Chapter Text
In an unknown star system, a transwarp portal opened, releasing two starships, a fleeing Predacon warship and a pursuing Maximal vessel. Already carrying the scars of battle, both ships immediately opened fire upon each other. On the Maximal ship, a youthful crewmember reported on their damaged condition, in response to which another crew member bitterly complained about their non-combat exploration vessel not being cut out for this mission. Their commander, Optimus Primal, stated that they were the only ship in range capable of intercepting the fugitives.
On the fleeing Predacon starship, the first officer urged her leader, Megatron, to finish off the Maximals while their opponents' shields were down. Megatron arrogantly rebuffed this suggestion, preferring to toy with her opponents. A broadside attack crippled their enemies' engines and caused significant damage to their stasis hold. Optimus Primal ordered the Maximals' cargo of stasis pods be released into safe orbit before firing the forward plasma cannons, strafing the Predacons' hull. With no engines, both ships were caught in the planet's gravitational pull and plummeted to its surface.
Both ships were non-flightworthy after their crashes. The Maximals had landed on a cliff above a lake; the Predacon warship had landed smack in the middle of the ash-hardened opening of an active shield volcano.
"Damage report?" Optimus asked.
"Believe me, you don't wanna know," the youthful member said.
Optimus sighed. "That's what I thought,” she said.
The Predacon computer informed Megatron that their location was unknown, as while the course settings were accurate, the readings were not consistent with what was to be expected of the location. Dismissing this for the time being, Megatron demanded to know if the mysterious planet had energon, the life blood of all Cybertronians, which the computer confirmed to her elation. However, it warned that there was so much energon that prolonged exposure would permanently damage their robot modes. Declaring that they would take the forms of the most powerful creatures on the planet, Megatron offered her science officer to scan for local life forms which they could adapt as alternate modes to survive on this world. The Predacon ship launched a drone, scanning the fossils of a Tyrannosaurus rex, Velociraptor, and Pteranodon, as well as a living spider, scorpion and wasp.
At the cliff, the Maximals had the same idea, scanning a gorilla, rat, rhino and cheetah. "Whoa! Hey! I'm a cheetah! No... No... I'm Cheetor!" The youthful member said. The Maximals checked out their new forms and bicker amongst themselves, till Optimus Primal ordered the crew to moderate their conflict circuits, reminding them that their new beast forms were to protect them from the long-term effects of the abundant energon fields: While they needed energon for power, their robot modes would short out after a few minutes of exposure. Optimus notes that they were on a very unusual planet, wherever it was. Rhinox points out or whenever; stating that the transwarp drive allowed them to journey through space and time, so they could be in any place, any time. Optimus expressed concern about the stasis pods in orbit, as it meant the Maximals were outnumbered.
Back at the other crash site, the Predacons were testing out their new beast modes, bar one. First officer Dinobot, studying the Golden Disk she and her cohorts had stolen, was furious, declaring that this world cannot be Earth. She accused Megatron of failure, both in battle against the Maximals and in failing to guide them to the right planet. Megatron laughed off Dinobot's accusations
"Ah-hahaha... there's more to being a leader than simple courage. Well, there's cleverness and cunning as well. Isn't that right, Scorponok?" Megatron said.
Scorponok fired a missile, blasting Dinobot away over the horizon. "Loser."
Megatron informed the other Predacons that it doesn't matter which planet they are on, as they had come looking for energon to fuel their war with the Maximals, and this planet is rich with it. “Only the Maximals could stop us now,” she said. “If they survived the crash.” Megatron dispatched her crew to seek out and destroy their enemies.
Meanwhile, the Maximals were surveying the land around them and cleaning up the wreckage on the Axalon. Rattrap complained about all the fuss over the Golden Disk, but Optimus Primal reminded her that the Disk was Cybertron's most closely guarded relic, a guide to a major source of energon, which was why Megatron stole it. Rattrap didn’t care, retorting they were supposed to be performing deep-space exploration and that it wasn’t her job to chase after criminals. She sarcastically speculated on Primal's readiness to handle a command position. Optimus further reminded her of the Great War, noting that if the Predacons were able to secure a massive source of energon, they wouldn't hesitate to start a new one. Rattrap wasn’t convinced.
"You wanted exploration, and here we are on an unknown planet. What more do you want?" Optimus asked.
"Well, uh, call me picky but a working spacecraft might be nice." Rattrap said.
Optimus sighed. "Just no pleasing some people." Optimus replied.
Deciding to show off (and goof off), Cheetor gave chase to two cheetahs running on the plains near the ship. Optimus tried to call her back, but the energon radiation severely limited the range of their communications equipment.
"No good. The energon fields mess up the comm links. Anything over 100 meters, they ain't worth scrap." Rhinox said.
"Well, that's just prime." Optimus replied.
"So, er, this your first day on the job, or what?" Rattrap asked.
"Shut up, Rattrap." Optimus said.
"Oh yes ma’am! Y'know, I feel just heaps better knowing that our lives are in your capable hands.” She sighed deeply. “We're all gonna die."
Some distance away, Cheetor's two cheetah buddies were freaked out by a rather large wasp. “What’s wrong, it’s just a big bug. From the way those two reacted,” she said. “That’s no natural life form. And if we’re talking about unnatural life forms, then we have to be talking about just one thing; Robots in Disguise, Cheetor maximize.” Realizing it's a Robot in Disguise, Cheetor transformed and fired unprovoked. “Time for this cat to pounce.” Cheetor transformed into an organic, big cat-like creature somewhat resembling a cheetah in beast mode. As such, she was yellow and covered in spots. In robot mode, she was armed with a quasar rifle made out of her hindquarters and tail, along with a second plasma "gut gun" formed out of her stomach. This gun was still functional in beast mode, which was... unsettling, to say the least.
Cheetor had the following personality;
The young Maximal was full to bursting with energy and exuberance, Cheetor is always ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. And, much to her colleagues' chagrin, she often does so without a moment's consideration or forethought. Nobody can fault her motives, just her methods. Much like her beast form, she runs into battle at fast speed, thinking she can get in and out without being caught.
Cheetor, the young cheetah, was a blur of tawny fur and boundless energy. She lived for the thrill of the chase, the wind whipping through her mane as she hurtled across the savanna, her heart a drumbeat against her ribs. To her, the world was a canvas of vibrant colors and exhilarating challenges, each sunrise a new adventure waiting to be devoured.
Her youthful exuberance often outpaced her wisdom. She was quick to act, impulsive and eager to prove herself, sometimes leading her into trouble. She'd charge headfirst into danger, her bravery bordering on recklessness. But beneath the bravado, there was a deep-seated loyalty and a fierce protectiveness for her friends.
One scorching afternoon, as the sun beat down on the parched earth, Cheetor was scouting for prey. Her keen eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any movement, any hint of weakness. Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught her eye. A lone zebra, separated from its herd, was grazing near the edge of a dry riverbed.
Cheetor's heart quickened. This was her chance, her moment to prove herself. The thought of the challenge, the test of her skills, thrummed through her. She crouched low, her body taut with anticipation. A deep breath, and she exploded into action, a streak of gold and brown against the dusty landscape.
The zebra, startled by the sudden rush, bolted, its powerful legs churning the dry earth. Cheetor, agile and swift, matched its every move, her muscles coiled like springs. She was gaining ground, her instincts honed by countless hunts, a natural predator in her element.
But then, a sudden rumble shook the ground. Dust billowed in the distance, obscuring the horizon. A pride of lions, their eyes gleaming with hunger, emerged from the swirling sand and cut off the zebra's escape route.
Cheetor, momentarily caught off guard, watched in dismay. She had become a pawn in a larger game, the zebra's fate now hanging in the balance. She knew, instinctively, that she couldn't win against a pride. But could she save the zebra?
She glanced back, her heart pounding. Her friends were nowhere in sight. She was alone, facing a choice - retreat and live to fight another day, or risk her own life for a chance to save the zebra.
Cheetor’s youthful exuberance, often a liability, was now turning into a powerful force. She refused to turn her back. The zebra was a helpless target; she couldn’t stand idly by.
With a roar that surprised even herself, she charged forward, a whirlwind of tawny fur and defiance. The lions, startled by her audacity, snarled in response, their bodies tense with predatory intent.
Cheetor knew she had to distract them. She darted in and out, a blur of motion, snapping her teeth just close enough to send a jolt of fear through the lions. They snarled, frustrated by her agility, their attack faltering.
