Autobots(rewritten)

I wake up to a cold shower and what can only be described as an awkward, aggressive rubdown. Note to self: never trust a clown in a car wash scenario – it's not what dreams are made of.

The dubious cleaner, who I've aptly named Manny, is decked out in full clown gear. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure this is not the proper attire for a car spa attendant. As he scrubs away, I contemplate the life choices that led me to this moment. Spoiler alert: none of them involved waking up to a clown bath.

Internally, I'm having a silent meltdown, questioning my existence as Manny completes his avant-garde car-cleaning performance. Finally, he struts away, probably to terrorize someone else's vehicle.

As the aquatic carnival fades into memory, I catch sight of a certain yellow Camaro sidling up next to me. Panic sets in – it's Bumblebee! Luckily, my lack of flashy Autobot or Decepticon logos saves me from immediate identification. Crisis averted, but seriously, can we talk about Manny's life choices first? Priorities, people.

Seriously though, talk about an unexpected rendezvous with the Autobots. As I'm still mentally processing the fact that Bumblebee is hanging out beside me, enter Sam and his dad, whose name I've conveniently misplaced in my metallic brain.

Bobby, the shrewd car dealer and self-proclaimed "businessman," starts laying on the charm, attempting to convince Sam to join the ranks of proud car owners. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, trying to look like the coolest car on the block, which is hard considering Bumblebee is my next-door neighbour.

As the trio meanders our way, reenacting a scene straight out of the Transformers movie, Bobby decides to show off his sales pitch – and, I suspect, his acting skills. But hey, I'm no critic; I'm just a car with a front-row seat to this unexpected show.

Then, out of the blue, as Bobby hops into my driver's seat to sing my praises, Bumblebee decides it's the perfect time to give me a metallic sucker punch with his door. Next thing I know, I'm not just a car; I'm a toppled-over car. Classy move, Bee.

As Bobby, the silver-tongued maestro, works his charm to convince Sam that I'm the pinnacle of automotive excellence, he rights my toppled form with the grace of a seasoned car whisperer. Resilience is my middle name – well, not literally, but it should be.

However, in my valiant attempt at retaliation, Bee stands his ground like a metallic mountain. Not even my door-swinging superhero move fazes him. Note to self: Bumblebee is made of sturdier stuff than I anticipated.

Suddenly, the airwaves come alive with Bee's radio, broadcasting an eloquent message of discontent. ":: ASS ~HOLE ::" echoes through the air, and I can't help but chuckle quietly – a self-induced car-shake that amuses only me.

In a bold move to mimic Bee's radio prowess, I decide to join the musical rebellion, cranking up my own radio to full blast ":: ALL THE SINGLE LADIES~ ALL THE SINGLE LADIES::" swift realization hits me – I might have overplayed my metallic hand as I fumble to turn it off, feeling like the embarrassing relative at a family reunion.

Post-radio mishap, chaos ensues as Bee unleashes a sonic assault, shattering the windows of other cars in the lot. Turns out, this sonic spectacle is a masterstroke, convincing Bobby to sell Bee for a better price and Sam's dad to invest in me. Who knew my charm and a bit of unintentional radio warfare would seal the deal? Apparently, the dad's wife has a thing for quirky cars.

In the aftermath of the chaotic car lot escapade, Sam zooms off into the horizon with Bee, leaving his dad, Ron, to deal with the aftermath. Ron, ever the optimist, returns with his wife, who seems less than impressed with my current state.

"Oh my god, Ron. It's hideous and filthy," she exclaims, her disdain palpable. Ron, the eternal salesman, puts on his persuasive cap, assuring her, "Don't worry. I'll get it done up, get a custom frame on it and round it out. You'll love it. Trust me."

A huff and a half-hearted agreement later, she decides she's had enough. "You are so cheap; I'm taking your car back," she declares before driving off in Ron's car, leaving him to deal with me.

Without much of a choice, Ron takes the driver's seat in me, and we head off to his abode. Pulling up to the house, I spot Bumblebee in the driveway, and naturally, I get the VIP parking spot right next to him. Maybe I'm not so hideous after all.

Ron, seemingly skilled in both automotive and horticultural pursuits, leaves us to work on his garden with his wife. As they transform their yard into a suburban paradise, I find myself relegated to the role of an idle observer.

With time hanging heavily on my metaphorical hands, I decided to take a metallic siesta. After all, there's nothing better to do, and the rumble of my engine might spoil the gardening symphony outside.

