Transformers: Steel Reign

[LadyTevar]

"Fuckin machines..."

"lousey peice of shit mechs...."

"Shoulda nuked their asses the second they woke up...."

Crimson, with her bright red paint and smaller, obviously feminine form caused the mutters to die down a little as she passed ... more from the male tendency not to curse loudly in front of a lady than because of whom she was. She noted the verbal ones were shot looks by their one squadmates, as if they didn't want attention drawn to them that way.

It was still uncomfortable to pass by the human soldiers, even if only a few were brave enough to make their thoughts known. However, the few that watched in awe truly caught her attention and she rewarded them with soft smiles as she paced beside Stryke.

"I hope Hornet's too distracted to hear what they're saying," she sent privately to Stryke. "Where is he, anyway?"

[Agent Fisher]

Stryke stopped and looked around. His head shifted left and right. "How should I know?" He said. All he could see was human soldiers, vehicles and the normal sized autobots. "That bot is a midget, makes him hard to spot."

[B4UTRUST]

Slipstream glanced down at the humans once more, hearing their angry words. He dropped suddenly to his knees, causing the ground to shake slightly for the tiny fleshlings. He leaned down further and got eye level with one of the more agressively vocal individuals. The man's reflection was clear in the wrap-around visor covering Slipstream's optics.
"Boo."

Slipstream pulled back away from the man and then began to stand. He shot the rest of the beligerant humans a look though it was hard to say what the look was since Slipstream's face seemed to be designed to hide feelings and thoughts. His optics were covered by a visor and his mouth by a mouthguard similar to that of Prime's.
"Play nice. After all, it would be a horrible tragedy if any of you accidently got stepped on."

[SirNitram]

Overload grunted, and grabbed Slipstream. The smaller bot was lifted and the hauler was enraged. The centres of his optics glowed red, outlined by blue. "You will never act so rudely to them again." He snapped. "We are guests on their world, and we have fucked up on levels Primus alone understands, so your fucking armour-belt can toughen up for a few insults!" Overload's voice carried. "Do you get me, kid?"

[Charon]

Shellshock glanced back at Overload and Slipstream, then he did what he usually did when some young bot got uppity infront of the organics. He made certain that no one else could get in there to break up Overload and Slipstream. The giant bot took a few steps forward, using his body to obscure the view of the other Autobots.

[frigidmagi]

Breakout barely noticed the grumbling. He'd heard mirrors of it from civilian model Autobots often enough that it only made sense that a species who wasn't even involved in the war until Cybertronians brought it to them would bitch.

He looked over at Shellshock, catching his gaze and then looking beyond him and visibly shrugging. The new recruits needed to learn somehow.

[LadyTevar]

Crimson stopped and stared back at Slipstream and Overload, her optics narrowing before she spoke, just loudly enough to be overheard. "I should have known our own loudmouth would pull a trick like that," she drawled, her feminine voice clear and contemptuous as she turned back to watch. "First, he picks on Hornet, and now humans? He should have stayed in space."

[Agent Fisher]

Stryke turned, looking back then shook his head. "Come on, Crim, ignore it, Overload and Shellshock have it taken care of." He said, not wanting to have to deal with any arguments between bots.

[LadyTevar]

Crimson snorted, turning back to join Stryke. "You're right," she said, still talking aloud. "The loudmouth's not worth my time. Let's see where Prime wants us stationed."

Over the private comm between them, she added "But if he picks on Hornet -or- humans again, I'm shoving a grenade inside his chestplate."

[Agent Fisher]

Stryke shook his head. "Just let it go, Crim," he said. "And I'm sure when Prime is ready to give out assignments, he will let us know. I just want to go somewhere quiet for a bit." He said on the private comm.

[LadyTevar]

"You just want me somewhere safe, where I will be out of the fight," she said, chuckling again at how protective he was. "Stop worrying," she childed, once again just loud enough for humans who cared to listen to overhear. "I've had a couple million years experience fighting as well, you know."

The way she slipped under his arm and slid her arm around his waist would have been clearly implied their relationship to several species across the galaxy. Several of those species would be shocked that a female/breeder would be allowed to fight or even -could- fight. What the humans would think she didn't yet know.