The zebra, sensing an opportunity, kicked its feet and bolted, darting back towards its herd. Cheetor, panting, watched as the zebra vanished into the dust cloud, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.
The lions, their prey gone, turned their fury on Cheetor. She knew she couldn't stand her ground. She needed to escape, find shelter, and regroup. She darted through the scrub, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm. The lions, enraged and hungry, were close behind.
But Cheetor, her youthful energy fueling her, was too quick, too unpredictable. She weaved through the landscape, a blur of golden fur, leading the lions on a chase that stretched across the parched land. Finally, she reached the safety of a rocky outcrop, her panting breaths filling the air.
The lions, unable to follow her, roared their frustration from below. They retreated, their hunger momentarily quelled, their target gone. Cheetor, exhausted but triumphant, watched them disappear into the dust, a wave of relief washing over her.
She had survived, against all odds. She had risked her own life to save another. In that moment, Cheetor learned a valuable lesson. She understood that courage wasn’t just about charging headlong into danger, but also about making tough decisions, about standing up for what was right, even when all odds were stacked against her. She had learned a valuable lesson about bravery, loyalty, and the true meaning of being a predator. She was still young, still had much to learn, but she was growing, becoming a warrior, a leader, a true cheetah.
In the present moment, Cheetor then proceeded to fire her quaser rifle at the wasp.
"Mzzzzz! Waszzzpinator under attack! Waszzzpinator engage enemy! Waszzpinator, TERRORIZEZZZZZZZZ!!!" The Predacon Waspinator transformed and retaliated. Waspinator transformed into a large organic green and yellow wasp in beast mode. Her stinger separated to become a hand-held spring-loaded missile launcher for her robot mode; the bolts were stored on the underside of her insect-wings. Her head was on a vertical column that rotates around a horizontal axle; each end had a different head, one "mutant", one "robot". Her eyes had optic lasers.
Waspinator had the following personality;
Waspinator's not the brightest 'bot in the Beast Wars. Megatron has classified the harebrained Predacon as expendable, much to Waspinator's dismay; she doesn't get much more respect from anyone else, either, though Terrorsaur would occasionally remember to drag her back to base for repairs. Her speech quirks don't help: she tends to refer to herself in the third person and to most other people by nicknames like "cat-bot" and "two-head." She's also a bit too fond of the letter "Z". (Those prone to witticisms might say she has a "liszzzzp.") Waspinator may be dumb, but she's not stupid. She has caught on to her lot in life and tries to avoid her fate as often as possible... but fate always finds her. Thankfully, she's almost supernaturally durable and has survived the most devastating and humiliating of defeats.
The sun beat down on the vibrant tapestry of wildflowers, buzzing with life. Waspinator, a sleek, black-and-yellow wasp with iridescent wings, surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. Her antennae twitched, registering the dance of her fellow wasps, the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and, most importantly, the faint, tantalizing aroma of ripe plums.
'Plum time!' she declared, her voice a high-pitched, buzzing hum that only her hivemates could understand. 'Gather round, sisters!'
A chorus of excited buzzes responded. Waspinator, the self-proclaimed leader of the hive, was known for her sharp instincts and unwavering determination. She wasn't the biggest, nor the most powerful, but a certain charisma, a spark in her amber eyes, drew the others to her. Her energy was infectious, driving them to action.
From the edge of the hive, young Waspette watched with growing admiration. She had only recently emerged from her cocoon, her wings still a bit awkward, her confidence fragile. Waspinator was her idol, the embodiment of everything Waspette aspired to be.
'She's incredible, isn't she?' a seasoned elder, Waspina, buzzed beside her. 'The best scout we've ever had.'
Waspette nodded, her heart buzzing with excitement. 'I want to be just like her.'
Waspina chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound. 'You have the potential, little one. But remember, Waspinator is fearless. That's her strength, but also her flaw.'
Waspette's antennae twitched. 'Flaw?'
'Fearless wasps don't always see the dangers,' Waspina explained. 'Sometimes, they push too far, take too many risks.'
Waspinator, meanwhile, led the swarm toward the plum tree, her keen eyes already spotting the perfect fruit. Each wasp, fuelled by the sweet scent and the energy of their leader, darted toward the plump, purple spheres, their stingers ready to defend their bounty.
But as Waspinator plucked a plum, a shadow fell over the tree. A monstrous hawk, its sharp talons glinting in the sunlight, swooped down, aiming for a juicy plum.
The other wasps panicked, scattering in all directions. But Waspinator stood frozen for a moment, her amber eyes locked on the hawk's. Then, with a defiant buzz, she launched herself at the predator, her stinger aimed at its eye.
The hawk, surprised by this audacious attack, swatted at Waspinator with its wing. She dodged, stinging its beak with lightning speed. The hawk screeched in pain, dropping the stolen plum and retreating to the safety of the sky.
Waspinator, though slightly bruised, stood victorious, her wings humming with triumph. The other wasps, awed by her bravery, buzzed around her, their admiration evident in their excited movements.
Waspette watched, her chest swelling with pride. 'She's amazing,' she buzzed to Waspina.
Waspina, however, looked troubled. 'She was lucky,' she whispered. 'One wrong move, and she could have been lunch.'
The other wasps, caught up in the excitement of victory, didn't notice the slight wobble in Waspinator's flight. They didn't see the fear that flickered in her eyes, the fear she hid behind her fierce exterior.
Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Waspinator perched on the edge of the hive, her wings drooping, the excitement fading. She was tired, her body aching, but more importantly, she was scared.
She remembered the hawk's menacing eyes, the feeling of its wing brushing against her, the terrifying power it possessed. She had barely escaped, but what if next time, she didn't?
Waspina, sensing her leader's troubled state, gently brushed against her, a silent gesture of comfort. 'You did well, Waspinator,' she buzzed, her voice low and steady. 'But remember, fear is a necessary emotion. It keeps us safe.'
Waspinator looked at the elder, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. She knew Waspina was right. Fear wasn't weakness, but a tool to protect, to navigate the dangers of the world.
From that day on, Waspinator continued to lead her hive, her confidence unwavering, but her eyes, though still filled with fire, held a newfound respect for fear. The world was a dangerous place, and even the bravest wasp had to learn when to stand her ground and when to retreat.
Back at the Axalon, the other Maximals moved out to give Cheetor backup, with Rhinox ramming her way through a pile of boulders to speed their progress. Waspinator managed to get the better of Cheetor when the Maximal's rifle jammed, but fortunately, the other Maximals had arrived by then.
Unfortunately, Megatron and the Predacons had arrived as well. “I would not count on that, Maximal,” Megatron said, laughing menacingly. “No, I’m afraid that you are soon to have, how shall I say, difficulties of your own, yes.”
Optimus Primal tries to convince Megatron to not engage in hostilities, as the Maximals and Predacons have been at peace for centuries. “Megatron, this is not necessary,” Optimus said. “There has been peace between the Maximals and Predacons for centuries, why start this war again.” Megatron spits back that while the Maximals may have been at peace, the Predacons, like all enemies who appear "peaceful," were merely biding their time.” Cheetor fixed her rifle. “The Predacons have never forgotten their goal of galactic conquest, but were merely waiting for the right time to strike.
Cheetor pointed her quaser rifle at Megatron. “You mean like this?” She asked. Cheetor fired a shot at Megatron.
"Ahh, a treacherous, under-handed sneak attack. Oh-ho-ho, I like you, puss*cat, yesss." Megatron said. “But, it shall avail you not, for now the power gauntlet has been cast. Predacons, terrorize.”
“Do it,” Optimus said. “Maximize.”
“Tarantulas, terrorize,” Tarantulas said.
Tarantulas is a Transformer in the Beast Wars Universe. She is a member of the Predacons. Her beast mode is a purple, yellow, green Tarantula with black legs. Tarantulas transforms into an organic generic spider (not a tarantula) in beast mode. Her abdomen contains a spring-loaded missile launcher, which fires the anchor-missile kept in her spider-butt. This missile is attached by a string so she can hang from things like a real spider (perfect for pulling pranks). The launcher can be removed and used as a robot mode weapon, using any of her front four spider-legs as missiles. Her legs are also used as machine guns.
