best intel officers the Autobots had ever produced, but the peace of Cybertron might rest on him being convincing. “Oh, him,” he said. “He found me, yeah. He told me where to go to find you. And then he vanished.”
“He what?” Ultra Magnus blurted.
“I know! He just, poof, in a flash of light!” Hot Rod spread his hands out in a ‘poof!’ sort of gesture.
Jazz blinked at his fellow officer. “Maybe he’s a teleporter?”
“But why vanish now?” Ultra Magnus’s mouth drew into a deep frown. Hot Rod did his best to project polite incomprehension - I don’t know, I’m just a grunt - and after a moment his commander’s optics slid away from him, to ponder the question in the privacy of his own processor. He wasn’t happy with the explanation, but he was buying it. That was all that mattered.
After that they had to find a way to land the unfamiliar ship safely, and then call down the surviving Autobots to debrief and survey the damage, and after that a hundred thousand tasks of rescue and rebuilding lay before them all. Ultra Magnus, as Optimus Prime’s chosen successor, stepped forward to direct their efforts, and the question of the mystery Prime who’d saved them all and then vanished just as suddenly as he’d appeared fell off the radar. Hot Rod, for his part, slipped gratefully back into his usual place: near-anonymous scout and soldier, best friend to Daniel Witwicky, and that was all.
“Do you think we’ll ever see that - other Prime again?” Daniel asked him once, while the two of them took a break from clearing away rubble to gaze skyward at the glittering remains of Unicron in orbit around the planet.
“I hope so,” Hot Rod confided with a smile.
I hope not.
Yet Hot Rod knew, sure as the Matrix hid within his chest, that if there was ever a need, the Chosen One would return.
Nearly at the odd corkscrew ship that was their only hope of escape, Arcee cried out, “Wait - where’s Hot Rod?”
Their leader startled and turned. “I’ll find him,” he announced after a moment, and started running back down the way they’d come up, back into the rapidly-crumbling ruin of Unicron’s body.
“But, Prime-!” Spike called after him, and snagged the back of Daniel’s exosuit before his son could move more than a step to follow.
“Board the shuttle, get it ready to lift off!” their new Prime ordered over his shoulder. Then he was gone from sight, presumably to delve into the heart of darkness in search of the wayward Hot Rod.
For a moment the Autobots were paralyzed with indecision, torn between the promise of escape and the urge to go and help their fellows. Springer was the first to snap out of it. “You heard the mech,” he yelled over the din of Unicron’s death throes, “roll out!”
And though Arcee let out a sparkbroken little cry and Daniel struggled against his father’s hold, the Autobots did just that.
*
The new Prime didn’t go far.
“Return, Hot Rod,” he whispered, and the veils of blue light that had obscured him from his friends fell away as the Matrix fell quiescent once more. He pressed his hands to his own face, searching for the stress-cracks that had resulted from his sudden growth, but the metal was smooth and uncracked under his fingertips. He was small, lightly-armored, and suddenly shaking with exhaustion. A far cry from Rodimus Prime.
“Okay,” Hot Rod whispered, and got moving.
He already knew what he’d say by the time he reached the shuttle skewered through Unicron’s optic glass - though it was nearly rendered moot when the metal under his treads began to buckle and break. He took one last desperate leap - fell short - and Jazz, quick to act as he was, deployed his grappler. The hook on the end latched onto Hot Rod’s elbow, and Ultra Magnus himself steadied Jazz as the smaller mech reeled Hot Rod in. The hatch closed behind them, Springer punched the thrusters, and the shuttle leaped free just as Unicron’s final moments ended explosively.
The shockwaves tossed the ship about, but its inertial dampers were apparently something to respect; it was almost peaceful watching the stars and the gouts of fire and debris from Unicron’s shredded body wheel by the viewport. “Hot Rod,” Ultra Magnus said, breaking the silence. “Where’s the Prime?”
Hot Rod made himself blink. “Huh?”
“Can’t miss him, glowy blue light show of a mech,” Jazz put in. “Ran off to find you, and here you are…”
Don’t mess this up, Hot Rod prayed. He’d never been a good liar, and Jazz was one of the best intel officers the Autobots had ever produced, but the peace of Cybertron might rest on him being convincing. “Oh, him,” he said. “He found me, yeah. He told me where to go to find you. And then he vanished.”
“He what?” Ultra Magnus blurted.
“I know! He just, poof, in a flash of light!” Hot Rod spread his hands out in a ‘poof!’ sort of gesture.
Jazz blinked at his fellow officer. “Maybe he’s a teleporter?”
“But why vanish now?” Ultra Magnus’s mouth drew into a deep frown. Hot Rod did his best to project polite incomprehension - I don’t know, I’m just a grunt - and after a moment his commander’s optics slid away from him, to ponder the question in the privacy of his own processor. He wasn’t happy with the explanation, but he was buying it. That was all that mattered.
After that they had to find a way to land the unfamiliar ship safely, and then call down the surviving Autobots to debrief and survey the damage, and after that a hundred thousand tasks of rescue and rebuilding lay before them all. Ultra Magnus, as Optimus Prime’s chosen successor, stepped forward to direct their efforts, and the question of the mystery Prime who’d saved them all and then vanished just as suddenly as he’d appeared fell off the radar. Hot Rod, for his part, slipped gratefully back into his usual place: near-anonymous scout and soldier, best friend to Daniel Witwicky, and that was all.
“Do you think we’ll ever see that - other Prime again?” Daniel asked him once, while the two of them took a break from clearing away rubble to gaze skyward at the glittering remains of Unicron in orbit around the planet.
“I hope so,” Hot Rod confided with a smile.
I hope not.
Yet Hot Rod knew, sure as the Matrix hid within his chest, that if there was ever a need, the Chosen One would return.