The Energon Pub

PART 216

THE PLANET OF JUNK

——Tantrum shouted at the decapitated head he held between his hands.
——”Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are the Autobots?”
——“Where’s Waldo?” the head taunted. “Check the lost and found!”
——“EeRRraghh!” Tantrum threw the head away in frustration.
——A headless body lying nearby shot a grappling hook out of his forearm and retrieved the noggin from the scrap pile that it had been yeeted into. Then he retracted the grapple and replaced it with an arc welder, which he then began using to reattach his severed head.
——Tantrum was amazed, yet incensed by the Junkion’s ingenuity. He transformed into alt-mode and charged, intending to crumple the Junkion completely. He snorted and changed direction at the sight of a whole gang of them riding motorcycles toward him.
——“You’re on our turf, Buffalo Smurf!” yelled the lead Junkion. “Git along li’l doggy!”
——Tantrum had a new outlet for his anger. He charged headlong into the axe swinging motorcyclist, sending the rider flying over his back when he collided with his living mount. The other bikers rode past, covering him in a storm of cuts. Then they continued on, roaring down a road of wreckage.
——The damaged biker propped himself up against a pile of junk, laughing to himself as he rummaged around for his missing leg.
——Tantrum could barely stand, yet he pawed the ground, preparing for another charge. His four exterior fuel tanks—one mounted above each leg—were all leaking.
——“Nice friends,” snorted Tantrum. “They left you to die.”
——“Wreck-Gar’s the name!” shouted the Junkion. “Collecting and saving is my game!”
——“Hows about you change it to just Wreck?” growled the galloping Predacon.
——Wreck-Gar attached a flamethrower to his stump with the speed of a pit stop mechanic.
——“Need a light?”
——The Junkion leader raised his flamethrower-leg and lit Tantrum aflame. The burning robotic buffalo cursed and kept coming anyway. Wreck-Gar grabbed his shield.
——“Brace for impact!”
——Tantrum’s legs exploded out from under him. He reverts to robot mode, screaming in the flames with pieces of his current form either missing or melted away.
——Camouflaged within a pile of refuse, Razorclaw is ready to explode into action. He pauses at the last astrosecond when he hears the sound of singing beside his prey.
——“Youuu are not alone, I am here with you…”
——A female Junkion with a sultry voice rose slowly from the trash. Wreck-Gar stumbled upright in staged surprise.
——“Wowzers! It’s the one… THE ONLY… Nancy Wreckage!” exclaimed Wreck-Gar.
——Wreck-Gar wrenched a horn off Tantrum’s head and dropped to one knee.
——“My love, will you marry me?”
——Nancy’s optics widened. She gasped and laid a hand over her fuel pump.
——“Just say no. But I say yes, baby!” she replied, throwing her head back. “Oh, yes… yes… YESSS!”
——Wreck-Gar placed the detached horn over her ring finger. Then they both stepped onto Tantrum’s back and locked lips.
——Wreck-Gar’s motorcycle transformed holding a rusted replica of the Convenant of Primus.
——“I now pronounce you mech and wife. May you both function happily ever after.”
——“These rattletrap robots appear to be insane. Also, indestructible on their home planet,” conceded Razorclaw. “Our quarry has chosen formidable allies. Divebomb will continue to scout from the skies. The rest of us will lay low… until it is time to strike!”

(to be continued)

PART 217

——Divebomb flew high over the Cliffs of Junk, attracting the attention of a guard standing below. As the sentry stared at the sky, someone slipped a hand over his mouth from behind.
——“Don’t even think about reaching for a weapon,” whispered Hot Rod.
——The Junkion looked to his right and saw the barrels of three wrist-mounted blasters pointed at his brow. Then he felt a knife pierce the back of his neck and his knees buckled.
——“That’ll hold ‘im,” Kup said, looking down at the twitching guard. “He can’t put himself back together if he’s paralyzed.”
——Hot Rod pointed his wrist blasters at the downed Junkion’s head.
——“Maybe we should terminate him, Kup. Then hide the body.”
——Kup knocked Hot Rod’s arm away.
——“What’s gotten into you, lad? The Junkions are our allies!”
——“They sure don’t act like it.”
——“They’ve fallen under a bad influence. They’re highly impressionable.”
——“This is all my fault that we’re even here, Kup.”
——“Nonsense. The Predacons ambushed our evac site on Cybertron. You didn’t know they were lying in wait. Blurr didn’t see them either.”
——“Before that. When Prime battled Galvatron. Prime told me to fall back and I didn’t listen. I thought I had him, but I messed up… and Prime got hurt.”
——“You can apologize to him later if we ever make it off this planet alive. Now, shh! They’re bringing Ultra Magnus and the others out.”
——Kup and Hot Rod spied down into the valley where Swindle held court. The crowd gathered in front of his throne separated as Rubbish and Re-Cycle brought six captive Autobots in energon rings to stand trial before him.
——Springer spoke first. “Swindle, is that Devcon the bounty hunter’s head you’ve got on the end of your staff?”
——“Yeah! You like it? It’s one of a kind. I’d offer to sell it to you for a good price if I wasn’t about to sentence you to death!”
——“So what’s even the point of all this, Swindle?” heckled Rollbar. “Get on with it!”
——“NoNoNo,” protested Blurr. “NoRush! TakeYourTime!”
——“I’m more curious to how all of THIS happened,” inquired Perceptor.
——“Me too,” replied Arcee. “The last we heard, Swindle, you were Devcon’s prisoner!”
——“Oh, that idiot crash landed here unable to speak, so I spoke for him! After a few conversations I had with some of the more enterprising Junkions on this planet, they put my bumper on a throne and Devcon’s head on a spike!”
——“In other words,” deduced Ultra Magnus. “You scammed them.”
——“Hey! Hey! Watch your mouth! I’m an honest, law abiding ruler of Junk now. If Wreck-Gar wants to ride around all day playing the rebel, that’s fine with me, but I’m the people’s choice! In keeping with planetary customs, I’ve even built myself a bride. I had some of the bots help me put her together, then I gave her the Spark that I had rolling around in my glove compartment. Say hello to Trash, folks!”
——A spindly Junkion with a cheetah print painted torso, two breast-mounted missiles, a white face, and a red head stepped forward.
——“Do you ever fantasize about being killed?” she asked her captive audience.

(to be continued)