Trantulas had the following personality;
Tarantulas (aka Tarantulus or Mesothulas) is the scheming mad scientist of the Predacon crew. She's the type of mad scientist who experiments on living beings, cackling in her trademarked laugh all the while, and then if things go wrong, happily eats what's left as her midday snack. The eating is what she was really looking forward to, anyway. It's this focused perversity that turns off even her fellow Predacons. Tarantulas's emotional detachment from their war also rubs her peers the wrong way. Fighting Maximals and following orders is just a required chore; her real passion is the unmentionable projects stashed in her "secret" lair. Nominally, Tarantulas was one of the Predacons to join Megatron during her theft of the Golden Disk and the search for Earth. In addition to being an utterly psychotic, sad*stic sociopath, she has a record for treachery rivaled by few other Transformers. She is actually an agent of the Tripredacus Council, which is trying to coax the Beast Wars toward an unspecified goal, where neither Autobot or Decepticon won the Great War. Who knows what other dark secrets lie in her past. If anything upsets Tarantulas, other than losing a potential meal, it's those pompous aliens who call themselves the Vok. She harbors a hatred for them strong enough to make her work to eliminate them by any means.
The air hung thick and humid in the rainforest, the scent of decaying leaves and damp earth clinging to Tarantulas' eight hairy legs. She wasn't a creature of great speed, but she moved with a measured grace, her eight eyes scanning every inch of the forest floor. Tarantulas was, after all, a hunter, a predator who knew her prey's every move.
It wasn't the thrill of the hunt that drove her, however. It wasn't the taste of the plump cricket, the juicy beetle, or the unsuspecting spider that filled her heart with a sense of purpose. Tarantulas, unlike her kin, wasn't a creature of instinct. She was a creature of thought.
One of her eight eyes, the one she called 'Insight,' focused on the flickering candlelight emanating from the makeshift shelter she called home. A young girl, barely ten years old, sat hunched over a tattered book, her face illuminated by the flickering flame. Her name was Maya, a tiny human who had stumbled upon Tarantulas' home two weeks ago, lost and frightened.
'Are you afraid?' Tarantulas whispered to herself, the words silent, yet heavy in her heart. Maya was afraid, she could tell, but of what? The rustling leaves? The chirping insects? Was it the fear of the unknown, the fear of being alone in the vast, unforgiving jungle?
Tarantulas had never understood fear. She knew the dangers of the forest, the lurking predators, the venomous snakes, the torrential rains. She knew her strength, her speed, her fangs. But fear? That was a human emotion, foreign to her.
Yet, she watched Maya, her eight eyes never straying from the girl's face. She saw the terror in Maya's eyes when a leaf fell, the tremble in her hands when a lizard scurried by, the fear that seemed to permanently inhabit her fragile frame.
Tarantulas felt an unexpected pull, a connection to this small human. It was not affection, not love, but something deeper, something she couldn't quite understand. It was a sense of responsibility, a feeling that she, Tarantulas, the lone hunter in the heart of the jungle, had to protect this fragile creature.
For Maya, the forest was a terrifying labyrinth. Every rustle of leaves, every chirp of a cricket, every rustle of a branch made her heart pound in her chest. She was lost, alone, and frightened. She missed her family, her home, the familiar comfort of her bed.
The sight of Tarantulas, her eight hairy legs, her menacing fangs, had initially filled her with terror. But slowly, as days passed, she began to see something else in the tarantula's eight eyes - a calmness, a sense of peace that seemed to emanate from the creature's very being.
One evening, as Maya sat huddled under her makeshift shelter, a rainstorm began, the downpour a terrifying symphony of nature's fury. She shivered, her body wracked with fear, her eyes wide with panic as the wind howled outside.
Then, she saw it. Tarantulas, her hairy legs moving with surprising speed, was weaving a web. Not the typical hunting web, but a different kind - a web woven with a meticulous precision, a web that seemed to be a haven, a shield against the storm.
Maya watched, her fear slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of awe. The tarantula, the creature she had feared, was protecting her. She was building her a shelter, a sanctuary from the storm.
As the rain subsided, the sun peeked through the clouds, casting a warm glow on the forest floor. Maya, her fear replaced by a newfound sense of trust, looked at Tarantulas.
'Thank you,' she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Tarantulas blinked, her eight eyes meeting Maya's. She didn't understand the words, but she understood the sentiment. The human, small and vulnerable, was no longer afraid. She was safe. And Tarantulas, the lone hunter, was her protector.
It wasn't about instinct, it wasn't about food, it wasn't about survival. It was about an unlikely connection, a bond forged in the heart of the rainforest, between two creatures of vastly different worlds, a bond that transcended fear, language, and species. It was a bond that whispered of empathy, of compassion, of the silent understanding that sometimes, even a lone hunter, can find solace in the most unexpected of places.
“Rhinox, maximize,” Rhinox said.
Rhinox is a Transformer in the Beast Wars Universe. She is the sub-commander of the Maximals. Her beast mode is a brown Rhinoceros. Rhinox transforms from a Samurai-styled robot (a concept that the TV show would not utilize) into a tan organic rhinoceros. In robot mode, her primary weapon is a spinning blade-gun/double mace-thing/lawn edge trimmer, though the television series liberally reinterpreted this weapon as a sort of Gatling gun (the aforementioned "Chaingun of Doom"). All four parts store away inside her beast mode: the main body/spinner stores in his stomach (though this compresses the spring inside so it's not a good idea to leave it in there for long-term storage), the sawblade pegs onto her spine under the beast-mode plating, and each chain-flail pegs into holes inside her rhino-mode rhino-mold flank-plates. Her tail also detaches to become a blade. The two panels mounted on either side of her head close together to form her "mutant" battle mask.
Rhinox had the following personality;
Cheetor was on the mark when she said that Rhinox was the best of them. She's a Renaissance Bot. Intelligent, massive, strong, and stalwart, there are few Maximals one could depend on more. Rhinox is of a rare breed—she's incredibly tech savvy, but mystically inclined... without coming off as a burnt-out technohippie. She's quick and decisive in a crisis, with spectacular results, but is slow and steady. She loves to sniff the flowers. A behind-the-scenes charismatic and an on-her-feet strategist, she could lead the Maximals if she wanted to, but she doesn't. If she sounds too good to be true, it's because she just might be. At times she can be borderline obsessive and single-minded, but her strong moral center keeps it from getting out of hand. The Maximals are glad for that, because if she ever lost her ethical restraint, woe be to them. No, woe be to the galaxy. Still, you can't help but love a bot who can fight Megatron to a standstill without breaking a sweat, yet would rather take a nap in a patch of daisies. Rhinox considers Rattrap to be her best friend, though she also has a close friendship with Optimus Primal. She appears to have some "older sibling/parental" emotions toward Airazor due to her role in bringing her online. Rhinox's only weapons—besides her intimidating strength and brilliant mind—are her twin chainguns.
Rhinox was a puzzle, even to herself. That much she knew. Her thick, grey hide, wrinkled with age, seemed to hold secrets, as if the very earth had imprinted its wisdom upon her. Her massive horns, curved like the crescent moon, held a silent strength that had seen her through droughts, fires, and even the occasional lion pride. Yet, in the depths of her being, Rhinox felt a yearning, a restlessness that defied the stoic image she projected.
The other rhinos, her family, saw her as a pillar of stability, a matriarch whose every bellow held authority. They relied on her experience, her ability to sniff out the best grazing patches and navigate the treacherous terrain. But Rhinox craved more than just survival. She dreamt of the unknown, of stretching her legs beyond the familiar savanna, of experiencing the world in a way that went beyond the practical.
One day, a young antelope, his eyes wide with fear, stumbled into her herd, fleeing a pack of hyenas. Rhinox, feeling a surge of protective instinct, charged forward, her massive frame sending the hyenas scattering. The antelope, trembling but safe, looked up at her with gratitude. It was then that Rhinox felt a spark, a flicker of something different.
'Why are you always so serious?' the antelope asked, his voice shaky.
Rhinox, perplexed, lowered her head and stared at him. 'I am a rhino,' she rumbled, 'protecting my herd is my duty.'
The antelope chuckled, a nervous, high-pitched sound. 'But you're also...strong. And brave. You could do anything.'
Rhinox snorted, a cloud of dust swirling around her. 'Anything?' she challenged.
The antelope, emboldened by the challenge, looked at her with newfound respect. 'Yes, anything,' he affirmed. 'Go see the world, Rhinox. Go beyond what you know.'
