(follows from this fic, wherein Optimus Prime is secretly a vampire. ....typing that out made me both extremely embarrassed and extremely pleased at how ridiculous that phrase is. Fic has melted my brain and I love it.)
He'd had to make a detour to avoid a Decepticon patrol, and another due to a collapsed bridge. So he was already a bit lower on fuel than he would have liked for the amount of road between himself and Iacon.
Main tank empty. Reserve tank 17%. Primus, let it be enough.
His prayer echoed in his spark, unheeded. He was on his own.
Reserve tanks at 3%, and Optimus had all but forgotten his destination, mindlessly rolling forward without regard for stealth or cover until a barrage of laserfire stitched the road before him and a rough voice yelled for him to surrender.
Surrender. Sluggishly, he turned the thought over in his mind before deciding, not today.
He transformed. His weapon stayed stowed - he didn't need it. Mechs were emerging from the alleys around him, emboldened by his seeming acquiescence and the fact that they were armed and he was not. With a hunter's patience, he let them get close.
Megatron's got a slag of a price on your head, Prime. We'll never run out of fuel again-
-get on your knees, I said get on-
-what the scrap, what's wrong with his MOUTH-?
Optimus lunged. The first one broke apart in his hands, spraying sparks; the second got bowled over by one half of the first. The thing-that-was-Optimus showed no mercy nor hesitation, until at last exhaustion made him have to let the survivors run -
Reserve tank, .5%.
- all but one.
"Primus," the unfortunate whimpered as his helm was grabbed and cranked back.
At that, Optimus finally found his language module. "Primus can't hear you." And he bent to feed.
Transformers G1, Optimus Prime
He'd had to make a detour to avoid a Decepticon patrol, and another due to a collapsed bridge. So he was already a bit lower on fuel than he would have liked for the amount of road between himself and Iacon.
Main tank empty. Reserve tank 17%. Primus, let it be enough.
His prayer echoed in his spark, unheeded. He was on his own.
Reserve tanks at 3%, and Optimus had all but forgotten his destination, mindlessly rolling forward without regard for stealth or cover until a barrage of laserfire stitched the road before him and a rough voice yelled for him to surrender.
Surrender. Sluggishly, he turned the thought over in his mind before deciding, not today.
He transformed. His weapon stayed stowed - he didn't need it. Mechs were emerging from the alleys around him, emboldened by his seeming acquiescence and the fact that they were armed and he was not. With a hunter's patience, he let them get close.
Megatron's got a slag of a price on your head, Prime. We'll never run out of fuel again-
-get on your knees, I said get on-
-what the scrap, what's wrong with his MOUTH-?
Optimus lunged. The first one broke apart in his hands, spraying sparks; the second got bowled over by one half of the first. The thing-that-was-Optimus showed no mercy nor hesitation, until at last exhaustion made him have to let the survivors run -
Reserve tank, .5%.
- all but one.
"Primus," the unfortunate whimpered as his helm was grabbed and cranked back.
At that, Optimus finally found his language module. "Primus can't hear you." And he bent to feed.