Pairing: no pairing yet
Summary: Xander goes out of Halloween human and returns as a robot. What’s a 17ft tall robot supposed to do? Can it be fixed? Are there others?
Disclaimer: I do not own anything within the Buffy: The Vampire Slayer or Transformers. I plan for there to robot love within the story. If you do not like it move on. Sorry a head of time for any spelling, grammar, or punctuation mistakes. Transformers belong to Hasbro and Buffy the Vampire slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I own none of the characters and make no money.
Upgrade 1infant/toddler is in 42.5-50 years, upgrade 2 toddler/child is in 70-90.5 years, upgrade pre/teen 3 is in a 82-100 years, upgrade four teen/youth 106-250 years, upgrade 5 is youth/adult in 360.5-425 years. Average 807.5 years give or take and depending on the model of bot.
Xander is a Ford Mustang GT in orange and black
Sparkling – newborn
Youngling – child
Breem -8 Earth minutes
Joor – 6.5 Earth hours
Orn – 15 Earth days
Vorn – 85 Earth years
In the library I idly flipped through one of the many watchers diaries, I’m bored and slightly depressed that my awesome $5 Halloween costume idea fell through. Damn the jock that took the last toy gun, damn him to the land of itchy underwear, tiny balls, and fumbles! So I need a new costume fast. Something simple! Something good! Something very, very cheep. I could practically feel my wallet trying to nod in agreement, the little bastard can’t seem to hold onto the green (Bullies and drunk parents don’t help any with the keeping it). So I’m flipping. What better place to look for ideas then in books of hooky-spooky hellmouth stuff. I end up looking through a book I had skimmed once before during a research power hour, the one with watcher fairytales in it. I doubt anyone but Watchers would read this depressing stuff to their kids, they all start with a girl and end with her dying painfully. I could describe each and every fairy tale in this ugly brown leather book, ‘Once upon a time there was a young girl who was very strong and chosen by Powers that Be to be their butt-monkey. She fought evil creatures and was never allowed to have her own life. One day she fought a big Evil and died a bloody painful death and became lunch. The End.’ Sucky fairytales.
Maybe I could find something good here in-between the depressing, the suck, the girls turned into lunch meat, and the boring as hell. I go into turbo flipping mode or the ‘I don’t care that this is an old book I want to be done with this’ mode. I skip all the stuff about girl demons, gooey demons, and costumes I couldn’t pull off even if I was super model thin and a millionaire and end up on a page with two demons on the cover. I tilt my head to the side; they look like a cross between husky power rangers and angry beetles. The costume looks easy enough and it wouldn’t be too scary for the kids so I decide to read the little story under the picture.
~Watcher Neville Harty’s journal
The first documented story of a slayer willingly helping a demon. This myth was passed down from an old witch of the Devon coven by the name of Elena Chooser, a tale told to her by her grandmother and her grandmother after that and so on.
Long ago when the Watcher’s Counsel was still young and slayers mostly went untrained and guided mostly by instinct a great battle took place between two powerful sky demons. The demons were tall as the tree tops, with metal skin that shinned like water in moonlight, muscle of cable, and hearts made of godly blue fire. They were faster and stronger then vampires, one the rider of land the other the sky. Slayer Kara (Last name unknown) tried to kill one of the demons only to have her blessed sword shatter like glass and her stake carved from a druid staff leave no mark on the great demon’s shiny skin. Afraid for the tribes of people around her she prepared to fight to her last breath only to be stilled by the sky demon’s kind voice. It did not wish to fight her nor did it wish harm to the many tribes of humans, it was after the other sky demon. It told her about its quest to protect a magical object and to stop the other of its kind from using it to hurt the Earth. The creature called itself an Atobo and called the evil one a Decepon. Slayer Kara looked into kind blue eyes and believed the Atobo and vowed to help him save both their species from the evil Decepon’s cruelty. Young Kara a wild girl born in the woods of the green lands became the first slayer to work with and befriend a demon. The first to trust a demon. Together they hindered the evil sky demon and stopped him from doing many wrongs while they searched the Earth for the Atobo’s magical object. In a battle of fire and ice the Decepon was vanquished . . . but so to was the Atobo. The godly fire inside the Atobo’s chest was extinguished leaving behind his shell to sink to the bottom of the icy seas. Slayer Kara dedicated her life to find the Atobo’s magical object, a box of living energy, to bring her friend back to life but never could find it. She died at the hand of a powerful vampire not two years after her Atobo ally died. The magical box was never found and no other Atobo or Decepon have come to Earth in search of it. It is believed that the two sky demons were the last of their kind and that the magical object gone from the Earth. ~ See all of them, slayer + big bad + dead = watcher fairytale.