His words struck a chord within her. It was like a seed, planted deep within the fertile soil of her soul, beginning to bloom. For the first time, Rhinox considered what her life might be if she weren't just a rhino, but a being with a choice.
Her decision was a slow burn, a growing ache that pulsed within her heart whenever she saw the sun rise over the endless plains. She began to linger at the edge of the herd's territory, sniffing the wind for unfamiliar scents, feeling the call of the unknown.
One night, under the silver gaze of the moon, Rhinox made her move. She excused herself from the herd, claiming a need for solitude, and slipped away unnoticed. The world, unburdened by the responsibilities of her family, felt vast and welcoming. The air smelled different, the wind whispered secrets, and the stars seemed to hold a strange, comforting familiarity.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Rhinox wandered, her journey taking her through dense forests and scorching deserts. She encountered creatures she had only heard tales of, from the towering giraffes to the mischievous baboons. She learned to navigate the language of the wild, befriended a mischievous honey badger, and even learned to communicate, albeit clumsily, with a pack of wolves.
She discovered that the world was not just a place of survival, but a symphony of life, a tapestry woven with beauty and wonder. She faced her fears, swam across raging rivers, and climbed treacherous cliffs. Each challenge, each victory, chipped away at the stoic exterior she had built for so long.
One day, while exploring a distant valley, she stumbled upon a group of rhino poachers. The sight of their guns, the smell of their fear, ignited a primal instinct within her. She charged, her horns a weapon against their greed, defending the very species she had left behind.
The fight was long and brutal, and Rhinox carried the scars of her victory. But in those scars, she found a new kind of strength, a fierce protectiveness that transcended the bounds of her own herd.
When she finally returned to her family, she was no longer just the stoic matriarch. She was a changed rhino, a beacon of resilience and wisdom, a testament to the courage it takes to break free from the known and embrace the unknown.
As Rhinox stood before her family, her gaze met the young antelope's eyes. In his eyes, she saw not fear, but admiration. His words, spoken so long ago, resonated within her, “Go see the world, Rhinox. Go beyond what you know.” And she had. She had found herself, and in doing so, she had discovered the true meaning of strength.
“Scorponok, terrorize,” Scorponok said.
Scorponok is a Transformer in the Beast Wars Universe. She is a member of the Predacons. Her beast mode is a Scorpion. Scorponok transforms into a fairly organic but highly inaccurate black scorpion. The right pincer contains a small, spring-loaded bee drone which can be launched, while her left pincer has a spring-loaded double missile launcher activated by pulling the top part of her claw open far enough to trigger the launcher. Her tail also has a spring-loaded "stinging" action activated by pushing forward on a lever halfway up the scorpion tail. All three gimmicks are available in both modes.
Scorponok had the following personality;
Scorponok's personality seems to have two main features: She's often dumb, and she's always loyal to Megatron (surprisingly so, considering Megatron's other crew members), and of those two features, only the loyalty seems to be consistent. She tries to serve Megatron to the best of her abilities, but when Waspinator is able to outwit you, there's only so much you have to offer. Scorponok serves as Megatron's newly promoted second-in-command on the Darksyde after Dinobot's defection to the Maximals, though she is insecure about the title and constantly tries to assert herself among the other Predacons who, aware of her shortcomings, generally dismiss or ignore her. Scorponok's only other real contribution to Megatron's cause is in developing cyber-viruses that she delivers with her cyberbee drone. (This is impressive, actually, given her otherwise limited mentality.) However, these generally don't work out as she hoped, and so they've done little to increase her standing in the eyes of the other Predacons.
The desert wind whipped around Scorponok, carrying with it the scent of dust and the distant promise of rain. She was alone, as she often was, a dark silhouette against the endless expanse of sand. Her carapace, a mottled brown and black, blended seamlessly with the dunes. Her eight legs, powerful and sharp, moved with silent precision, each step a whisper on the yielding sand.
Scorponok was a survivor. A creature born of the harsh realities of the desert, she bore the marks of her existence on her tough exoskeleton. Scars, both old and recent, crisscrossed her body, each a testament to a battle fought and won. She carried herself with a stoic dignity that belied the vulnerability beneath.
But Scorponok was more than just a creature of survival. Beneath her hardened exterior lay a heart as complex and multifaceted as the desert itself. A heart that held the quiet courage of a lone warrior, the fierce protectiveness of a mother, and the unwavering loyalty of a friend.
A young, male scorpion named Scutt stumbled into her territory, his small form shivering in the chill of the approaching night. Scorponok, wary but not cruel, watched him from a distance. She had seen her kind, the young and inexperienced, vulnerable to the harsh realities of the desert. They often ended up prey, their lives snuffed out before they could even experience the full majesty of the world.
Scutt, his small eyes wide with fear, looked around, his antennae twitching nervously. He saw the imposing figure of Scorponok and, despite his fear, found himself drawn to her. He knew instinctively that she was a protector, a force to be reckoned with.
'Do you need help?' Scorponok's voice, raspy and low, was surprisingly gentle. Scutt, surprised by her kindness, hesitantly approached her. He was hungry, lost, and tired.
Scorponok, sensing his distress, offered him a small scorpion that she had caught earlier. Scutt, his hunger overpowering his fear, gratefully accepted the offering. He ate with a ravenous hunger, the small scorpion nourishing his starved body.
As Scutt ate, Scorponok watched him with a quiet intensity. Her tough exterior softened slightly, her heart opening to the young scorpion's vulnerability. She had seen glimpses of herself in him. Of the small, lost scorpling she once was, searching for a place to belong, yearning for the acceptance of a pack.
'You are alone,' she said, her words a whisper against the wind. Scutt, his hunger appeased, met her gaze. He was, indeed, alone. He had been ostracized by his pack, his stinger considered too weak, his body too small.
Scorponok, seeing the pain in his eyes, knew that he needed more than just food and shelter. He needed direction, purpose.
'You are not weak,' she said, her voice firm, 'You are young. You are learning.' Her words were a balm to his wounded pride. He looked at her, his small eyes filled with a newfound hope.
She took him under her wing, teaching him the ways of the desert. They hunted together, shared meals, and learned to navigate the treacherous terrain. Scutt, under Scorponok's guidance, thrived. He grew stronger, his stinger sharper, his body more muscular. He learned the survival skills that were essential for life in the desert.
Scorponok, in turn, found a new purpose in her life. She wasn't just a survivor anymore. She was a teacher, a mentor, a mother figure to Scutt, her heart opening a little more with each passing day. She had found a connection, a bond that transcended the loneliness she had always known.
The desert wind, with its relentless rhythm, now carried a new melody, a soft, comforting sound of kinship, of acceptance, of a bond forged in the heart of the desert. And Scorponok, the tough, solitary scorpion, knew that she was no longer alone. The desert, once a place of solitude, had become a place of belonging, a place where she had found a home, not just in the sand but in the heart of a young, grateful scorpion.
“Rattrap, maximize,” Rattrap said.
Rattrap is a Transformer in the Beast Wars Universe. She is a member of the Maximals. She took the role of leader when Optimus Primal was abducted by aliens. Her beast mode is a Rat. Rattrap transforms from a large grey rat to robot mode with a spring-action, one-step transformation activated by pulling up on the base of her tail. Her beast mode "shell" halves each hide a part of her handgun.
Rattrap had the following personality;
It's not so much that Rattrap is a coward... she just doesn't want to die. She's seen enough battles to know the score, so she's not afraid to tell her commanding officer to shove it if she's not fond of the odds. She prefers to sneak around unseen, in gutters or trenches or trash barges or what have you—whatever keeps her out of harm's way. She shouldn't be so worried. When she does encounter conflict, she deals with it masterfully with the arsenal of guns and bombs she keeps on herself at all times. She feels naked without them. Of course, it's hard to like Rattrap, especially if you're her commanding officer, because she's sarcastic, irreverent and rude. Plus she doesn't exactly smell the greatest, what with the whole garbage-eating thing. She's also not the most trusting or forgiving sort, so she's not the best choice to take on a diplomatic run. She'd sooner shoot a Predacon or Decepticon than talk to them. Despite her tough-as-nails attitude, she has a strong affection for her fellow Maximal Botanica.
Rattrap was not like the other rats. They scurried, they nibbled, they bred. They lived, and they died, their lives a blur of instinct and survival. Rattrap, however, was a thinker. A dreamer. A schemer.
