Do Over - Transformers Collectors' Club

End’s happy little sing-alongs.” He rolled his optics dramatically. “My Prime’d probably call this a ‘learning experience.’
Anyway, Megatron was kidnapped as a distraction. You don’t name-drop your hideout unless you want
company. They’re tryin’ to stall our launch! But Prime won’t wait! He’ll beat us to Earth, and by the time we get a
new launch window, he’ll have taken over the whole planet!”
Starscream looked positively sick. “I can’t just leave Megatron to die!”
“I can’t either! He saved my life, and he’s the closest ‘bot to sane around this place! But Ricochet wants us to
send a full force to get Megs back… or at least our most valuable troops! They’re needed on the Nemesis! We need
a small force, someone who’s good at getting in quiet, not loud and forceful… which leaves me out.” He tapped his
datapad, scrolling up the Decepticons’ roster. “What about the Micromasters? They were good at this kinda thing
back in my home universe.”
Starscream seemed to calm down, if only just a little. “I… concede your point. We currently have Astrotrain’s
squad running final adjustments to the Nemesis… but the Predacons and Whisper are on standby, and battleready.”
“We used them to sneak into the launch complex last time, right? Well, Prime’s not the only one who can use a
plan twice. I’ll tell ‘em. And Starscream...”
“Yes, Cliffjumper?”
“No matter what happens, when the Ark launches, the Nemesis has gotta launch.” Cliffjumper paused. “With or
without Megatron.”
“Hyu glitches are ze zorriest batch of zcrap I haff evah zeen! Do hyu zink hyu gots vat it takes to earn a unique
chassis? Ha! I zink hyu are zorely mistaken!”
Blaster paced back and forth, his deep-gray, boxy form shaking with barely-controlled fury, feet moving in a
clipped, precise rhythm. Before him, a squad of completely identical silver-colored robots of nondescript features
stood at ramrod-straight attention. A step above drones, the triangular-headed, large-eyed mechs were all smoothlines
and simple curves, owing to their “war wheel” alternate modes. Each one would have looked comically
harmless, were it not for the massive cannons that made up their left arms.
The crowd stood before the Ark’s launching platform, as other Autobots piled supplies and arms into the craft.
“Hyu vant to know vhat I zink?” Blaster hissed.
“Sir, yes, sir!” the assembled crowd shouted in unison.
“I zink hyu miserable Zcrounges are going to vind up in ze scrap yard, crying for hyu manufacturer! But it iz
mein job to make zhure zat doesn’t happen! Zo hyu! Zuck in zhat pipe, straighten up, feet togezer! Ven I zay ‘attenshyun!’
hyu give me attenshyun! Hyu!”
The random Scrounge caught in Blaster’s glare stood extra-ramrod-straight.
“Zir, I mean, sir, yes, sir!”
“Vat are hyu?!”
“I am a Scrounge, sir!”
“Hyu are vat I sez hyu is! If I choose to call hyu Little Mhiz Zparkle-Bootz, hyu will answer, unterstand?!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Unt vat is zat hyu have zher, hanging off hyu verthless chassis?!”
“This is my special arm, sir! There are many like it but this one is mine!”
“Guut!” Blaster grinned. “Hyu are all going to Earzh! Hyu may be zinking zat hyu will die on zat organic zoaked
pile of dirt! Vell, hyu von’t!” Blaster leaned uncomfortably close to another random Scrounge and stared into its
large, reflective optics. “Hyu know vy, Little Mhiz Zparkle-Bootz?”
“No, sir!”