I traced over the facial lines of the scowling humanoid demon with the word Atobo under it, he looked like a tall armored human. The curvy face paint looked easy enough for me to do and the armor was simple, just a few tinfoil plates on the chest and arms would do it. I could butcher up some stuff from the reject bin at the costume shop, paint my face, and then draw the Atobo symbol on my arm or something. It wasn’t the best costume idea but it would work, better then going as a soldier with no weapon. It would remind me of old times as a child, ‘You want candy, boy? Make your costume damn it, I’m not wasting my hard earned cash!’ Ah, good times childhood, creative times.
I left the costume shop call Ethan’s knowing I had disappointed the creepy old guy. He had tried his damndest to get me to buy more stuff or a whole costume but I wouldn’t budge (I don’t see myself being a good Captain Jack Sparrow anyway, eyeliner looked too difficult for me to master in one night). I would once again be the $5 costume king, yay me. I didn’t mind disappointing old Ethan not when he spill some sort of funky smelling tea on my stuff and took so long putting it all in a bag. Twenty whole minutes! It was just a plastic chest plate, a black body suit (I’m going to stick tinfoil armor into), and costume makeup. Not that hard to put it into a bag! I think he did it so I would buy more stuff, sneaky old guy.
I shrugged. I’m heading straight home, I need to get started on gluing stuff together, need to look like an Atobo before I have to pick up my gaggle of kiddies. I’ll need to practice my candy speech. Wonder who came up with the word gaggle? The word gaggle doesn’t sound right to me unless I’m talking about kids or birds. I’d sound like a complete dork if I yelled ‘Look out Buffy a gaggle of vamps behind you!’ I snicker slightly; she probably wouldn’t even turn around.
Bah-boom! Bah-boom! Bah-boom!
My heart is hammering in my chest, trying to get out, trying to break through my ribs like a bucking bull in a small pen. I feel panic at the edge of my awareness like needles gently grazing over my skin. My senses flux wildly like a stereo dial twisting back and forth, sound, taste, touch, sight, all wild horses out of my control. Sound becomes a cacophony blaring in my skull and then the next second dead silence. I can feel the gravel irritating my palms and knees digging into every crevice and sending pain through them only to get disconnected from my skin like a wall between my nerves and brain. I keep getting pulled back from my senses then pulled in like a child’s tortured toy yoyo. I can taste the air on my tongue and all the flavors that catch in the wind; it is heady, amazing, and mildly disgusting. I know Buffy is afraid because I can smell it in the air, I know I’m surrounded by demons because the scent of brimstone and evil permeates the air; I know I’m transforming because the scent of lube, oil, and electricity is overtaking the smell of sweat and blood.
My chest hurts. Bah-boom! Bah-boom. Bah-boom! Bah-swissssh-ffffffoooor. Swisssshhhh-fffffffooor. Swisssshhhh-fffffffooor. Swisssshhhh-fffffffooor. My heart is no longer beating, something else is pumping blood through my veins! Shit! Oh, oh, shit! I place my hand where my heart should be beating but its silent, so very silent. I think I’m going to be ill, ill all over some old lady’s roses. My hand slips down to my lower ribs and I can feel something chugging away strong and in rhythm like my heart used too. I start to gag but nothing comes up. The roses are safe for the moment.
I can see fear in Buffy’s eyes even though she is far away, big and blue and helpless. She is not Buffy the slayer now; she is a scared little girl in a pink dress waiting for a knight to save her. If only . . . if only I could be her knight, it’s not going to happen even if I want to help her so badly. I’m turning into a monster! I can feel it under my skin, beating inside my chest; with every second I can feel the metamorphoses make me less human. No I cannot be Buffy’s knight, most likely I will be the dragon to be slain. My vision blacks out and for a scary second I fear I would be blind forever and then it flares bright like a star going supernova forcing the night to uncloak of its shadows. It’s as clear as day, I could count the cracks in the sidewalk it’s so clear. Is this what a vamp sees? Intense! With every painful episode of sense overload I’m loosing my mind; little by little I am retreating into the safe pain free corners of my subconscious. Like a little sand castle near the shore I’m about to be overtaken and swallowed, a helpless victim against the roaring power of nature. Nature so sucks right now.