[General Havoc]

Hornet was oblivious.

At the best of times, at the worst of times, Hornet could be counted on to not pick up on the various subtexts coursing around him. It was not that he was stupid, merely lost in his own head half the time, distracted by the smallest thing, or plain unwilling to see the world for what it was, rather than what he hoped or assumed it to be. Usually this was a bad thing. Usually this meant that Hornet was prone to walking into a terribly dangerous situation without even realizing it. Usually it meant he was unreliable, foolish, accident-prone, that he had best be kept away from any sort of potentially volatile situation.

But not this time.

No sooner had Hornet exited the shuttle than he had gone off exploring. Wheeljack had, in the end, permitted him to take the 'special' munitions after all, a pair of missiles of very specific properties and parameters, which he had been made to swear he would only EVER use in VERY precise circumstances. Consequently, all of his own checkup and preparation work was already done, and none of the Autobots were daft enough to let him near fragile or sensitive equipment. Going off by himself, he had come across a large group of human pilots, not the same ones he knew from the bases around the Ark, but newer ones, ones that had been training elsewhere, and with a total lack of fear, he approached them.

By rights he shouldn't have. These men were not happy to see him, and they made it abundantly clear. They had witnessed their world being destroyed by these very same machines, and the distinction between Autobot and Decepticon was totally foreign to them. They sneered at Hornet, they spat at the ground near him, they made remarks that were sullen and double-edged. By rights, unleashing tactless Hornet on such a situation, should have produced a spark that set off an explosion.

It did... but not in the way anyone imagined.

It wasn't that Hornet ignored their veiled insults and requests to go away, it was that he completely did not notice them at all. To the other Autobots he was an annoying, hyperactive kid, and they treated him as one, but to a human, Hornet was a ten-foot tall walking war machine, equipped with enough firepower to lay waste to an armored batalion, and so they did not try to get him to leave in such a direct fashion. Even if they weren't AFRAID of him, his very presence was intimidating enough to curb their tongues somewhat, at least until they realized that they were dealing with a child.

But by then it was too late.

They started out sullen, they started out angry, but among Hornet's many flaws, two of his virtues were his clear and simple good nature, and his eagerness to please. Simply put, it was not easy to stay angry with him, not like this, and the humans were no match for it. He spoke with them with easy familiarity, with an eagerness, a youthful naive wish to be liked that was infectious, obvious, true, and irresistable. He was not some appointed public relations bot, nor was he filled with the platitudes that must have sounded so false to the men whose homes and nations and cities were being ground to dust by the Decepticons. He was a kid. A kid who wanted to make friends.

And he did.

It took no time at all, all things considered, for first one, then several, then many, then practically all of the pilots to lose their attitude, their hard edge, cultivated for so long, in his presence. Men who had fought, killed, bled on distant battlefields, saw in Hornet perhaps a glimpse of their own children, living or dead, or themselves before this war, and their bitterness faded, and their sullen anger withdrew. Younger pilots, barely kids themselves, scared and frightened of the alien machines that had invaded their world, saw a kindred spirit perhaps here, another being who was not larger than life, or not so much at least, but who also was afraid of the cons, and also inadequate to contest with them. That these men were fighter pilots, and Hornet a fighter jet helped of course, for they spoke the same language, talking to one another about their aerial stunts and tricks of aerobatics, stories that Hornet drank up in awe and appreciation. Whatever the Autobots were, whatever these machines were, Hornet had neither fear of the humans, nor disdain for them, not even the slightly patronizing respect that many Autobots held for their "little organic brethren". He was not millions of years old, hardened by battle or soured by life, and many of these pilots had far more combat experience than he did, and he listened to them just as he did the larger, wiser Autobots. And no soldier ever got tired of being listened to.

