Expenses Scandal Claims New Scalp

Optimus Prime is standing down as leader of the Autobots following a scandal over expenses. Leaked documents show he had been receiving up to three hundred energon cubes per year by claiming the articulated lorry he transforms into as his second home.

‘I was led to believe this was within the rules and that everyone else was doing it. I now realise I made a severe error of judgement. I have let you all down, and by the spires of Cybertron I beg for your forgiveness,’ he read from a prepared statement, as dramatic music played in the background.

Evil Decepticon leader Megatron said: ‘This is just the kind of moral bankruptcy we’ve come to expect from the puny Autobots. These cowardly hunks of scrap metal will be destroyed utterly by our demands for greater transparency and accountability.’

Prime’s replacement is expected to be Grimlock, whose youth, charisma and ability to transform into a dinosaur make him popular with robot voters.


Tempted by the Triple-Changer

Arcee watched as a bolt of energy shot from the Quintesson ship, bracing herself as the impact made the ground beneath her tremble. Down below she could see files of Sharkticon troops streaming towards the base, some falling as they were struck by Metroplex’s lasers, but far too many sneaking past.

‘Is that all they’ve got?’ asked a voice from behind her. ‘We should have this wrapped up by lunch time.’

She turned and saw the reassuring green bulk of him, familiar roguish smile on his face.

‘Springer! I was worried you were just a pile of scrap metal.’

‘It takes more than robot fish to bring old Springer to his knees. Sorry to disappoint.’

She laughed, hiding her relief. Springer was a friend. A good friend. She had always kept her feelings to herself, but she knew how much it hurt to see her friends shot completely to death. She had seen too much war, too much screaming metal and tortured fibreglass.

‘How are our defences holding up?’ she asked.

‘Lasers and ray guns are sorting them out. Only the really stupid ones are getting through. The sensible ones are taking an early death, because they know there’s worse to come the closer they get.’

‘Have you been giving them a taste of your weapon?’ She arched an eyebrow formed of flexible space metal.

‘This old girl?’ He held up his impressive blaster. ‘She’s seen some action today. I’ve given it to more than a few Sharkies. Both barrels, shooting it all over their faces. You should see the way their jaws drop when they see the size of it. It’s quite an impressive bang.’

‘So I’ve heard.’ The sounds of exploding and death were making her feel light-headed. She forgot sometimes how primal and how damn sensual battle could feel. It always stirred something deep inside her.

‘So what’s the –‘

Before she could finish the question there was another blast from the enemy ship, which shook the ramparts and caused her to fall into his arms.

‘Woah!’ he said. ‘I’m flattered and all, but don’t you think we have other priorities right now?’

‘As if,’ she admonished, tearing herself away from his embrace. ‘And is that any way to talk to a lady?

Not that she could call herself much of a lady, she thought. She’d had her share – and indeed others’ share – of men. Hot Rod, for one, who, as she might have expected, went at it with engines blazing but lacked finesse. She knew that when he looked into her optical lenses it was only so he could ogle his own reflection. Sleek and powerful he may have been, but like many a young robot he mistook speed for prowess. Would his pal Blurr have been any different, she sometimes wondered, wryly.

Brawn, an older guy, had been more sensitive. A little too sensitive, if truth be told. Afterwards he had held her gently and waxed sentimental. She would swear he even had a tear in his eye. All too intense for her. And he kept leaving her presents, some high class energon sourced from who knows what nebula, a handsomely bound volume of Junkion poetry. He took to bumping into her, entirely by chance, and she’d had no choice but to blank him.

There had even been – whisper it – a Decepticon one time. Starscream, who the other Autobots all feared and secretly had a man crush for. Well, she knew his secret. He could only achieve sufficient altitude when he focused on her exhaust port. Starscreamer, more like. She grinned at the thought.

‘Something funny?’ asked Springer, a half-smile on his face. Before she could answer he had turned and fired another round of random shots at the enemy. With her back to his, she did the same.

‘Impressive shooting,’ he said. ‘You could give any of the guys a run for his money. You know I’ve always admired your bazookas.’