She wasn't born in the sewers, but in a dusty corner of the bakery, hidden behind sacks of flour. Her mother, a plump, placid creature, had never understood Rattrap's restlessness. 'Why do you always look at the sky, child?' she would ask, 'There's nothing up there but dust and the smell of smoke.'
Rattrap, however, saw more. She saw the world beyond the bakery, a world of possibilities. She saw the humans, their clumsy steps, their chaotic lives, their delicious, juicy scraps. They were a puzzle she wanted to solve.
One day, a new smell wafted into the bakery, a pungent, metallic tang. It was the smell of danger. A trap had been set, a cruel, silent death machine baited with glistening cheese. The other rats, panicked, scurried away, but Rattrap saw opportunity.
She studied the trap, its intricate mechanism, its delicate balance. She saw the humans, their blind faith in their own creations, their predictable patterns, their careless mistakes. She saw the cheese, a tempting lure, a gateway to a world beyond the bakery.
And then, she saw the solution.
It was a simple plan, a twist of the trap's lever, a change in the weight distribution. The trap would still be there, but it would no longer be a death machine, but a stepping stone. A bridge to the other side.
With a quiet squeak, Rattrap nudged the lever, a mere inch, a subtle shift. The trap tilted, its deadly jaws now pointed at the ceiling. A gasp of fear escaped her, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of triumph.
The other rats, watching from the shadows, were stunned. They had never witnessed such audacity, such cunning. They saw Rattrap, not as a fellow rat, but as a force of nature, a tiny, furry hurricane of defiance.
From that day forward, Rattrap became a legend. Her story, whispered in the shadows, spread through the sewers, a tale of ingenuity and courage. She was the rat who outsmarted the trap, the rat who dared to dream beyond the limits of her kind.
One day, a young rat, barely a week old, approached Rattrap, his eyes wide with wonder. 'Is it true?' he squeaked, 'Did you really change the trap?'
Rattrap, her fur now streaked with grey, smiled. 'It's true,' she said, 'But it's not just about the trap. It's about seeing the world differently, about finding a way, even when there seems to be none.'
The young rat, inspired, looked up at the sky, a new light in his eyes. He saw the world beyond the sewers, a world of possibilities, a world waiting to be explored. And he knew, deep in his tiny heart, that he would follow in Rattrap's footsteps, that he would dare to dream, to scheme, to be more than just another rat.
But Rattrap, watching him, saw something more. She saw the reflection of herself in his eyes, the spark of ambition, the thirst for something more. She saw a future, not just for him, but for all rats, a future where they wouldn't just survive, but thrive, where they would no longer be just creatures of the shadows, but architects of their own destiny.
And she smiled, a knowing, mischievous smile, a smile that held the promise of a revolution, whispered in the language of squeak and nibble, carried on the wind of the sewers, a revolution that would begin with a simple change, a simple twist of a lever, a simple act of defiance.
“Terrorsaur, terrorize,” Terrorsaur said.
Terrorsaur is a Transformer in the Beast Wars Universe. She is a member of the Predacons. Her beast mode is a Pteranodon. Terrorsaur transforms from an organic red Pteranodon to robot mode with a spring-loaded mostly-one-step transformation, activated by pulling back on her beast-mode head. (Her hands and feet need to be folded out separately.) Her handgun folds up to store inside the empty area behind her robot mode head, tucking away neatly in beast mode.
Terrorsaur had the following personality;
Power-hungry, cunning, and opportunistic, but somewhat lacking in the courage department, Terrorsaur never misses a chance to improve her standing within the Predacons. From cutting deals with Maximals to finding and keeping new power sources for herself, she is always thinking two steps ahead. Unfortunately, the big guns of the Beast Wars are usually thinking at least four steps ahead, and Terrorsaur always ends up on the short end. However, as the war progresses, she matures into a more reliable subordinate to Megatron, perhaps even more loyal. As the only fliers in the Predacon platoon, Terrorsaur and Waspinator are permanent partners. The two seem to get on, working as a somewhat formidable team and sometimes having banter about their mission. They have their fair share of knocking down Optimus Primal with every chance they get.
The wind whipped through Terrorsaur's leathery wings, carrying the scent of brine and fish. She soared above the jagged cliffs, her keen eyes scanning the azure waters below. A lone sea turtle, basking on a rock, caught her attention. Its shell, a perfect mosaic of brown and green, shimmered in the sunlight.
'Lunch?' a voice rasped beside her.
Terrorsaur rolled her eyes. 'It's too small, Riker. We'd waste more energy chasing it than we'd gain.'
Riker, a male Pteranodon with a penchant for reckless bravado, scoffed. 'Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Terror. A little challenge never hurt anyone.'
'Challenge?' Terrorsaur snorted, her crest of bone spikes quivering in amusem*nt. 'You call that a challenge? I can take down a fish twice its size blindfolded.'
Riker, despite his bravado, knew Terrorsaur was right. She was the most skilled hunter in their flock, her reputation for precision and efficiency unmatched. It was this very efficiency that earned her the name 'Terrorsaur,' a moniker she secretly despised. It was all wrong. She was no terror. She was a master of her craft, a shrewd strategist, a guardian of her own.
'Fine, fine,' Riker grumbled, his eyes scanning the ocean. 'But if we find something bigger, you're not complaining about the chase!'
Terrorsaur ignored him, her gaze fixed on a shimmering school of herring, darting beneath the surface. She knew Riker would be distracted by flashier prey, while she could easily extract a full meal from the abundant school.
Later, as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the land, the flock gathered near a shallow lagoon. Terrorsaur landed gracefully, her wings folding inwards. She was tired, but satisfied. She had successfully snagged a plump mackerel, a testament to her meticulous planning and unwavering focus.
'Tell me, Terror,' Riker asked, sidling up to her. 'What's it like, being the best?'
Terrorsaur narrowed her eyes. 'Being the best is about surviving, Riker. About adapting. About knowing your strength and using it wisely. It's not about boasting or showing off.'
Riker seemed to deflate slightly. He was used to being the center of attention, the one who always had to impress. He hadn't fully grasped the quiet power that resided within Terrorsaur, the calm confidence that was far more intimidating than any outward display of bravado.
'But you're always so serious,' Riker said, his voice subdued. 'Don't you ever want to just let loose and have some fun?'
'Fun is a luxury, Riker,' Terrorsaur replied, her voice firm. 'We're not here to play games. We're here to survive, to thrive, to protect our kind.'
Riker looked around at the other Pteranodons, their feathers ruffled by the evening breeze. They were a formidable sight, a force of nature, yet they were also vulnerable, susceptible to predators and the whims of the weather. He saw a flicker of fear in their eyes, a fear that Terrorsaur seemed to be immune to, a fear that she seemed to have conquered within herself.
'You're right,' Riker conceded, his voice barely a whisper. 'You're right, Terror.'
Terrorsaur watched him, her gaze unwavering. She knew he didn't understand her, not fully. She was not a terror. She was a guardian, a protector, a survivor. And she would continue to be so, long after the last echoes of Riker's bravado faded into the wind.
The setting sun cast a warm glow on Terrorsaur's leathery wings, illuminating her stoic profile. She was a creature of the sky, a creature of the wind, a creature of unwavering strength. And as the stars began to appear, she knew her watch was not over. It was a watch she would tirelessly continue, for as long as the wind carried her and the sky held its secrets.
“Megatron, terrorize,” Megatron said.
Megatron is the leader of the Predacons. Her beast mode is a fearsome purple Tyrannosaurus Rex. This Megatron transforms into a purple, green, and yellow organic Tyrannosaurus rex. She has very limited articulation in beast mode, located mostly in her legs and the shoulders of her beast mode arms. In addition, she has a water squirter in her dinosaur mouth, which is activated when pulling back on the upper part of her head, opening her jaw, which in turn pulls back on the pump inside her tongue. Her thigh-shells can also extend out from the body to fire spring-loaded, anchor-shaped projectiles. In robot mode, she features two bat-like wing adornments on either side of her head that wrap around to become her mutant head. In addition to her water squirter (now located as her right) and her hip-mounted launchers, her left arm (made up of the dinosaur tail) contains a spring-loaded pincer gimmick that is activated by pushing and pulling on a black lever on his elbow. The water bladder for the squirting gimmick is contained inside a removable throat/tongue section, allowing for the user to fill it with water. The plug located on the top, covering the hole used to fill the bladder, and the pump inside the tongue are both highly susceptible to deteriorating due to the rubbery plastic used; crumbling to dust with age.