The power is entombing me, caging me inside a hard shell of shifting brown/silver metal. For the first time in my life I understand claustrophobia . . . I can’t breath. I can’t draw air into my lungs, I’m panicking and I want out! I want out! I grab for my neck ready to rip my way out of this prison only to have my attention drawn to my hands. I flex my hands and watch with sick fascination as metal and wires move like muscle, blood, and bone once did. Metal plating the color of mud in all its shades replaced skin, they shift and move and in the gaps I see wires as thick as rope and as thin as a hair. I feel power rush through my wires and in the center of my chest an inferno, a living beating volcano of life. My life. A compartment in my chest opens up like a jagged flower and for the first time in my life a can see my soul, a pulsing blue star, shifting and bright, warm and strong. Its one thing to know you have a soul, that it’s there somewhere inside your body, it’s another thing to see it pulsing bright and happy inside a fucking cupboard! The things snaps shut fast as if knowing I don’t want to see it. Which is of the good I have more then enough ammunition to have a psychotic breakdown, don’t need to add gaping hole with pulsing ball of soul to it.
What is happening? I want it to stop. Oh god, I want it to stop! I want to be me again, please! This can’t be happening, just can’t be happening! Humans just don’t turn into robots! I must be having a mental breakdown, I have to be dreaming. This is all just a horrible and vivid dream, any moment I’ll wake up with my plastic chest plate tied to my waist with string, crumples tinfoil on the floor, and Halloween makeup smeared all over my face. I’ll wake up to my ratty basement room and when I do I’ll burn that five dollar costume, I looked like a power ranger reject anyway. ‘Okay, Xander, wake up! Wake up!’
I close my eyes and try to will myself awake, tried to reach beyond this nightmare to the world of the awake and sane. A minute passed, then another, and another, and another. I didn’t wake up but I did reach something or turn something on, one second the night was quiet (with the exception of a scream or two) then next blaring glass breaking noise. My ears swivel about, irritated like a cats. I hear voices. So many loud voices yelling at me all at once, all driving me up the wall. ~ “Today in sports the Saints lost by- ZZZZZ “Are you lonely? Do you feel like your life has no purpose? Trust in God to- ZZZZZZZT “The economy is not what it used to be. Jobs are- ZZZZZZZZT “I told the witch doctor I was in love with youuuu. Oooooo! I told the witch doctor you- SZZZZZT “-dogs out! Who let the dogs out? Who- SSHZZZ “Doc Love-lots is there a way I could ease my husband into bondage play? He’s uncomfortable with- SSSNNNNZZZZT “Happy Halloween from KTNM-midnight radio now lets get back- ZZZZZ “And we’re back with the- SSHHZZZT “Hello this is music all night long by Lyric 100.7 FM what song would y- NNNZZZC “Flight 105 you are clear for landing on- ZZZZZZZT “I’m telling you the aliens are out there! I saw them at Mission city! My x-box ran away with a mountain dew ro- ZZZZ “-scary night everyone! Drive safe- ZZZZCCCHHZZZ ~ It all blended together like a bad storm in my head all batting at me like rough waves would a little boat. I was drowning in voices but one message caught and held my attention like a lifesaver in the ocean. ~-All Spark gone, we- ZZZZZT-new world to call home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight- ZZZZZ- I have witnessed their capacity for courage- ZZZZZZT I am Optimus Prime- ZZZZCT -message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge- ZZZ -stars. We are here- ZZZZT -waiting. ~ Some piece of me must have sensed its importance so I stuck with it and loop the message playing it again and again, I held onto it like a dog to a bone.
I’m a robot! The realization makes me stagger and as I do I hear the hiss and pull of pistons, wires, gears, and circuits. My clawed metal feet dig into the soft soil of a garden uprooting a rose bush like it was nothing. I shake off the stubborn foliage only to watch it soar across the road and through the window of a parked car. I make a metallic noise that is not quite a whimper; the sound is a cross between the whirr of a big fan and the high pitched yelp of a puppy.
A program pops up before my eyes in my in-box (Oh, fuck! I have an in-box in my head!) and without really thinking about it I opened it. Should have thought about it. Data flashes right into my central processor (I’m a computer with legs, oh shit! Oh shit! I think I’m going to vomit. Can a computer throw up?) I’m overloaded with information and I feel another presence inside my head with me, a stronger confidant presence, one very much at home in this metal body. My brain is so full I can no longer think, I can no longer talk, I can’t move any more. I can feel myself shutting down, before my eyes words pop up blaring warnings telling me what I already know. I’m going to black out, my hard drive is crashing, I’m going to faint like a little girl, which ever you want to choose I’m doing it now. Time to abandon ship. A loud sound like a building falling over reach my useless ears before everything goes dark. Good thing no ones around or I swear I’ll say I tripped over a root.
At least the voices are gone.
Initializing reboot . . .
Initiating diagnostic check and self repair . . .