‘Ha. Not much use in hand to hand combat, though. And speaking of which …’

A phalanx of Sharkticons had crawled up the wall and now were pouring over the edge. Their empty eyes turned towards the two Autobots, lubricating fluid dripping as their jaws opened hungrily. Those jaws looked like they could hurt.

‘Race you,’ Arcee said, raising her weapon, and ran towards the metal tide.

His chivalry circuits engaged, Springer had no choice but to follow.

Bang, a Sharkticon fell, then another and another, under Arcee’s pinpoint aim. In the time it took Springer to unholster his gun she had dispatched five of them. The air grew hot between them and the ground throbbed as they discharged blaster fire. A couple of intense minutes and it was over. Mangled steel littered the walkway ahead of them.

‘I call that about even,’ Arcee said. ‘Well done.’

The implied slight on his virility irked Springer somewhat, even though he recognised that Arcee was being kind to his ego. He was about to say something cynical when the largest boom yet heard announced the destruction of the Quintesson ship. The ground lurched and she found herself encircled by his arms.

‘Oh,’ she said, but any further speech was cut off as his mouth docked with hers. Their metal lips formed a vacuum seal, allowing the digital exchange of tongue information to alert their cerebral processing systems.

Springer uncoupled his mouth and she saw him looking at her greedily, as if he had never really seen her before. She imagined what he must be seeing: those extensions on the side of her head which looked a bit like human hair, her slender thighs which doubled up as her chassis, her prominent buttress. Looking steadily into her eyes he stroked her on that part where the bumper would be in her car mode. Almost against her will her headlights flicked on.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You really like killing bad guys.’

‘Shut up and kiss me again,’ she breathed, but her voicebox wasn’t really geared up for quiet speech, and so it buzzed a little. As they locked orifices she could feel something hard pressing against her, even harder than the metal which he was completely made of. She reached down and gripped his emergent piston. By the Matrix! she thought. She could scarcely get her petite transformatrix hand round it!

Springer pushed her against a wall, and she had a moment to think that Metroplex must have seen some goings on in his time, down those long and dark passageways. She bet the saucy old bastard had secret cameras trained on them at all times. Let him look. She didn’t care!

She felt a hand brush her waist, her thigh, heading elsewhere. Her neural circuitry sent a message south and heavy-duty lubricant seeped to where it was needed, to greet his questing fingers. She could feel the ball bearings rattling inside her joints as she spread her knees wider.

‘Ooh,’ he said, ‘just like the tides of Nebulon!’

She looked down and saw it, the huge green member with the bolts and rivets parading up its sides. Her skilled hand slid the protective cover back and locked it in place, her oil pump pounding harder as she saw a drop of lubricant seep out of the efficient hole in the metal.

‘I want to combine with you,’ he said. ‘Like the Aerialbots, only two of us instead of five.’

‘Or the Protectobots,’ she moaned. ‘I have a Hot Spot you can interact with. It’s also a Groove.’

‘If you were a Pretender I would fuck you, then fuck your shell while you watched.’ His extensible tube was throbbing in her hand and she knew she could put it off no longer. She slid open her hatch and guided him in.

His voice synthesiser approximated the indrawing of breath as they initiated coupling. Each thrust of his robot pelvis banged her against the wall, the screech of metal on metal making their movements more urgent. He grabbed her by the part where the seats would go in her car form, gripped it so hard the paint would need to be reapplied later. The blades from his helicopter form began to rotate behind him.

The triple changer’s movements sped up as he gave in to the feeling. Arcee wrapped a leg behind him, round that place where his wheels were inexpertly hidden. Her pleasure centre identified a crisis point arriving, and hoped his algorithms were doing a similar job in diverting electricity flow to the relevant components.

‘Oh, oh, oh, til all are one,’ she gasped.

‘Til all are one,’ he echoed, and his hydraulics screamed as at last he pumped his oil into her front compartment.

‘So,’ she said, panting, after a pause. She could feel the warm hydrocarbons dripping on her knee.

‘So,’ he said, catching his breath.

‘We should be getting back. Now the fighting’s over.’

‘At least we were there for the climax,’ he said, a sated grin on his face.

She laughed and walked off, wiggling her midsection in a way that signified erotic content. She glanced over her shoulder, taking one last look as he retracted his flaccid pipe.

By Primus, she could do that again.