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| - Synopsis: The Terrorcons, including honorary member Americon, decide to show the locals in Pz-Zazz who the boss is via the use of gratuitous violence! The slums of Pz-Zazz. Refuge of the poor. The destitute. The desperate. At least it WAS a refuge, until the arrival of... THE DECEPTICONS! "Hear ye hear ye!" cries Americon as he marches down the streets. "All subjects, bow down before Hun-Grrr, leader of the Terrorcons and Secretary of the Department of Agriculture (he eats people, you see)!" Down the streets he goes, playing a grand entrance tune on a... a... kazooie. It is a good question if a crowd will actually be intimidated by Americon. Afterall, these people are down on their luck, have been abused and threatened before. But more importantly, he is playing on a -KAZOOIE-. Despite a patriotic american (Americon?) tune, this is not what he had in mind when he agreed to help out another 'honorary' Terrorcon. But he marges along, looking . . . hungry? Chugging along being Hun-Grrr with his arms crossed and a very surly look on his face is none other than Sinnertwin. It's more than obvious that the kazooie is slowly driving him into a homicidal rage, but, well, anything over extended periods of time do that. He makes sure to glare at anyone who looks at him. Cutthroat trudges along in tow, a disconnected look upon his features. He isn't really paying attention to where he's going, simply following the long shadow that Hun-Grr and Sinnertwin cast, working a claw at the bed of another, trying to pry free a few metal shreddings. For the most part, the inhabitants of the slums regard the procession of Terrorcons with a mix of fear and bewilderment. They don't know what's going on, and mutter theories to one another. Are they here to kill everyone? Or this just a parade? One of the aliens, though, a 32-foot-tall bruiser in a trenchcoat, does not simply stand idly by and let Americon stomp wherever he wants to, and stands directly in his path. Americon, not watching what he's doing, bumps into the alien's shins, drops the kazooie, and falls over onto his robo-tush. Americon looks up finally, and at the alien, who, by the way, has about 20 similarly trench-coated friends. Americon says "Excuse me, sir, you are in the way of--"
* CRUNCH* The alien steps on the kazooie, and grinds it under his boot. "NOOOO!" cries Americon. The trenchcoated thug then looks up at the original Terrorcons, growling, "My boss ain't too happy with the way you Decepticons is pushing him around. Makin' demands 'n stuff. Ain't how business is done, 'ere." Hun-Grrr is here to kill someone. Well, maybe not really but before the night is out he probably will. Secretly though, he is actually glad of the kazooie's timely demise and would probably shake the Alien's hand if he wasn't about to smash Americon and various other terrorcons. "Well." The twain-headed dragon says, settling back on his haunches. "Me think we can do this easy way or hard way. Easy way is you turn around and go away and mind own business. Hard way is . . . well, me think you need way more friends to stand chance here." Hun-Grrr adds. "You no know what you up against!" Sinnertwin would quirk a brow at the alien is he had brows to quirk, so instead he just stares with a grumpy frown. Like Hun-Grrr, he too is secretly pleased with the murder of the kazooie. Unlike Hun-Grrr, however, he would have no problem with Americon getting trampled. *CRUNCH*, it filled Cutthroat's audials, bringing him up short. Americon's plaintive wail brings a spark of warmth to the arctic chill of his spark. His fantasies of Americon having been partialy crushed were dashed however, a cursory glance showing that the tapeformer was still largely whole. There was some consolation though, Goons. gobs of them! Glorious, gibblet filled goons. Gory god sends to grind beneath their heels and gash open to let their guts gush out onto the street. Cutthroat could almost smile. He loved goons. "Him, Long-necks am lieing." spoke up the green colored mech as he stepped up, hands held up like a doctor waiting to be gloved, "Easy way is show throat, we rip it out and let you die quick on street." spoke the blood thirsty avian. "Hard way is you fight and we kill you for days on street." His optics glistened with delight at the thought of the wonderous things he could do to them, "Cutthroat am hoping you chose hardway." The thug looks at his pals, then at the Terrorcons, and guffaws. "You threaten US? We got you outnumbered by like... uh..." His eyes cross as he tries to do the math, but fails. "...a