Scanning . . . Scanning . . .
Blown fuses in circuit boards F1, R7, and Y9, insufficient power output to laser core in sections A and D, striped cog in left ankle joint. Repair process: three breems.
Repairing . . . Repairing . . . Repairing . . . Repairing complete. Core power at 91%. Nano program productivity at 99.96%. Energon at 8%. Warning! Warning! Fuel level low. Plasma canon . . . insufficient power. Temporarily inactive.
Installing logic circuit setup . . . loading. Installing basic survival program . . . loading. Installing firewall . . . loading. Installing secondary firewall . . . loading . . . Installing secondary protection programs . . . loading . . . Loading programs complete.
Scanning surroundings for Cybertronian energy signatures . . . Scanning . . . Scanning . . . Scann-Error! Error! Scan interference. Unable to scan beyond 1.3 mile radius.
Scanning immediate area. Scanning . . . Scanning . . . Urban terrain, dwellings made of organic materials called wood and plaster and none-living metal, transportation routs made of a clay and limestone organic material called cement. Sixteen potential threats within a thirty yard radius, one hundred and three threats within a 1.3 mile radius, threat to unit: minimal. Recommend activating concealment mode.
Loading transformer program . . . loading . . . complete. System operational.
Initiating online status in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1
Like getting a shot of high grade and a blast of electricity I’m jolted into online status hard, all of my processors ache and my optics feel less then fully functional. My blue optics lit up and the first thing I see is tiny twinkling stars peeking out behind the leaves of a tree, the sight is both confusing and pleasing to view once online. This can’t be right though, could it? My last sight was of white ice and dark blue ocean swallowing my enemy and me whole like Unicron does to planets. None of this makes any sense. I dislike it greatly. “What in the All Sparks name is going on?” I stayed where I was for a moment too confused to force my body into action. I could only describe this place I found myself in as pure malevolent chaos, all around me snarling and screaming organics running about without purpose or logic. My systems are glitched from just watching their disregard for order, logic, and structure. I urged my analyzing software to figure out what the slag was going on since the very last thing I can recall is my spark casing getting ripped open by Megatron. Slag did that hurt!
As I staggered to my feet I did a diagnostic check and was disturbed with what I found. I was missing parts and I shrunk an impossible 2.5ft! How could I have gone from 19.5ft tall to 16ft, bots don’t shrink or downgrade? I have clearly been downgraded or robbed. I lifted my arms so I could look at them more clearly only to grimace at the sight. What happen to all my upgrades? My canons? My white and black paint job? My reason and logic programs scrambled for answers but none came to mind. How can a bot loose tons of hardware and not know where it went? Not possible.
As I stood in the shadow of a large dwelling as a pack of ugly scaled and horned organics ran past my feet chasing a large white humanoid fowl. A fast fowl. Connecting to the world wide web I found names for the creatures, goblins were chasing a rooster with southern accent. Confusion flashed through all of my analyzing programs, even the frightened ghost program I had overshadowed didn’t know what was going on! It had been many vorns since I walked the Earth’s squishy surface so I did not know all her organic secrets nor did I bother to try, but surely in the hundred years on post I would have noticed such dangerous organics? Surely the organic named Kara would have told me? Her function was slayer, she killed organics called vampires, and at one time she had tried to offline him. She would have told me if drawings made with thin sheets of wood and colored ink could be brought to life, right? I watched the giant cartoon rooster named Foghorn J Leghorn turn a street corner with eight green and red goblins snapping at his red tail feathers. “Earth.” I grumbled, the only place that could confuse my programming so effectively. What I wouldn’t give to be back on Cybertron with its comforting order, logic, and function.
One of the little goblins stopped its pursuit of nourishment and made eye contact with me. We stared at each other for a moment, my blue optics clashing with its bulging yellow eyes. I thought I could stare it down, making it leave me be since I am bigger, but such a move only goaded it to action. It sprang at my feet and tried to take a bite out of my exposed wiring. Startled I kicked my foot out and watched with just a touch of embarrassment as it soared off into the dark sky and over the house in front of me. “Stupid little malfunction.” I huffed. Then I frowned, my voice modulator is off too. It’s not as deep as I remember it and it sounds like a youngling's after their second upgrade. Disturbing.