Surprisingly, the metal nap goes uninterrupted. Bumblebee refrains from attempting to rouse me, and I find solace in the quiet, blissful reprieve – a temporary respite in the ongoing saga of suburban life.

Rising from my metallic slumber, Ron disrupts my temporary hibernation to embark on an unexpected mission: fetching Sam from the police station. The journey back is a symphony of bickering between Ron and Sam, a soundtrack that prompts me to tune out and focus on the road.

Once we return, Ron gracefully parks me, and the suburban drama takes a peculiar turn when Bumblebee shows up later in the night. The sight of the yellow Autobot terrifies Sam to the point that he abandons the comfort of his home and flees on his mother's bike. Intrigued, I decided to play the role of the helpful sidekick and follow the unfolding spectacle.

Our pursuit leads us to a multi-story car park, where Sam encounters a Decepticon police car. The unfolding drama is a mix of Sam desperately seeking help and the Decepticon, in an ironic twist, playing the role of a menacing officer.

Sam, breathless and flustered, launches into a plea for assistance. "Officer, Officer, thank god you are here. I've had the worst day ever, I've been followed here on my mother's bike, right? And my car is right there, and it's been following me here. So- so get out of the car."

The Decepticon, enjoying the scare tactics, inches forward, keeping Sam on edge. As the tension mounts, the car finally transforms, revealing its true robotic form. A chase ensues, with Sam sprinting and the Decepticon in hot pursuit. In a dramatic swat, Sam is effortlessly dispatched onto the hood of a car.

The Decepticon, looming over the prone Sam, bellows with a metallic voice, "Are you username Ladiesman217!?"

In the tense confrontation, Sam stammers, denying any knowledge of the mysterious username. The Decepticon, undeterred, bellows his question again, demanding answers.

Seeing an opportunity to divert attention and, hopefully, keep Sam out of harm's way, I decide to intervene. Driving up to the scene, I transform with an attempt to exude an air of Decepticon superiority. "Ah, a fellow Decepticon. I thought I was alone, on this mud ball," I declare, hoping my newfound acting skills will pass muster.

The actual Decepticon turns to face me, eyeing me up and down. Sam seizes the chance to make a hasty retreat. The Decepticon, seemingly curious, demands, "What is your designation?"

Caught off guard, I scramble for a name, settling on "Rusty" as my improvised designation. The Decepticon inches closer, suspicion etched on his robotic features. "You do not carry our insignia nor are you tuned into our frequencies," he states, raising his blaster.

Anticipating trouble, I transform and ram into his legs, causing him to stumble. Seizing the moment, I drive off in the direction Sam fled, hoping to lead the Decepticon to Bumblebee. My improvised distraction serves its purpose, guiding the Decepticon away from the scene and towards Bumblebee.

In the heat of the metallic showdown, Bumblebee transformed, pivoting in my direction to unleash a barrage of shots at the Decepticon hot on my tail. The chaotic dance continued as I manoeuvred alongside Bee, who, with a burst of speed, tackled the Decepticon into a full-on brawl.

As the scuffle ensued, I transformed, attempting to contribute to the firefight from a distance. Alas, my shooting skills were far from stellar; most of my shots missed the mark, accidentally hitting Bee twice in the process. Bee, being the resilient Autobot he is, didn't hold back in voicing his dissatisfaction. ::" FIX~YOUR AIM~ BUCKO"::, he chided, a metallic reminder that accuracy is indeed a virtue.

Despite my subpar shooting, Bee eventually gained the upper hand in the tussle, chasing the Decepticon away and restoring a semblance of order to the chaotic scene. We regrouped with Sam and Michaela, and standing next to Bee, I couldn't help but realize the significant size difference. At 10ft tall, I paled in comparison to Bee's towering 16ft stature. In the world of transformers, size truly does matter.

Amidst the post-battle murmurs between Sam and Michaela, Sam finally mustered the courage to approach me and Bee, inquiring, "Do you talk?"

::"XM~ RADIO DIGITAL ~BROADCASTING ~CABLE SYSTEM":: Bee responded, utilizing his radio capabilities.

"So you talk through the radio?" Sam sought confirmation.

::"THANK YOU~ YOU TWO YOUR ~WONDERFUL":: Bee chimed in, expressing gratitude with a metallic applause.