lot. And we gotz Pz-Zazzian typewriters! They write obituaries! Bwaha!" From their trenchcoats, they draw rather hefty looking submachine guns with drum barrels, and point them at the Terrorcons. "Now don't be stupid! You ain't got no chance against us! So you go an' tell Galvatron dat we own dese streets and don't wanna see no Decepticons setting mo' stuff on fire unless he say it ok, get me?" Americon, meanwhile, plink plink plinks as he walks back to the other Terrorcons. "Hey. Hey. Hey guys. I think it's that time!" Hun-Grrr is so incredibly pleased with the death of the stupid kazooie at this point that the appearance of the Pz-Zazzian typewriters fails to get him down in any way, shape or form. Not that he would be bothered by them any other time. "Aww." He says in a mocking tone. "Me think it appear that you have us outgunned. However, there someone else nearby that you should tell problems to. You hold on one second, we get him." He then leaps into the air, transforming. "Terrorcons! You know what do!" And then there is, yanno, cool yellow lightning. The thug scratches his head, realizing he said something dumb. "Uh, unless the boss say it ok." Merging. Sinnertwin doesn't ever look forward. Would you look forward to becomming a leg, the first spot EVERYONE goes for? Huh!? Didn't think so! Nevertheless, he drops down into his alternate mode, and then into SHIN MODE. "Me, Cutthroat never get to mruder anyone anymore.." warbles Cutthroat befor he to steps next to Leggertwin. His arms snap back into his side and his legs fuse together befor a big, freakin' foot appears out of nowhere and latches onto the bottom of him. Abominus has arrived. Hun-Grrr has left. Sinnertwin has left. Cutthroat has left. Americon practically cheers as he transforms into bird mode, and begins to flap up towards where Abominus's head is likely to be! "Oh, boy, this is going to be so much fun!" The thugs watch dully as the Terrorcons move into position, shrugging at each other. Only when it's too late do they understand what they're up against! "Ut oh," grunts the thug's leader. Americon's robot legs pop out metallic feather-like objects as they and his lower torso split apart, also revealing an eagle head. The arms and robot head join the main body, and his guns convert into tail feathers and rocket launchers. Americon is now a bald eagle! Robotic Bald Eagle perches on top of Abominus's head, and tries to remain still, but he can't help but giggle a little. "Teeheehee there's gonna be so much blood teeheehee!" As each Terrorcon shifts into their ridiculous yet still awesome 'appendage mode', the horrific combiner known as Abominus rises. BUT HE IS NOT COMPLETE! Not until the sixth Terrorcon, Americon, latches onto his head. The huge, mismatched color palette gestalt lifts his Rippersnapper/Blot arms high into the air, curls his fists into tight balls, then lets out an earth shattering roar. "ABOMINUS HERE! ABOMINUS BEST! GET USED TO IT!" Morale on the mob enforcer side of things is looking pretty grim as they start to back away from the roaring Abominus, but their leader grunts, "It still just, uh, seven 'a dem against all of us! 'Sides, he can't be dat tough! Less shoot 'im!" The enforcer leader opens up on the combiner with his machine gun, and after giving each other uncertain looks, the other thugs follow suit. The hail of lead seems pretty fearsome, and is downright deafening to anyone in the streets. Americon winces as he catches a random bullet now and then, but he loyally stays where he is, performing his solemn duty as hat. Abominus begins to laugh, fists planted to his hips as he thrusts out his purple chest. It's short lived though, the slow witted combiner gradualy realizing that while the thug Alpha dog alone was just a tickle, the entire gaggle of goons was actualy ammounting to something of a stinging sensation. "Whu- OW!?" he bellows angrily, lofting his hands to acty like shields, Rippersnapper and Blot taking the worst of it until he gets fed up with being shot at. "AAAAAABOOOOOOOOOMINUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS sQUISH PUNY GANGSTERS!" roars the giant as he tips Americon to a jaunty, stylish angle befor marching forward and hefting a foot up high, bringing it down over the head of the lead thug.. and anyone stupid enough to stand that close to him. Robotic Bald Eagle tips to the side a bit, and has to adjust his little birdy feet a bit, but doesn't seem to mind the new, strange angle he's pointing at. He has to wonder, though, if being shot so much is starting to bring down Abominus's morale at all? He might need a pick-me-up... but