Deciding action is better then watching insanity play out I started searching for an alt form. I started scanning transport vehicles in front of the dwellings (though only one out of every three dwellings had a vehicle in front of it) one by one, taking the data and inputting it into my transformer algorithm. Vehicles that are too big (like the big aft truck across the street), too small (like the thing with only three small wheels), or don’t function (Like the red one without tires) were thrown out and placed in a trash file and purged from my system. Just when frustration started calculating into my current software I pinged on a transportation vehicle. I pinged on a very unattractive sea green colored vehicle with erosion sores starting on its bumper and a large dent in its side. I grimaced at the thought of transforming into something so unappealing to the optics, I don’t have many options, either I become an unattractive Earth car or I walk around as a giant robot. I grimaced, there is very little chance that I would be noticed in this chaos if I stick to the shadows but I also know what would happen if I am seen. Screaming, running, terror, and groups of organics coming together to offline me would just be a taste of the trouble I could get in if spotted. I could also attract Con attention if I stirs up the humans and that would be so glitched to have happen when I’m alone and without real firepower. No, transforming into the ugly Earth car would be the safest, most logical, and smartest thing to do. I looked the vehicle over again and make a distressed noise, what if a fellow bot spotted me in this alt form? No bot would ever accuse me of being vain if they see my disguise form, rust covered, weather bleached, and duct tape patched 1981 Honda Accord. I didn’t really want to look like a . . . I searched the world wide web for the right words . . . A surfer bums cheep junk heap, it even had a surfing rack on its tired warped looking roof with a large yellow surf board on it. I looked at the surf board and disliked it greatly, why put a photo of a half naked female on it and how could such a female function with such a large chest plate? Why was this piece of slag the only one I pinged on? I tried to rework my transformer algorithm to not include the bulky surf rack and board only to discover the vehicle would be too small without it. “I doubt there is a better one around this slag heap town.” Though I did make a mental note in my main processor to change my alt the moment another becomes available.
My plating shifted slowly at first as if afraid such movement could damage fragile wirings, I blamed the caution on the ghost program in the back of my processor. For a moment I was tempted to erase it but every survival program and emotional software I have rebelled at the thought. I felt horrified at the thought of purging the young unknown software and I felt guilty for thinking it. I felt like I slapped a sparkling. I could feel my extra protection programming surround the young software, embracing it, comforting it, repairing it. For some unknown reason such action is comforting to me so I don’t correct the unusual use of my secondary system. I scan over the program and almost go into stasis lock when I discover a young spark signature inside with me! That can’t be! The only way to create another spark besides using the Allspark is to interface with ones mate! I haven’t laid optics on my mate in three thousand years, not since our teams split up to find the Allspark. There is no way in all the matrix a bot can stay sparked that long! My system must be glitched. Really, really glitched. I ignore the spark/ghost program and my secondary protection systems instead I concentrated on transforming into the unattractive alt. The form is a little (a lot) cramped and I will need to find another very soon but it would do for now. When my four wheels hit dirt I took off down the road, I was more then ready to leave this malfunction of a town behind and continue my mission. Searching through the world wide web I found a pleasing image to use as my hologram driver since all terrain vehicles were operated by humans, though I did not program it with the optic catching clothing. I had only reached the next turn when my progress was halted.
“Demon! DEMON!” I swerved to the side just missing the pink organic and the one with a red top. Flash backs of the last time I was called demon came to my main processor and I scanned the area for sword swinging slayers with paint scratching weapons. No such girl about (Not that such a girl could make my paint job any worse). I idled in front of the two female humans and waited for them to move or do something other then sit in front of my alt form. The pink one seemed to fear me while the other tried to comfort without giving touch. That confused me. From what I remember from before humans are a very tactile race and enjoyed touch. Why wasn’t the female in constricting coverings touching the female in pink coverings to give comfort?
“Shhh, Buffy. It’s ok, really! That’s not a demon, it’s just a car. The car can’t hurt you . . .unless you get hit by it, then it can hurt you a lot. It’s all fine now though! See all is well, that’s a good car. Please get up.”
The whimpering girl looked up at me then started to make louder sounds of distress. “It’s so ugly it must be a demon!”
I don’t think I like this human, not only did she called me ugly to my front grill she’s wailing like a fussy sparkling in need of a recharge. The other human looked around with frustration, fear, and annoyance as she tried to calm the rude pink one. “Come on Buffy you need to get up, please! If we don’t get to your house the real demons will get us! Everything will be better when we get there, promise.”
The one called Buffy shook her head and started to cry salt water from her optics. “I can’t. I won’t go another step with you! My dress is dirty, I have a cut on my hand, a demon tried to eat me, and I am very scared! I wish to go home now. Proper ladies should not be in a place like this!” She sobbed.
The other female sighed then looked at me hopefully. “I’ll ask the person in that car to help us. Maybe he’ll give us a ride?” The female looked right at me and her green eyes widened in shock. “Elvis?”