Within half an hour, at most, all twenty of the pilots Hornet had been talking to had completely forgotten the reason for their anger, practically forgotten the war itself, and were occupied with laughing, bragging, joking, and making comments that befuddled the little Autobot but still drew a laugh and a grin. There were multiple squadrons here, and all of them declared themselves the best in the human armada, the most versatile, and called upon Hornet to witness their outstanding superiority over their fellow squadrons. Rediculous exploits were bragged of, tall tales and hilarious stories were related, and soon Hornet's infectious charm was spreading, as other humans happened by the little gathering and came to see just how it was that a bunch of hard-assed human pilots, veterans and rookies alike, were getting along so well with one of those "fucking machines". And no sooner had they done so, than they too were caught. Hornet was as insidious as a religion and as contageous as the plague. A few humans slunk off, too bitter, too angry, too self-conscious to have anything to do with him. The rest forgot their anger and laughed, and Hornet knew nothing of this, for the secret, in the end, was that he had no secret. He was not gauging morale, nor on assignment to liase with the humans, nor was he trying to stir them up for the battle to come. He just wanted to make friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

For a good hour they talked and laughed and lied shamelessly to one another about the exploits they had had and the maneuvers they had pulled, and Hornet only understood about half of what the pilots were saying, but that was enough, and his occasional confusion was merely the occasion for more laughter, at or with him, he didn't know and didn't care. Eventually of course, Hornet suggested that they should play a game of some sort, and being as it was Hornet suggesting it to pilots, the game that was proposed immediately took on the qualities of ball tag or warball played in mid-air with targetting solutions. It was a rediculous idea, a bunch of grown military men using multi-billion dollar warfighters to play a game of TAG with a robot child? But there was an element of the kid in all fighter pilots, and the squadron commanders found, to their surprise, that they thought the idea as good a one as their men did, and the brass could be told it was merely extra practice. Training was very important after all...

And so it came to pass, not even an hour and a half after touchdown, that Hornet came running over to Stryke and Crimson, the first two Autobots he spotted, having decided that since Overload appeared to be in the process of hoisting Slipstream off the ground and yelling at him, it might be best to leave him and Shellshock alone. Hornet's paint was marred by, of all things, decals, black and blue and red decals that had been spraypainted onto his wings and torso and even forehead, the symbols of the various squadrons assembled here today, icons of some reverence among the human pilots who had felt it good luck to adorn Hornet with them, and Hornet had certainly not refused. The paint notwithstanding, Hornet was grinning broadly up at Crimson and Stryke, and there were nearly two dozen humans with him, some of them the same ones that had muttered angry comments under their breath at the others earlier, now wholly changed in mood as if by mind control or magic. Hornet ran up to Crimson and Stryke, and like a child asking for a cookie, asked in breathless, halting words, if he could be allowed to play a game of target-tag with his new friends, some of whom were here with him, some of whom had run off to get permission from their own brass, and some of whom were already readying the planes to start the game. More than thirty pilots in all were getting involved, and from them, the enthusiasm was spreading to the ground crews and the maintenance chiefs and even the radar operators and ground control directors, who would have to oversee it. Every time an officer protested or insisted on getting authorization, Hornet was dragged over to plead and beg in his own inimicable fashion. Every time, the officer relented, passing the buck on, or claiming the idea as a training exercise, or just falling into the spirit of the thing. All Hornet now needed was the permission of his own commanding officers, which he took to mean any Autobot (they were all above him in the chain of command after all), and he had decided Crimson and Stryke were the ones most likely to look favorably on the subject.

And as Hornet breathlessly explained what he wanted to do and asked for permission to go and play his game, and looked pleadingly up at Crimson and Stryke and glanced back at the other humans who were whispering instructions as to what he should say to get it... the thought might have occured to an observer that in the time it had taken Slipstream to, through his own arrogance and attitude, turn at least one human irrevocably against the Autobots, Hornet had countered him with all this...

... and he hadn't even meant to, which was of course, the point.

[LadyTevar]

If Crimson had had a jaw, it would have dropped open at Hornet's request. As it was, she looked as shocked as the officers that the pilots had browbeaten into authorizing this. Her optics went from Hornet to the pilots that had joined him, who were now looking from Hornet, to Crimson and Stryke, back to Hornet.