Megatron had the following personality;
Megatron (aka Savage, Noble, Gnashteeth, Beast Megatron, Galavar and, um, Joe) began with one goal: restoring glory and power to the Predacon race, with herself at the helm. What distinguishes Megatron from the countless others who share this goal is her chutzpah. This is a girl who named herself after her faith's equivalent of the Antichrist. She is willing to risk everything—time, space, himself—if need be. She's willing to commit omnicide if it will further her goals. And there were times she would have won were it not for Optimus Primal. Megatron is skillful at orchestrating vast schemes by manipulating others into doing them for her—an idle suggestion here, a conspicuously planted object of interest there. She knows her enemies, and these include some minions, inside and out and exactly how to provoke them. She has no friends, only pawns, or occasionally, pawns that are too reliable to risk losing. Because of this attitude, this superiority complex, she despises working with the very troops she needs to carry out her plans. Her hubris does not make her very popular, and so she must rely on power and fear to rule them. In fact, she prefers mindless drones. Megatron is a gambler and can sometimes be a ham. (Her manner of saying "Yesss..." is practically vaudevillian.) She has a twisted sense of humor and an overdeveloped sense of drama which rule everything she conceives, both long and short term. When she destroys you, she wants you to know that it was she who did this, and just how badly you were had. This is her greatest weakness. Like a Bond villain, she'll gladly boast to the hero at length about how smart and clever she was, giving her victim time to formulate a counterattack (she admits the Predacons sometimes gloat too much). She often sabotages herself by neglecting the quick and easy solutions for the bigger, meaner, and more complex.
The sun beat down on the arid landscape, baking the red earth until it cracked and shimmered. A lone Tyrannosaurus Rex, her purple scales gleaming like polished amethyst, stood at the edge of a dried-up riverbed. She was Megatron, and her eyes, intelligent and sharp, scanned the horizon.
Megatron was not like the other Tyrannosaurs. Unlike them, she was not simply driven by hunger, by the instinct to hunt and survive. Megatron had a mind, a cunning and calculating mind, that surpassed even the most intelligent of her brethren.
“Where could she be?” she muttered, her voice a low rumble that echoed across the barren plains.
She was searching for a rival, a Tyrannosaur by the name of Optimus. They had been rivals since they were young, their battles legendary amongst the dinosaurs. Optimus was a formidable opponent, a colossal beast with scales the color of polished steel and a roar that could crack the earth.
“She’s hiding,” Megatron growled, her tail whipping against the ground. “She’s waiting for the right moment to strike.”
Megatron felt a thrill of excitement. She craved the challenge, the thrill of the hunt, the power that came with the victory. But more than that, she craved the intellectual battle with Optimus.
From the perspective of a young Triceratops grazing nearby, Megatron was a monstrous shadow, a living embodiment of terror. Her purple scales shimmered like a nightmare, her teeth like blades of obsidian.
“Run!” a young Triceratops shrieked, its voice shrill with terror. “Megatron is coming!”
The herd stampeded away, their hooves kicking up dust clouds that swirled around the immense Tyrannosaur. She watched them go, a sardonic smile curving her lips. Fear was a powerful weapon, and she knew how to use it.
Megatron’s mind, however, was not consumed by the simple pleasure of a hunt. She was a strategist, a scholar of her own kind, a creature whose mind was as sharp as her claws.
From the perspective of a lone Velociraptor observing her from the safety of a rocky outcrop, Megatron was an enigma. They saw a creature of unrivaled power and ferocity, yet they also sensed a profound loneliness that emanated from her.
Her eyes were not the eyes of a mindless predator. They held a flicker of something else – intelligence, curiosity, even a hint of sadness. The Velociraptor tilted its head, a perplexed expression on its reptilian face.
It was this loneliness that drove Megatron. She craved a worthy opponent, someone who could truly challenge her mind, someone who understood the complexity of her thoughts and the depth of her intelligence.
The moment arrived as quickly as it had been anticipated. A tremor shook the earth, and a thunderous roar erupted from the distance. It was Optimus.
Megatron let out a roar of her own, a sound that vibrated through the very air, a challenge that echoed across the plains.
They stood there, two titans of their age, facing each other. The battle was about to begin.
The air crackled with anticipation as the two giant creatures charged towards one another. The ground trembled beneath their colossal feet, the dust swirling around them like a living storm.
From the perspective of a group of Pterosaurs circling overhead, the battle was a breathtaking spectacle of power and ferocity.
Their teeth clashed, their claws ripped through flesh, their roars echoed across the plains. The battle was a dance of death, a symphony of violence.
But it was not just about survival. This was about something more, something that transcended the basic instincts of a predator. This was about a battle of minds, a clash of intellects, a test of wills.
The fight raged on, a whirlwind of dust and blood. But somewhere within the chaos, Megatron noticed a change in Optimus’s fighting style. She was no longer fighting to survive, but to understand.
Something clicked within Megatron. This was not a fight to the death, but a conversation, a dialogue between two powerful minds.
The battle ended in an exhausted stalemate, neither Tyrannosaur able to defeat the other. Yet, as they stood panting, facing each other, they realized something had changed. The respect that had always simmered between them had blossomed into something deeper, a recognition of their shared strength, their intellectual kinship.
Megatron, for the first time in her life, felt a sense of connection, a feeling of belonging. She was not alone.
The sun set, casting long shadows across the plains. Megatron turned and lumbered away, a slight smile playing on her lips. She had found what she had been searching for – a worthy opponent, a kindred spirit. And, perhaps, even a friend.
“Optimus Primal, maximize,” Optimus said.
Optimus Primal is the leader of the Maximals and the captain of the spaceship Axalon, Her beast mode is a black siverback Gorilla. Optimus Primal was an ape in the Ultra size class. Though the transformation from primate to humanoid was a relatively simplistic one, the toy compensated with more than a fair share of weaponry and action features. A compartment on her right forearm opened to reveal a skull-shaped "mace whip" she could hold in her fist. Her left forearm could open into a double-barreled "mega-blast missile" launcher. On her back were two more spring-loaded "mega-blast missile cannons"/launchers which auto-flipped over each shoulder. By pulling a lever in the center of her back, both arms would either spin at the bicep or bend in and out at the elbow, depending on the placement of notch-buttons located on either bicep. This gimmick was shown to be an effort to simulate a gorilla beating its chest while Optimus was in beast mode, but could also be used in robot mode, making her swing her weapons wildly before herself. And finally, like many first-year Beast Wars toys, a battle mask/"mutant head" could be deployed over her robot head. The mask is attached to a turntable around the neck, meaning it can either be deployed over Primal's face (with the forehead vent visible) or covering the back of her head, with the red plastic showing through to create a different look and the antenna folded down to make tusks (the intended configuration as per Primal's concept art).
Optimus Primal had the following personality;
Young and untested, Optimus Primal was a mere captain of an exploration ship when she and her crew were diverted off-course to pursue a stolen Predacon ship under the leadership of some crook named Megatron. The rest, they say, is (literally) history. Though she does have a penchant for stuffy speeches, Optimus Primal is much more down-to-Cybertron than her legendary namesake. She is committed to the Maximal codes of honor and moral judgment, but she does view them with some irreverence, and is not above finding loopholes or administering unorthodox solutions if necessary. ("Sometimes, crazy works", she says.) She is eternally loyal to her friends and respectful to her enemies. She is brave and selfless in battle. However, she is so committed to helping others that she can withdraw into a deep depression when she feels she has let them down. This is the only time she is self-absorbed. Optimus Primal is extraordinary for not only being able to distinguish herself, despite living in the shadow of Optimus Prime, but she may even have surpassed the greatest of the Autobots, seeing as she saved the life of her namesake and ushered in a new technorganic Cybertron. It is possible Optimus Primal is the greatest Cybertronian hero who has ever lived.
The steamy jungle air hung thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting the forest floor in dappled shades of green and gold. In the heart of this Eden, nestled amidst the tangle of vines and ferns, lived Optimus Primal.
She was not a creature of gentle grace, like the slender gazelles or the flitting birds. Optimus Primal was a force of nature, a silverback gorilla, her name echoing the strength and wisdom of her kind. Her ebony fur, sleek and powerful, seemed to absorb the very light of the jungle. Her eyes, dark and intelligent, held the age of countless generations, the wisdom of the forest whispered into her being.