I looked through the World Wide Web again, yes, the human image was of a young Elvis Presley (I have taken his form with the exception of my optics, they are still blue). From the glazed look on the female’s face I probably should have chosen my form with more caution.
The female stumbled toward the driver’s side and tapped on my window. No point in being rude I rolled it down so she could talk to my halo. “Yes?”
“Sir, can you give my friend and me a ride?”
A sharp scream pierced the air making the female in tight coverings jump, the other whimper and scuttle toward her companion but not touch her, and made my weapons system come online. A roar sounded and my scanners spread out looking for the source of the unpleasant call. Scanning . . . Threat to unit: unlikely. Threat to organics: likely.
My programs went on over drive with what I should do. I could make a break for it and be on my way or make up a reason not to let them in . . . no. These two need aid and I’m not the kind of bot to leave someone in need. My back doors pop open and the red haired female yelped in surprise. “Get in.”
She nods as she talks her malfunctioning comrade into my cab, once they are both inside I snap my doors shut. The pink one starts screaming again and the red one lets out a nervous laugh as she sits stiffly like she is trying not to fall out of or through her seat. “You rig the doors to open and close? This isn’t a ghost car is it?” The red one asks.
“Yes I rigged the doors to do that and no my vehicle is not a spirit.” I was never much of a talker with organic life forms. I get to the point and that is it.
“Let me out! This is a demon! I shouldn’t have listened to you, you loose woman! Let me out!” The pink female wailed as she pawed at my door and window leaving disgusting oils all over it. I’m tempted to open the door and do as she asked without stopping, but there is a 96% chance that such an action would harm her, I don’t open my doors but I do offline some of my audio receptors.
“Where to?” I growl in a low voice at the sane human.
The female simpered and looks at me with big green optics. “Just keep going straight for a few more blocks, please.”
I make my halo form shrug its shoulders, if the female doesn’t want to tell me which dwelling that is fine. The ride is quiet with the exception of the pink garbed female’s whimpering; well it’s quiet till I hit something big. Something furry. Something furry that was chasing a human female in a . . .I search the world wide web again . . . a feline suit. More chaos issues. The pink one starts screaming again, loud and high pitched, with lots of salty liquid leaving her eyes. She makes my audio receptors echo painfully to the point I have to shut down more then half or risk getting glitches. Thankfully after another scream her optics roll back and she puts herself temporarily offline. The red one stands up and jumps through my cab like a hologram, startling me into blasting my radio and honking my horn, and runs toward the feline garbed organic to tell her she is ‘Not a cat but a girl named Cordelia Chase and that they are friends.’ I rev my engine in annoyance; I thought the red one was sane. I’m also quite annoyed with myself, is my function fragged? Why didn’t I scan the organics instead of trusting my optics? I must be glitched. The feline female doesn’t wait for an invitation as she scrambles toward my passenger side door and tries to force it open. I stubbornly keep it closed.
The cat female glares at my halo and jiggles the handle of my door with a very particular expression on her face. Condescending, yes, her expression is condescending. Her voice is as well. I don’t think I like her either. “Come on open up! Jo-Jo the dog faced boy is already starting to stir! Let me in this piece of crap!”
Even though I know my alt looks unappealing I still feel insulted, I’m the only one that should call my aft organic fecal matter! I keep my door closed for a moment longer but open it when the Jo-Jo gets up. The girl slides into my passenger seat with a huff, she seems more worried about her clothing then anything else. “Look at this! It’s ruined. Now I know Party Town won’t give me back my deposit.” Jo-Jo gets up and tries to chew on my right tire but one loud honk of my horn scares him off. Hologram girl walks through my shell and sits back down in my back seat. I give a full body shake at the feel of unfamiliar programming sliding over my own. Cordelia’s eyes widen as she watches the hologram girl pass through me. “Willow? What is going on?”
Hologram girl now known as Willow started to explain rather rapidly. “Itoldyou! It’saspell! Everyonehasturnedittheircostunes! I’maghost, Buffy’sahelplessnoblewoman, and . . .and . . Xander’s a-”
“Where is dweeb-boy?”
“He’s an Atobo.”
Cordelia raised a brow. “A what?”
“He went as an Atobo, some demon from the watchers diaries. I couldn’t find him anywhere!”
“Great so dweeb-boy is out there terrorizing with all the other demons, having a ball, while we’re stuck here with an Elvis look-a-like!” Cordelia sneered. The two females kept arguing all the way to their chosen dwelling so when they finally got out I was very relieved. I did not like the thought of spells changing matter so drastically nor did I like learning that the red girl is not a hologram but a ghost, the spirit of a dead human. Could a spell bring a dead Autobot back from the matrix? Is this place my second chance to finish my mission for the Allspark, for the Earth?