One of the pilots nudged his buddy. "Think that's his parents?" the human murmured in a laughing tone he thought wouldn't be overheard. With Stryke's obvious war-like form, a tiny fighter jet might be a possible 'child' from the smaller, lithe Crimson. Who knew with robots?

Embarrassment flooded her circuits, as Crimson glanced up to Stryke, hoping he either didn't hear or didn't get the joke. Autobot relationships were a little much to explain to Humans right now. "Umm... how long before the attack, Stryke? Do we even have time for a practice run?"

Like the human officers, she -definately- wanted to pass the buck on this, maybe all the way up to Prime himself. To the Humans however, it sounded like was the wife asking the husband and letting him make the final decision.

[Agent Fisher]

Stryke put his head in his hand. The warbot looked up at Hornet and the pilots. He had heard the parent's comment and then Crimson asked him if it was ok, just making it sound more like they were his parents.

"Uh, I don't know." The green bot said. He looked to Hornet. "Go find Jazz, or maybe Jetfire, Hornet. They'll let you know if you have time." He said.

[B4UTRUST]

Overload grunted, and grabbed Slipstream. The smaller bot was lifted and the hauler was enraged. The centres of his optics glowed red, outlined by blue. "You will never act so rudely to them again." He snapped. "We are guests on their world, and we have fucked up on levels Primus alone understands, so your fucking armour-belt can toughen up for a few insults!" Overload's voice carried. "Do you get me, kid?"

The only way Slipstream could be considered much smaller then Overload was because he was lighter and slimmer as Slipstream was just a few inches shy of a full 50ft in height.
"One, you've got less then half a vorn on me, so 'kid' I am not. Two, I do *NOT* get your over-indulgence of these humans, your desperate fascination with them or your perpetual desire to placate them at every turn. So no, I do NOT get you. Nor will I sit here and be insulted by a race that wasn't even a gleaming in their creators' eyes when we were rolled off the line! Simply because YOU believe it to be acceptable to play lip service to their exhaust manifolds, does not mean I have to. I did not *fuck up* as you say. I did not destroy their world, nor will I be held accountable for those who did.

"You've spent far to long dealing with them and have forgotten that there are other planets besides this one that we're involved on, some a lot worse off then this one! But I suppose being stuck off Cybertron for a few muriovorn would make anyone forget where they came from. We've got a lot bigger problems to deal with other then the feelings of an organic. And we're about to go face down a lot of them. So feel free to insert your sentimentality towards them in an output only socket."

[Charon]

Shellshock took a few steps forward. "One. You're acting more childish than the 'organics' you seem so desperate to disparage Slipstream, so yes, you are a kid as far as Overload and I are concerned. Two, we are not desperately fascinated or placating them, that is something one would do to a weaker race, which humans are not. Third, it's not just us that think these humans need to be treated with respect, it's Prime too. If you want to go against the directive of the big man himself, by all means go ahead, and good luck because you'll need it. If you don't want to be held accountable, then get off this planet, because we are accountable, every last Cybertronian is at fault for this happening. We're the ones who took this fight to the stars, and if you're too cowardly to take responsibility for that, leave."

Shellshock looked to be as angry as his partner now, the red optics shined brightly. Unlike Slipstream, Shellshock did not have a visor or mouth guard, his emotions were always clearly visible, beyond the rage there was an extreme cold gaze, extremely calculating. "And if you dare to ever say that I have forgotten that there are other worlds where the fighting goes on, worlds that have been turned to little more than cinders in the fighting, I will personally tear open your spark chamber and drive a shard of Energon through it. I have seen enough worlds destroyed, most of them exactly because of arrogant fools like you that thought nothing of the people who lived on that planet. I would sooner die then let Earth become another lost battlefield of the Cybertronians."

There were two things easily seen in Shellshock's manner of speech. The first, was in his use of the term die. It was an expression he had picked up on Earth, and had taken a liking too. The terms expire, or permanent deactivation had always seemed too detached and cold, never truly giving a good idea of what it meant. On various worlds he had come across better terms, but his recent fighting on Earth found him using this one. Secondly, it was clear to the no doubt large crowd that had formed to watch the display of homicidal robots going at one another that at least two of them did not see this as just some other fight in the grand scheme of the war, they were willing to die on foreign soil for a species that was not their own if it meant sparing them the horrors of the foreign war.