how? The lead thug's career in organized crime is brought to a close. He only has enough time to pee himself while staring up at the descending boot before it flattens him and good. Two other thugs happened to be standing too close to him at the time and suddenly find their arms squashed flat and pinned under Abominus's ridiculous weight. They scream and flail but it does little good. Abominus is a living engine of destruction. This is what Abominus is good at. Plus he has a really bitchin' hat. Either way, he weathers the storm of the Pz-Zazzian weaponry with a flourish -- but they wern't kidding about the firepower of these things. Little bits of the combiners armor are gradually worn away, especially Blot. Blot is taking it right in the arse here. But that is what he is for as Abominus leans into the shower of bullets from the remaining goons and bellows incoherantly -- walking forward in the face of all of the rounds even as his armor is chewed away! With a mighty sweep of his right hand he attempts to scatter the fools -- and drop a building on them. Half the gangsters are tossed aside by Abominus's mighty hand, flung straight into a pawn shop. Then, of course, Abominus's hand smashes the pawn shop, collapsing in on top of them. Worse yet, the owner had been keeping explosives and flammable liquids in there, so the pawn shop soon explodes, and several thugs crawl out, aflame and screaming. Americon, sitting on top of Abominus's head, sniffles. "Poor Abominus! He has to take all of that damage, and no one is there for him! No one.. except me, and the US of A!" Converting into tape mode, Americon magnetically attaches himself to Abominus's head, and plays some inspiring country music: o/~ American girls and american guys Well always stand up and salute Well always recognize When we see old glory flying Theres a lot of men dead So we can sleep in peace at night When we lay down our head o/~ Americon collapses and shrinks down into a very tiny cassette labeled, "America's Most Patriotic Hits!" When Abominus pulls his hand back from what was once a pawn shop, he notices that it's littered with the gore of the aliens. And to make things worse, there is debris and glass poking out all over it. This makes Abominus very sad (having glass poking out of his fingertips, not the awesome gore). His entire face droops and he frowns the frowniest frown. "ABOMINUS....HAVE SPLINTER...." he bellows. Just when all hope seems lost, the beautiful, uplifting, and wholly patriotic music begins to play and it brings Abominus back from the brink of crippling depression. "ABOMINUS....FEEL HAPPY AGAIN." And so he steps on another store. The surviving thugs look at each other apprehensively as the combiner senselessly trashes another store. Does Abominus even know they're still here? Hey... if not... then this is the perfect chance to run away while they still can! They don't get paid enough to die, after all! And so they turn about and flee as fast as their chubby legs will carry them, which isn't terribly fast, but hey, they're the legs they got. Americon would be crying at the sad, yet inappropriate music were he in robot mode and had tear ducts. o/~ My daddy served in the army Where he lost his right eye But he flew a flag out in our yard Until the day that he died He wanted my mother, my brother, my sister and me To grow up and live happy In the land of the free. o/~ Abominus's ruckus spirit and inexplicable sense of pride, self-worth and entitlement fadded as Americon's song took a somber turn. He drew his mighty limb from the storefront and flicked the remains of a little girl that had milled too long in the candy shop away, sending her remains flying away where they splattered and clung to a wall, much like a unwanted booger. Don't worry though. Secretly, in her heart of hearts, she yearned to reform her world and every world into a socialist state of communism. Turning his attention to the fleeing goons, Abominus felt a pang of remorse, remorse that they too could not feel the pride and sorrow that comes with being a AMERICAN. He knew though, knew of a way that they could feel some vestiges of that pride. He drew his weapon, Hun-Grrr's devastating sonic cannon, and uplinked it wirelessly to Americon. The glorious, patriotic song boomed from the end of the weapon with enough power and patriotism to turn their bones into delicious, AMERICAN jello. o/~ Now this nation that I love Has fallen under attack A mighty sucker punch came flyin in From somewhere in the back o/~ The country music, amped up to eleventy, proves to be far more deafening than the machine gun fire