To expedite the conversation and move along, I intervened, explaining, "He was contacting his boss; we are aliens, but we really should get going." Bee shot me a curious glance as we all transformed, and he opened his doors for Sam and Michaela.

As we hit the road, Bee had a change of plans, abruptly kicking them both out before driving off to scan a more appealing vehicle model. Their amazement was palpable as Bee showcased his scanning abilities.

Their eyes shifted to me, wondering if I would follow suit. Playing the part, I scanned a passing car, but alas, nothing happened.

Nonchalantly, I asserted, "Fuck off, get in Bee. I like how I am."

Fearing the wrath of the colossal robot, Sam and Michaela hastily ran to Bee and hopped in, ensuring they didn't ruffle any metallic feathers. With Bee leading the way, we embarked on the next chapter of our robotic adventure, leaving the aftermath of the Decepticon encounter behind us.

In the midst of our jaunty robot road trip, I persisted in scanning cars, desperately trying to crack the code of why I couldn't switch up my transformation. Turns out, either I'm stuck like this or I've got the wrong kind of ride.

Our journey hit pause as we witnessed a cosmic spectacle – four meteors tearing across the sky. Sam and Michaela, caught up in the celestial theatrics, darted back into Bee as we resumed our metallic escapade.

Rolling through city streets, the Autobots decided it was showtime, transforming with all the flair of a blockbuster movie. Sam and Michaela, seasoned spectators to this robotic theatrics, hopped out of Bee for the umpteenth time as the Autobots gave their spiel, following the movie script beat for beat. Optimus Prime, in his signature serious tone, spilled the cosmic beans.

A delightful twist of humour came when Optimus Prime dropped the bombshell word "eBay." I couldn't resist a snarky chuckle – because nothing says impending doom like online bidding wars.

With the Autobot introduction wrapped up, we glided toward Sam's house. Sam, pulling off his hero routine, dashed inside, pulling a sneaky manoeuvre to distract his parents while the Autobots and I prepped for the next round of revelations.

As the Autobots turned Sam's parents' garden into an accidental battleground, I smartly steered clear of the impending floral disaster.

Optimus, with all his serious leader vibes, turned his gaze my way, questioning, "Who are you? And why are you assisting us?"

Maintaining the guise I fed the Decepticon, I replied with a touch of attitude, "Name's Rusty. Apparently, I'm Sam's parents' guardian – hence, I'm reluctantly in the helping business."

Optimus, curious as ever, gave me the once-over, firing off more questions, "Whose side are you on? Where were you during the war?"

Whipping up a spontaneous tale, I quipped, "Oh, just your average librarian, staying neutral, hiding away in my archive on Cybertron. I only made a break for Earth when Cybertron decided to throw a lights-out party."

Optimus laid a hand on my shoulder, laying down some wisdom, "Hiding during the war doesn't make you a coward. You stuck to your librarian duties until Cybertron went dark and even faced a Decepticon. My scout has been singing your praises."

Stepping back, Optimus threw the final question at me, "Will you continue to help us? We need all the firepower we can get."

After a theatrical pause, I looked up and gave a nod, adding a hint of sass, "Sure thing. I'll assist with my librarian-grade firepower. Don't expect any epic battle moves."

Optimus acknowledged with a nod, saying, "That's all I ask, my librarian friend," before turning to face the house.

As Sam panicked about hiding, the Autobots, oblivious to the subtleties of Earthly discretion, decided to show off their spectacular transformations. Sam, on the brink of a meltdown, looked to me for salvation. "Optimus, if I may be of assistance. I've been gracing Earth with my presence for a while and mastered these quirky human customs. I can help you stay incognito while Sam and Michaela play their glasses scavenger hunt."

Optimus gave me a thoughtful nod, and with an eye roll that only an artificial lifeform could manage, I set out to choreograph a clandestine Autobot parade onto the street. Predictably, Ratchet pulled off a classic movie blunder – hitting a power cable, catching a shock, and causing a blackout. I shot him a look that screamed, "Really?" before wrestling the others into some semblance of covert parking.

Strolling over to Optimus, I laid down the law, "Stay put. I'm the stealth expert here, being smaller and all. I'll fetch you the glasses."

Of course, that was a bold-faced lie. What I truly needed was for Sector 7 to crash the party. Positioning myself strategically, the government goons arrived, unleashing havoc on the garden. The main guy knocked on the door, waltzed in, and one of his lackeys strutted over to me with a Geiger counter…