[SirNitram]

"Flyboy, I've fought on many a world, so don't you start giving me a song and dance number about how I should be fretting on others. I was a guest on those worlds, too." Overload's grip was certainly strong, and not letting up. "And I don't really care if you don't 'get' the fact I have basic empathy subroutines. But since your ego is overloading your optics, maybe a few blows to the head will get you to recignize this isn't an Autobot base. That this ain't an Autobot offensive. You see all this shit? This is because they're stepping up and fighting, and you will damn well show them the respect that deserves, or you will be in a CR chamber when I'm done with you."

"You are disrespecting the Autobots and Prime with this bullshit of yours. So stick it in neutral before I put it there for you."

[Dark Silver]

"Hey! Cool your turbochargers!" Jazz was quickly approaching the trio, his visored optics focused on the disturbance. He did not have his gun out yet, but he meant business.

"We have enough of a situation here without you three knocking out your camshafts. Now throttle back or I'll personally put my foot up your waste disposal manifolds!"

Jazz, it seems, wasn't happy by the display, the normally cool headed smooth talking Autobot second-in-command was being forceful in tone and action, as he stepped between the two bots which towered over him. "All of you back off and go grab a Energizer recharge, we got a offensive to set up here."

------- 0 ------- 0 ------- 0 -------

The trio of MiG-29's crossed the invisible boundry previosuly set by the other patrols, breaking into the "restricted" airspace set up by the Sentinel missile platforms.

Sensor warnings blared on the manned platforms, as the unmanned began orienting their missles for the impending launch. Decepticon sensor feeds had been detected, Energon emission levels registered as Decepticon fighters in the tactical profiles.

The launch of the first swarm of missiles was ear piercing even from a distance, a group of three launched from the closest Sentinel and streaked through the air.

"Aerialbots! To the Air!" Silverbolt screamed to his companions, following the trajectory of the missles. The five Aerialbots leapt from the ground, anti-grav thrusters allowing them to take to the air in robot form, before transforming to their faster jet modes. The Silverbolt, Sureshot and Fireflight put on afterburners as they flew to find the interceptors.

"Everyone else remain calm, the Aerialbots will handle this!" Phasor spoke, the 23' tall red and green robot spoke. Phasor was a newer arrival to Earth, not having adapted to a Earthern alt-mode, he instead maintained his Cybertronian one, a Cybertronian drill tank. He was a amiable mech though, and was trying to calm the humans down.

The voice coming over the loudspeaker finished the job for him, "Combat alert green, boogey's out of contact. Repeat, Alert Condition Green..."


------- 0 ------- 0 ------- 0 -------


Location: Decepticon Forward Command Base Pontifex (formerly Fort Maximal)

Starscream stood in the command center of his base - looking over the viewscreen as it showed the last Space Bridge transmission expected. The line of drone troopers which exited would give him a sizable force under his direct command. Enough to repel the expected Autobot assault.

It was seething beneath Starscream's cybertronian flexmetal skin and duranium steel armor - jealousy and hatred for Shockwave. That infernal one-optic logic processor decided HE would command the Decepticons once he arrived on Earth. He stole Starscream's thunder! Well...

Once he crushed the Autobot offensive, and conquered this continent, Starscream would return to New Kaon, and crush that over-logical freak beneath his heel.

"I will have my revenge....and soon.."

Starscream was broken from his reverie by the report of his long range scout team, these human drones seemed to be getting better at this every day - he never would have guessed they would make such willing soldiers for the Decepticon cause, "Wolf-3 to base, we have reached optimal sensor range of human defense structure. Autiobots detected."

"Excellent...return to base my Wolf pack. Leave a sensor drone behind for continued surveillance."

"As you command."

The transmission went silent, as the Decepticon Air Commander looked at the display for the Space Bridge. His optics widened slightly beneath the red glowing lenses covering them. What was this? an unschedualed Space Bridge Transport from New Kaon? Who in the name of the Pit could that possibly b....