Optimus Primal was not the leader of her troop, not in the traditional sense. She was not the largest or the most aggressive. Instead, her power lay in the quiet strength of her personality. She was the heart of their small community, the calm amidst the chaos. When the young ones were restless, she was the one who would soothe them with her deep, rumbling voice. When the tension simmered between the males, it was her unwavering gaze that brought peace.
One day, a young male gorilla named Kivu, brimming with the bravado of adolescence, challenged the alpha male, Kiongo. The fight was fierce, a storm of growls and flailing limbs. Kiongo, older and wiser, held his ground, but Kivu was relentless. The tension in the jungle felt palpable, the air thick with anticipation and fear.
Optimus Primal watched the fight unfurl, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. When she saw Kivu falter, a whimper escaping his lips, she knew she had to act.
“Kivu!” Her voice, though deep and powerful, held a gentle authority. Her call cut through the frenzy of the fight, silencing the jungle. Kivu, his bravado deflated, looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and respect.
“You must respect your elder,” she commanded, her voice firm but measured. “Kiongo is the leader, and he deserves your loyalty.”
Then, she turned her gaze to Kiongo, who stood panting, his chest heaving. “And you, Kiongo,” she said, her voice softer but no less authoritative, “Remember your responsibility. Teach Kivu the ways of our tribe, guide him, and nurture his strength. He is young, but he has the potential to become a leader himself, one day.”
The tension in the jungle subsided, replaced by an uneasy calm. Kivu, humbled, retreated, his challenge forgotten. Kiongo, his pride bruised but his position secured, slowly lowered himself to the ground, his gaze fixed on Optimus Primal. He understood. She was not just a member of the troop, she was their conscience, their guiding light.
Optimus Primal’s influence went beyond the boundaries of her own troop. She was a beacon of wisdom for all who crossed her path, a silent guardian of the forest. She knew the healing properties of every herb, the secrets of the ancient trees, the language of the birds. Her knowledge touched every aspect of the jungle, from the smallest insect to the tallest tree.
One evening, a young leopard, its coat scarred and its eyes filled with fear, stumbled into the clearing where Optimus Primal sat. The leopard, named Zara, had been injured in a territorial fight with a larger male. She was weak, her movements slow and hesitant.
Optimus Primal watched Zara, her eyes filled with compassion. She didn’t fear the leopard, her presence exuding a calmness that soothed even the most frightened creature.
“You are injured,” she said, her voice low and comforting.
Zara cowered, fear radiating from her lithe form. She was a predator, yet in the presence of Optimus Primal, she felt like a vulnerable kitten.
“I will help you,” Optimus Primal continued, her gaze unwavering.
She guided Zara to a hidden patch of ferns, their leaves infused with powerful healing properties. Optimus Primal carefully cleaned the leopard’s wounds, her touch gentle yet firm. As she worked, she spoke softly, her voice a soothing melody that calmed Zara’s anxieties.
Zara recovered quickly, and as she regained her strength, she realized the depth of her respect for Optimus Primal. She had witnessed the gorilla’s power, the unwavering strength that lay beneath the calm exterior. But it was the compassion, the unwavering love for all creatures, that truly resonated with her.
The jungle remained a dangerous place, a tapestry of life and death woven into its very fabric. But Optimus Primal, with her quiet strength and unwavering wisdom, was its heart, its silent guardian. She held the balance, protecting the fragile harmony of the forest, a force of nature, a living legend whispered in the rustling leaves.
Megatron then looked around in anger and hatred. “Now, obliterate them,” she said. Both sides transform, and the battle is joined.
Each of the Transformers were firing weapons at each other. The sky above the lush, untouched valley shone like a polished silver dome, the air crisp and invigorating. Birds chirped merrily from the treetops, their sweet melodies filling the air. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, causing them to dance and sway playfully. It was the perfect summer morning, and yet, beneath this serene surface, an undercurrent of tension thrummed like a bass note, waiting to erupt into a cacophony of violence and destruction.
A small herd of antelopes grazed contentedly on the emerald-green grass, oblivious to the approaching danger. They were unaware that they were being stalked by two massive, awe-inspiring creatures: the Predacons and the Maximals. The Predacons, towering beasts of prey with razor-sharp claws and teeth, moved stealthily through the brush, their eyes fixed on the herd. The Maximals, on the other hand, were massive humanoid animals, their powerful builds and sharp instincts honed over millennia of battle. They prowled silently behind the Predacons, their every movement calculated and precise.
The lead Predacon, a massive, black-furred beast with razor-sharp claws and gleaming red eyes, paused for a moment at the edge of a clearing. She could sense the Maximals nearby, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation. As the Predacon crouched low, preparing to charge, a gust of wind blew through the clearing, sending a few leaves swirling to the ground. The sound was like thunder in the stillness, alerting the herd to the impending danger.
Instinctively, the antelopes sprang into action, their hooves pounding the earth as they raced towards safety. The Predacon and the Maximals burst from their hiding places, their massive forms casting long shadows across the valley. In the next heart-stopping moment, the vicious battle between the Predacons and the Maximals commenced, a frenzy of claws and teeth, energon and fur, as they fought to determine the fate of the herd and, perhaps, the fate of the entire world.
The Predacon charged first, its powerful legs propelling it forward like a runaway freight train. Its razor-sharp claws extended, ready to rend the flesh of its enemies. The lead Maximal met the charge head-on, its powerful forelimbs raised to deflect the Predacon's attack. With a deafening roar, they collided, sending up a cloud of dust and dirt that obscured the sky for a brief moment.
The remaining Predacons and Maximals engaged in a whirlwind of savage combat, tearing through the brush and leaping across the clearing with superhuman agility. The air was filled with the deafening roars of the beasts and the clash of steel against steel as they fought for supremacy. The antelopes, frightened and disoriented, scattered in all directions, their cries of terror echoing through the valley.
The battle raged on, each combatant moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. The Predacons' claws and teeth were deadly weapons, tearing through the Maximals' armor with ease, but the Maximals were no pushovers. Their strength and resilience allowed them to withstand even the most powerful of attacks. The fight was a testament to the ancient struggle between predator and prey, a never-ending cycle of violence and survival.
As the battle continued, the once pristine valley began to transform before the eyes of those who had once called it home. energon stained the grass blue, claw marks scarred the trees, and shattered pieces of armor littered the ground. The air was thick with the stench of energon and death, a harsh reminder of the brutal reality of existence in this world. But despite the carnage, the Predacons and the Maximals fought on, their eyes fixed on the prize: the survival of their kind and the continuation of the endless cycle of violence that defined their existence.
The open field of mountains and streams stretched out before them, a breathtaking vista marred only by the looming conflict on the horizon. On one side stood the Maximals, a group of freedom fighters composed of various transformed animals. Among them was Optimus Primal, a towering female silverback gorilla in her robot form, radiating strength and wisdom. Beside her, Rhinox, a female brown rhinoceros, utilized her immense size and power to inspire courage in her comrades.
Across the field, the Predacons, a ruthless faction of similarly transformed creatures, prepared to meet the Maximals in battle. Megatron, a massive and menacing female Tyrannosaurus Rex, let out a thunderous roar, her eyes burning with the unmistakable promise of destruction. Flanking her were Scorponok, a formidable brown and black scorpion, and Tarantulas, a dangerous and cunning female tarantula, her robotic form a swirling mass of purple, yellow, and green.
As the two sides faced each other, the tension in the air was palpable. A sudden movement caught the eye of several combatants, and the battle commenced without warning. Terrorsaur, a female Pteranodon, took to the skies with a triumphant screech, raining fiery destruction down upon the Maximals. Rattrap, a quick-witted and agile female gray rat, swiftly transformed and dashed into the fray, dodging and weaving between her adversaries with unmatched dexterity.
Cheetor, a female cheetah known for her blinding speed, charged forward, narrowly avoiding a fatal sting from Waspinator, a green and yellow wasp whose ruthless attacks were as swift as they were deadly. The Maximals and Predacons clashed, their metallic bodies colliding with a cacophony that echoed throughout the valley.