Cordelia frowned at Willow as she watched the other female brush Buffy’s hair off her face. “Willow if you’re a ghost how can you touch stuff?”
Willow smiled. “I have to concentrate real hard on what I want. When I found Buffy she was all screaming and stuff and wouldn’t listen to me, got me mad. After I got mad I could touch her with my hands! Only for a second though. So I have to concentrate the whole time or I’ll just fall through stuff.”
“Huh.” Said Cordelia as she got out. The ghost went through my shell again making me shiver; it felt like ice cold lube going down my exposed wiring. Cordelia stalked toward the dwellings door like she owned it her arms crossed and her foot tapping as she waited for us. The pink girl named Buffy was still out cold in my back seat unresponsive to the glitched world around her. The ghost tapped my window again, this time I grudgingly rolled it down.
Willow bit at her lip. “Wow, you’re taking this all real easy. Are you a Sunnydale regular? Do you know about the night life?”
She was wrong though. I’m not taking any of this well. I have every extra program in my mainframe trying to figure out what is going on! So far zero progress. Zero! “Yes.”
“He doesn’t talk much does he?” Said Cordelia as she leaned against the dwellings door. “Wonder how he sings?” She muttered softly.
“No.” I say before the ghost could open her mouth.
Willow looks at my halo nervously. “Could you help us get Buffy inside? I can’t help and Cordelia would have a hard time by herself.”
“I’m not going to drag BUFFY to her house! She looks heavy in that fluffy pink mess.” Cordelia sneers.
I want to say no, to just dump the pink girl and leave, but my main personality program demands that I help. “Fine.” It doesn’t take more then a few alteration to make my hologram solid and place my consciousness inside it (Though the energy use is more then I like). I carry the girl in and place her on the couch and get ready to leave only to have another thing stop me. I growl in annoyance and outside my alt form revs the engine. What is this town, one big black hole of inconvenience? The females scream as I’m pushed away from Buffy and slammed into a wall. The moment my attacker touched me I knew he was a vampire, I’m about to attack when Willow and Cordelia ask him to stop. He does. That is surprising, from what I remember vampires could not be reasoned with. The vampire stands in front of me and snarls, keeping himself between me and the females.
“Angel what’s wrong?” Willow asks.
“He’s not human!”
I blink at the demon.
Cordelia scuffs and tilts her head to the side. “He looks human. The only thing weird about him besides the fact that he looks exactly like Elvis is the fact that he only spoke three words since we met him.”
The vampire Angel growls and pushes me back against the wall. “He’s something not human. Trust me. Now what did you do to Buffy!”
“Nothing. She’s in recharge.” I say with annoyance coloring my voice. I should just end my hologram right here and drive away from this frustrating place. I must have said something strange since all of them gave me odd looks.
“She fainted, Angel.” Said ghost Willow as she tried to reach out and pat Angel on the arm only to have her hand go through his flesh. The vampire jumped back clearly startled.
“What is going on?” The vampire growled.
I really just wanted to leave.
I should have left. How did I get entrenched in this battle between the creatures of the night and the humans foolish enough to live in this town of chaos? I do not know. Suppose it don’t really matter. I am here and I am helping a vampire, a ghost, and two humans fight demons whether I wish it or not. I’m an Autobot and it is my job to protect life (which is probably why my giltched system is protecting the spark/ghost program). When a large demon crashes through the window and tackles me to the floor I grapple with it and try to keep its sharp claws from damaging my halo. I horn catches me by surprise and stabs deeply into my chest; I feel the pain register as I kick the demon away. My nanobots scramble to heal the realistic looking wound but it is taking a lot of valuable energy to do so. My halo starts to glitch wildly; it becomes transparent in some places.
A sharp intake of breath sounds behind me. “What are you?” Buffy asks softly as she looks at me with scared watery eyes.
I tell the truth. “An Autobot. My name is Prowl.”
“What the hell is an Autobot?” Cordelia frowns.
I tell the truth again. “Giant alien robot.”
The one called Willow looks at me equal parts hopeful and upset. “Would you by any chance know of a slayer named Kara? Are y-you a sky demon?”
Before I can answer the vampire comes running in, his form bloody and his coverings ripped. “We need to go! There’s a hoard of demons out back after Buffy!”
“M-me?” The pink dressed girl pales.