"No..." Starscream groaned as the Spacebridge opened, and from the high walled circle, stepped forth Shockwave himself, flanked by Blitzwing, Runamuck, Runabout and Sixshot.

Starscream all but ran from the command center, meeting Shockwave and his escort before they even reached the end of the Underground tunnels.

"Shockwave, what are you doing here! I have command of this base! This is my battle!"

"Air commander, You are hereby relieved of command - I am taking over Pontifex and this battle."

"No!" Starscream's arm lifted up, the nullray glowing to discharge before he found hims chest smoking with a shot from Runabout's proton blaster.

Starscream stumbled back, glaring at the Decepticon quintet, before he stumbled away.

"You'll pay for this insult Shockwave.....just you wait.."

[LadyTevar]

The scream of the warning sensors, followed by the Aerobots rapid take-off made Crimson frown. "So much for Hornet's game of tag," she said, watching the crowd of human pilots take off running for their own airships. The embarrassment and mirth of moments before died quickly when faced by attack.

"Hornet, why don't you go find Jetfire or DeathStrike and wait for orders? They might need you for the next raid."

[General Havoc]

Oblivious as ever, Hornet had not understood that the pilots were mis-interpreting his relationship with Stryke and Crimson. Indeed, for a robot built to replicate aspects of humanity, Hornet had an alarmingly narrow understanding of just how humans worked and operated, to the extent that he did not know what a "parent" was, save in the sense of mother and daughterboards, and even then, only in brief. Wheeljack of course had a full understanding of the biology and social structures at work here (or rather he thought he did), but had not considered it vitally important for Hornet to understand. Hornet had selected Crimson and Stryke to ask, specifically because he had guessed that they, among all the other Autobots, would be the most likely to say yes, as opposed to say Slipstream or Ironhide. In a sense perhaps, this was like a child seeking out the most receptive of his parents to make a request of, save that in that sense, Hornet had seventy or eighty "parents" to select from.

There was no mistaking his disappointment as both Stryke and Crimson told him to take his request to higher authorities. He knew that neither Jazz nor Jetfire were particularly likely to give him the permission he sought, and he further knew that to act without permission would be to invite, at best, a severe reprimand, and at worst, summary dismissal back to the Ark. Accordingly he lowered his head and mumbled a brief "okay..." and turned to tell the pilots he was with that he had to go ask Jazz or Jetfire and that he wasn't sure that he was going to be allowed to go, and that they might have to play without him. As the pilots dispersed, Hornet turned to go find one of the commanders and ask directly. Jazz was the closest.

Before he could get to Jazz, the Aerialbots suddenly shouted out an alert over the radio, only to call everyone else down. Hornet glanced around as the humans who had been preparing for the game looked at one another, wondering what to do. And as he did so, suddenly he got an idea...

"Um... Jazz?" he asked, walking up to the larger Autobot commander. Hornet rather liked Jazz, even if he didn't understand what he was saying half the time. He was much nicer than Ironhide at least. "I um... the human pilots and I... wanted to see if we could uh... go... for a fly? To help the Aerialbots I mean." He tried to think of what Bumblebee had once told him about how to get what he wanted out of unwilling officers. It was all in the pitch...

"The humans said that they wanted to see how we fly, and practice against us, and I was thinking, since the Aerialbots are busy and all, that maybe me and some of the humans could go for a fly? Their officers said it was okay as long as I got permission from you, and if the Aerialbots get in trouble then we can help them from the air? Can I go with them Jazz? Please?"

It was clear that Hornet was asking permission to go play with his new friends, but to a wise bot, it was also clear that Hornet had just made friends out of more than three dozen angry and disgruntled humans, and that the value of such a thing might just be worth the attendant chaos of letting Hornet and the human pilots fly about.

Plus... it MIGHT be good practice, and the Aerialbots might actually require support after all.

[SirNitram]

Overload nodded to Jazz and put Slipstream down, dusting his hands. The point had been made, he felt, and there was no need to undermine Jazz's authority; he was an excellent officer, even if Overload thought he was far too into the modern loud music. "As you command." He said simply.