earlier. The thugs stop fleeing, and they, as well as many, many bystanders that weren't smart enough to leave when they saw the big giant robot merge, collapse to their knees, screaming--not that anyone can hear them, now! o/~ Soon as we could see clearly Through our big black eye o/~ Blood begins pouring out of the thugs' ears as Toby Keith's tragic song washes over them. They cover their ears up, but the blood just flows sickeningly between their fingers. o/~ Man, we lit up your world Like the 4th of july KABOOOM! Bodies all over the streets begin EXPLODING as they absorb too many sonic energies, painting the streets in a gruesome assortment of multi-colored alien blood. Abominus is enjoying this on so many levels. Nothing is better than thunderous destruction . . . except of course, thunderous destruction with a rockin' thunderous gee-tar in the background. It is amazing, the strength and power that are sizzling through the Terrorcon combiner's circuits -- inspired and buoyed by this excellent tune. He is so inspired in fact, he turns to grab what used to be some sort of sign or maybe a power tower or something-- huge mechanical hands working double time to crush and bend the ramshackle structure into something anew. Suddenly, Abominus reveals what he has made . . Abominus has a bitchin' hat and now he has a /ROCKIN/ GUITAR. The combiner roars, sets his feet and strums strings made out of still-sparking power lines -- overloading various substations in quite a large radius. "ABOMINUS FEEL THE MUSIC. ABOMINUS MAKE ALL FEEL MUSIC!" Then predictably he attempts to beat the crap out of everything around him with his bitchin' guitar. Patriotic Cassette wonders, as Abominus proceeds to destroy essentially everything, what their original mission was. Why were they here again? He can't remember. He does recall feeling like he had a wicked sweet idea, then--oh, right! They were intimidating the locals. Hm. Should he... should he tell Abominus to stop? Surely this is good enough right? Nah. Let 'em have some more fun. o/~Hey uncle sam Put your name at the top of his list And the statue of liberty Started shakin her fist And the eagle will fly Man, its gonna be hell When you hear mother freedom Start ringin her bell And it feels like the whole wide world is raining down on you Brought to you courtesy of the red white and blue o/~ Civilians, bums, and hobos of all shapes and sizes flee from the mighty combiner's thrashings, covering their ears both from the deafening sounds of their city being trashed and from Toby Keith's tunes. Buildings explode into plaster and shrapnel with each swing of the guitar, and fires quickly spread throughout the slums. Where are the police? Where is the fire department? Hell, they ain't goin' near that thing, screw you, buddy. o/~ Justice will be served And the battle will rage This big dog will fight When you rattle his cage And youll be sorry that you messed with The U.S. of A. cause we'll put a boot in your ass It's the American way o/~ And so, as fires rage and victims drag their crippled, mangled bodies to the closest hospital (also on fire), Abominus stops to survey his handiwork. "ABOMINUS.........PLEASED," he roars. With a tip of his Amerihat, he commences THE DEMERGING. Combat: Abominus dissolves into its component Terrorcons. Cutthroat has arrived. Sinnertwin has arrived. Hun-Grrr has arrived. Abominus has left. Americon undergoes a patriotic transformation into his All-American robot mode! Americon lands in the middle of the rubble, looking about the ruined, flaming slums with a smile. "Well. I call that a job well done... IN AMERICA!" Cutthroat unbecomes a leg, prodding at bullet holes in his armor with a sour expression, "Rrrrawk, should step on sooner! Type-wri-ters annoying!" Sinnertwin stands tall and proud amidst the rubble. Until he bends over to grab a stray arm and eat it. Hun-Grrr concurs with this, bending to pick up his sonic cannon and kick at the remains of the leader. He in fact, bends to pick up one of the weapons and slings it over his shoulder. "Right. Me think though, we dissapear now. Everyone go different direction and meet back at base. We did good! Even Hat did good! No know where guitar come from, but not not matter anyway! TERRORCONS DESTROY EVERYTHING! ... Now get outta here." Americon salutes Hun-Grrr, gives Cutthroat and Sinnertwin the thumbs-up, then grabs a trenchcoat and hat, throws it over himself--it doesn't fit him at all--then scampers off into the night, the trenchcoat trailing behind him. "Let's do this again some time, guys!"
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