I am not happy. The humans and the vampire are once again in my cab and we are going to visit a human called Giles. I plow joyously through the demons and hit the leader making him tumble over my alt, Angel seemed to enjoy that one more then I did. After a mile or two we lose the demons and I spot something I cannot resist. A Ford dealership. I stop my aft then open all my doors and toss out all of my passengers. I’m so fragging relieved that I can change my alt I transform right in front of them. My processors must have been slag for that one moment, what in Primus was I thinking? Telling a human you’re a giant robot is one thing, showing them is a whole other bucket of nuts.
Buffy screams and then the others join her, even the vampire yells out in distress at the sight of me. Frag. I make a calming gesture with my hands and purr my engine like I would for a frightened youngling and after a moment all of them quiet down. Angel swallows loudly. “Y-you weren’t kidding about that robot thing were you?”
I just blink my optics and chirp.
Willow points excitedly at my Autobot symbol and laughs. “Look! Xander drew that symbol on his toy armor with red marker before we went trick-or-treating with the kids! Remember Buf-oh right you wouldn’t remember. He’s Xander, I just know it!”
“T-that frunky robot is dweeb-boy?” Cordelia wrinkles her nose. “Figures he’d make an ugly robot.”
My motor revs with annoyance. “Why are we here Xander, we don’t have time to waste we need to get to Giles!” Asks Willow.
“My name is not Xander. I’m here to change my alternate form, I dislike this one, and the surfing rack slows my speed. It will only take a second.” With that said I started scanning only to have my optics fall on a sunset orange vehicle in a display window. I smile. Perfect.
Instead of puttering along I am now almost flying down the road in my new alt. My new body is a 2005 black and sunset orange Ford Mustang GT, with its purring V8 engine, butter soft black leather interior, and attractive black front grill, I now feel good. Real good. I feel like an Autobot now! I rev my engine and I increase my speed to 100mph and honk my horn. I feel like a youngling!
“S-low down Xander! You’re going to c-crash us!” Willow yelps as her now corporal hands clutch at my leather seats. She must be experiencing strong emotion. I slow down to half of my original speed and get them to the place of organic learning without incident. They all stumble out of my cab so quickly I almost feel insulted. Kara had always liked the speed of my cybertronian alt form!
I do a tire burning U-turn and I’m about to ride off when the ghost calls out to me. “Xander! Wait! Where are you going?”
“My name is Prowl and I am going to go find others of my kind. I have helped you as much as I can Miss Willow, now you should go to your Giles to break the spell.”
Willow bites at her lip and her eyes get all watery. “I don’t think there are any more Atobo out there, Xa-Prowl. I think they’re all gone and you’re only here because Xander dressed as you.”
My systems run her words in a loop and I still can’t wrap my processors around it. The last and only Autobot here because an organic youngling dressed like me? Not probable. And even if it is I highly doubt a being of metal and wire can turn back into meat and blood. I search through my system again and find the spark/ghost program that I had overshadowed, I feel sorry for it because I think Willow must be right. I am under a spell but there is no going back, tons of metal cannot become 180 pounds of organic flesh again. I follow the ghost female to the place of learning but secretly start attaching pieces of useful data to the Xander program. I attach everything I can think of that would help him survive; I do everything I can since in a way the Xander program is my sparkling. I attach battle tactics, Cybertrion history, basic bot first aid, instruction for using systems, and anything else I could think of while I help the humans get to this Ethan to end the spell. The last thing I attach as the spell ends is an emotion file . . . I don’t even know the Xander program and yet I care deeply for him, I pray to Primus that my sparkling lives a functional and glitch free existence.
Everything grows dark as energy slams into me forcing me offline.
. . . ZZZZZZSHH . . . ZZZSHTK . . . ZZZZZZT . . . Rebooting system.
Running diagnostic check. Scanning . . . Scanning . . . Corrupted flies in sectors A1 and B12, wire short in right arm joint, unknown energy in system causing glitches. Energy purge needed. Repairs: 2 breems. Repairs . . . complete.
Scanning surroundings . . . Scanning . . . Scanning . . . Four humans within close proximity.
System online in 5.
I gasped and immediately bolted to my feet; I didn’t even notice the gang scramble out of my way or the thunderous noise I was making. I looked around the vivid world and felt overwhelmed. “What’s going on? Willow?” I looked at Willow and whimpered, why was she so small?
“It’s ok. Xander we’ll fix this, I swear. We’ll fix it.” Willow touched my thick robotic leg and patted the black metal.
I clicked with distress.
MerKat: I blame LadyFoxFire's cool challenges for this story. Oh and Jess I'm looking at your suggestions for New divide right now. They got me thinking, thanks. Review everyone and tell me what you think. Oh, and if you see an error tell me that too. ^_^
What should Xander's Autobot name be? That has me stumped.