As the battle raged on, Optimus Primal and Megatron came face to face. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and in that instant, they both knew the outcome of this battle would have far-reaching consequences. With a roar, they charged at each other, their powerful forms colliding with a force that shook the earth beneath them. The two titans clashed, exchanging blows with a ferocity that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Rhinox, ever the strategist, spotted an opportunity and took it. Utilizing her formidable strength, she flung Scorponok into the air, sending the startled Predacon tumbling to the ground. Seeing their ally in peril, Tarantulas and Terrorsaur broke off their attacks to assist Scorponok, leaving Megatron to face Optimus alone.
With a final, desperate effort, Optimus managed to pin Megatron to the ground, her mechanical fist raised high in triumph. However, before she could deliver the final blow, a sudden movement caught her eye. She glanced up to see a swarm of Waspinators, their stingers gleaming in the sunlight.
Cheetor, Rattrap, and Rhinox, having dispatched their own foes, immediately came to Optimus's aid, leaping into the fray with renewed vigor. They fought back-to-back, their every movement a testament to their unwavering dedication to their cause.
As the sun began to descend, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, the tide of battle slowly began to turn. The Predacons, weary from their relentless assault, began to falter, their movements growing sluggish as their energy reserves dwindled.
Sensing their opportunity, the Maximals pressed their advantage, driving the Predacons back with a series of coordinated attacks. Megatron, her once fearsome demeanor now tinged with desperation, snarled in frustration as she witnessed her forces crumbling around her.
With a final, Herculean effort, the Maximals managed to overpower their adversaries, their collective strength and determination proving too much for the beleaguered Predacons. With their foes vanquished and their home secured, the Maximals took a moment to savor their hard-won victory.
As they stood on the field of battle, gazing out at the carnage that lay before them, they couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for their fallen foes. They knew that this was only the beginning of a long and arduous journey, but they also knew that, together, they could face any challenge that came their way.
Optimus Primal, her robotic form battered but unbowed, turned to her comrades and offered a solemn vow. 'We will continue to stand strong, united in our pursuit of freedom and justice. No matter what trials and tribulations lie ahead, we will face them together, as one.'
With that, the Maximals transformed into their beast modes and bounded off into the distance, their spirits buoyed by the promise of a brighter future. And as they disappeared into the horizon, the open field of mountains and streams bore witness to their heroics, the peaceful landscape forever changed by the events that had transpired that fateful day.
As the Maximals seek cover, Cheetor is blasted by one of Scorponok's missiles and ends up with her leg trapped under a boulder. Optimus Primal orders Rattrap to assist Cheetor while she provides cover fire, but Rattrap flatly refuses to risk her life for anybody else, to Optimus' anger. The Maximal leader flies to Cheetor's position herself but is hit by Predacon fire, much to Rattrap's smug delight.
Nonetheless, Optimus manages to free Cheetor while Rhinox "persuades" Rattrap to help provide the pair with cover fire. With the Predacons now seeking cover of their own, the Maximals make their escape. Megatron orders pursuit, but she and her Predacons succumb to the effects of the energon buildup and are forced to revert to beast mode.
On the way back to base, Optimus Primal chews out Rattrap for disobeying a direct order, explaining to the petulant Maximal that she could have given better cover fire, an explanation which Rattrap accepts rather grudgingly. Cheetor notes that they seem to have escaped the Predacons. Primal isn't sure, as the Golden Disk theft reports indicated there were six Predacons, but they only encountered five in the previous battle.
They don't have to wait long. Dinobot appears, barring their way across a stone bridge to the Axalon. Dinobot states that she has left the Predacons to join the Maximals... as leader.
Dinobot was a Maximal warrior on present day Earth. She clawed her way up to the top through victory after victory. Optimus considered her a natural when it comes to combat expertise. Her thirst for battle was unquenchable. Dinobot transforms into what her bio claims is a "vicious Velociraptor". Her tail detaches and separates to form a gear-powered, spinning blade "cyber-slash tail weapon", while the central "tail bone" separates to be used as a sword. The entire assembly can store in robot mode by flipping down the tail-mount and pegging the blade's base to the peg on her lower back. Like all early Deluxe-and-up Beast Wars toys, she has a "mutant mask", halves of a dino-skull that flip up to cover her more robotic head. Thankfully these pieces are not pinned in, and can be easily removed for better clearance and show-accuracy. She also has optic lasers.
Dinobot had the following personality;
Dinobot is a Predacon ruled by her sense of honor. She lives to die gloriously in battle. When she aided Megatron in the theft of the Golden Disk, Dinobot believed she was in the pursuit of endless glory. But when she and her Predacon peers crashed on what seemed to be the wrong planet alongside a Maximal exploration vessel, she rebelled against Megatron and joined the Maximal team. It would be an uneasy alliance, fraught with turns of loyalty and turns of Shakespearean phrase. But it also led to strong friendships and even the salvation of all humanity. As befits a warrior of her stature, Dinobot is skilled in all forms of combat. She wields a spinning sword and a rotating blade as her preferred tools in battle, but, ever pragmatic in matters of violence, she has been known to use ranged weapons, such as her laser eye-beams or a simple handheld gun. She has threatened to use any and all of these on Rattrap, with whom she has an intense rivalry. Deep down, she may respect the rodent, but she'll die before she'll admit to it.
The wind whipped through the tall, dry grasses, rustling the feathers on Dinobot’s back. She crouched low, her eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. The sun was sinking below the jagged peaks of the distant mountains, casting long shadows across the plains. Dinobot wasn't a predator like the others in her pack – she wasn't driven by instinctual hunger. No, Dinobot was different.
She was a dreamer, a thinker. While the others chased after prey or bickered over territory, Dinobot would wander, her mind filled with questions. Why was the sky blue? Why did the sun rise and set? Why did the thunder roar? The other raptors scoffed at her curiosity. “Waste of time,” they’d snarl, “Just eat and survive.” But Dinobot couldn't help it. Her mind buzzed with a thousand unanswered questions, each one a seed of wonder growing within her.
The pack leader, a hulking male named Razor, saw Dinobot's curiosity as weakness. He, like the rest, saw the world in terms of power and dominance. He expected his pack to be obedient, to follow his every command without question. Dinobot, however, saw the world as a vast and complex tapestry, woven with intricate patterns and hidden connections.
“Dinobot,” Razor barked one day, his voice like a growl. “Stop staring at the clouds. There’s work to be done.”
“But Razor,” Dinobot protested, “I’m trying to understand them. What are they made of?”
Razor scoffed. “They are made of nothing. They are just…” he paused, searching for the right word, “silly things in the sky. Now come, there’s prey nearby.”
Dinobot sighed. She knew arguing with Razor was futile. He was a force of nature, driven by his primal instincts. It was his way or the highway.
As they stalked their prey, a small herd of herbivores, Dinobot felt a conflict gnawing at her. She knew she was part of the pack, part of the natural order of things. But she also felt a deep connection to the world, a sense of kinship with everything she saw. She didn't want to kill. The act of violence felt wrong, a dissonance in the harmony of the world.
Later that night, huddled around a dying fire, Dinobot found herself alone with her thoughts. The other raptors were asleep, their breathing heavy and rhythmic. Dinobot, however, was wide awake, her eyes fixed on the star-studded sky. The sight of the cosmos filled her with awe. She felt an overwhelming sense of wonder, a desire to unravel the mysteries of existence.
Suddenly, a small, rustling sound caught her ear. She turned to see a young, injured herbivore, its leg broken. The creature was whimpering, its eyes filled with fear. Dinobot felt a pang of empathy. She had never felt this way before, not towards prey. She had always observed them with indifference, but this time, something was different.
Dinobot knew her pack would kill the creature without hesitation. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. She nudged the herbivore gently with her snout, her heart pounding.
“What are you doing?” Razor’s voice boomed from behind her, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not supposed to… you’re not supposed to show weakness.”
Dinobot turned to face him, her gaze unwavering. “He’s hurt,” she said simply.
Razor snarled. “He’s food. Get rid of him.”
But Dinobot remained unmoved. She would not kill this creature. She would protect it.
Dinobot knew she was defying the rules, defying her pack. But she couldn't help it. She was different. She was a dreamer, a thinker, and she believed that there was more to life than just survival. She believed in compassion, in understanding, in the interconnectedness of everything.
And she knew, with a certainty that surprised even herself, that this was just the beginning of her journey. The journey of Dinobot, the velociraptor who dared to be different.
"This girl’s got bearings of chrome steel." Rhinox said. She challenges Optimus Primal to a one-on-one battle, with the winner to lead the Maximals, the loser to be destroyed!
To be continued.………………………………