When the alert went out, Overload frowned, his faceplate sliding into place, an unconscious action dictated by his expectation of battle. "Shellshock. I'll be on the strip, in case they need something big to draw fire." He said simply, moving away from the collection of humans and transforming, assuming his massive Venturestar form. The engines remained cool, but he listened as the Aerialbots went forth to intercept.

[Dark Silver]

Jazz watched as the two larger bots parted ways, and then his attention was drawn down to Hornet.

He heard Hornet's request, and Jazz genuinely liked the little mech, he reminded him of the human kids he used to be able to spend time with before the war flared up.

"Sure thing kiddo, just make sure you back intime to grab a slot in the re-energizer for the big throw down tomorrow, cool?"

[General Havoc]

Hornet beamed in his own inimitable way as Jazz told him he was allowed to go and play with the humans. He had more-than-half expected to be told he was not allowed to go, and the unexpected surprise was such that he (as usual) responded by jumping up and giving Jazz a very brief hug around the waist (Jazz was tall enough that he had to jump to do it). No doubt Jazz was mortified, but Hornet didn't know or care, and he was quick enough that by the time Jazz realized what was going on, Hornet was already sprinting back towards the runways, thanking Jazz as he ran. No use giving him a chance to change his mind.

By the time he got back to the airfield, the planes were already taxing out of their revetments, and the pilots were being vectored to their runways. Of the officers commanding the human pilots, the most senior ones were in consultation with Optimus, and those remaining had either signed off on the project, or spontaneously decided to forget that anything was going on. It was just a training exercise after all...

... that pretense didn't last long.

He ran out onto the runway, and taking full advantage of his size and speed, transformed in mid run and took off like a rocket into the air, as nearly two dozen human fighters flew up into the sky after him. Quickly they formed two teams, one squadron against another, and for what might well have been the first time ever, Hornet found that not only did someone actually WANT him on their team, but that EVERYONE did. Indeed, Hornet could only resolve the issue by agreeing to trade off each round between teams. Here were warriors and pilots who didn't care how small he was or how little ordinance he carried. He could fly, he could target, he could dogfight, and he could play. Nothing else mattered, and Hornet, who spent most of his life looking for inventive ways to have fun, found that this was more fun than anything he'd EVER done.

Radio discipline disintegrated like tissue paper in a hurricane as the pilots, even the more mature ones, got into the spirit of things, and soon the air above the base was filled with fighters twisting and dancing around one another, their pilots showering good-natured abuse on one another as they struggled for targeting locks and shooting solutions. Contrails filled the air like a complex knot as round after round was played, afterburners sizzled, and complex maneuvers were performed, and in the center of it all, there was Hornet, laughing and cheering and flipping through the formations like a wasp orbiting birds of prey. His chirpy voice filled the airwaves, as did the more reasonable ones of his human companions, as they fought and shot one another down dozens of times, forming teams and reforming them. Sometimes Hornet was on one side, sometimes another. Sometimes he was "independent", his goal being to shoot down the planes from both sides and be shot at in turn as the two sides fought. They played VIP, with Hornet as the VIP, which cast one team as the attackers and the other team as the defenders, the goal of the attackers being to get Hornet, and the defenders being to protect him. They played Target Tag, with one specific plane as the target, whose goal was to evade all others and not be "shot down", until finally someone shot him down and became in turn, the new target. These games and more permutations of these games they invented and played for hours and hours, and the radio waves were filled with laughter and cries of victory and promises of defeat to come, as the airplanes danced overhead.

And at that moment, Hornet could not possibly have cared less what Deathstrike or Slipstream or Ironhide thought of him, for at that moment he had friends, fun, and flight, and what more could anyone ever need?

[LadyTevar]

Crimson leaned back against Stryke, her head tilted upwards as she tried to follow the 'play' taking place above her head, in three dimensions. "Pity none of the other Autobots got in on this...," she said casually. "They could get Overload up there as ... what was it? VIP?"

[Agent Fisher]

Stryke nodded. "I guess. I'm not into aerial combat, myself. Leave my feet planted on the ground." He said, sitting down to watch the display.