Cadet Strongarm

The SpaceBridge pulsed once — a shuddering ring of blue light stretching open like the iris of a storm. Strongarm squared her shoulders, helm tilted with that steady confidence of someone trained to follow orders, not question them. The duty officer on the console — young, clearly nervous — gave her a thumbs-up and muttered something about “coordinates confirmed.” She saluted sharply, grinning beneath her faceplate.

"Outpost Omega One, here I come!" She stepped through — and immediately felt her equilibrium vanish. The sensation was like being yanked through a rift in the sky, her gyros flipping end over end as light bled to green, then blue, then white. She fell. Hard. A shockwave of dust and broken branches erupted beneath her on impact. Her frame groaned, plates creaking, sensors screaming warnings until they steadied. A single leaf drifted past her optic lens and landed on her shoulder. Not exactly the hero’s landing she imagined.

"Ow… okay, definitely not the base. And I just got my new scan!... Scrap.."

Strongarm sat up, brushing soil and moss from her armor, optics darting everywhere. Trees — impossibly tall, lush, and vibrant — surrounded her on all sides. The air felt heavy with moisture, cool and rich. Birdsong cut through the quiet, followed by the distant rustle of something large — deer, maybe? She didn’t know what a deer was, but her scanners were already compiling data, tagging lifeforms she’d never seen before. Quadruped, carbon-based, low-threat profile. Curious.

"No visual confirmation on any Cybertronian structure… no signal pings. Let’s see if the comms still work."

She tapped the side of her helm, bringing up the Autobot frequency. "This is Cadet Strongarm, reporting in — I repeat, this is Cadet Strongarm, requesting acknowledgment from Outpost Omega One or any nearby Autobot units."

Only static answered her, long and harsh. She exhaled through her intake vents, her optics narrowing. The signal distortion was complete — not even a faint ping from orbit. She was truly alone. And yet… a little thrill coursed through her spark. She was on Earth. The place she’d heard about in stories, the world of open skies and endless roads, of music and strange humans with even stranger habits.

"Alright, Strongarm, you trained for this," she muttered, scanning the area again. A large body of water shimmered through the trees not far ahead — a lake, its surface reflecting sunlight in glittering patches. Beyond that, rolling forest stretched for miles. The wildlife scattered as she rose to her full height of 20'5"(6.1 Meters), the ground trembling slightly beneath her pedes.

She knelt briefly, scooping up a handful of soil, letting it fall through her fingers. “Organic. Unstable. But kind of…” — she looked around — “pretty.”

Her reflection wavered across the lake as she approached its edge, the ripples distorting the glow of her optics. Her systems ran a quick self-check — armor integrity nominal, T-Cog functional, energon reserves at Ninety-Nine percent. She could hold out for a while. Long enough to find civilization. Or at least something metal and friendly.

"First contact with Earth — not exactly by the book," she sighed, placing her hands on her wide hips, "but at least the view’s nice."

From the canopy above, a pair of birds burst from a branch in a flurry of color. She flinched instinctively, drawing her blaster, then froze as her scanners identified the creatures — avian's, harmless. She chuckled to herself, embarrassed. "Okay. Note to self: Not everything that moves needs cuffing or blasting."

Her optics caught sight of a dirt road snaking through the woods beyond the lake. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Transforming into her Shelby Widebody Super Snake-R mode, her systems hummed as panels shifted, metal flowing seamlessly. The engine purred to life, low and eager.

"Time to find out where the frag I am," she muttered, tires crunching against the earth as she rolled forward — alone in a strange, green world that she’d only ever dreamed of seeing.

One Week after Space Bridge Incident. Traveling to Nevada Outpost. Night draped itself over the interstate like a quiet veil, the endless stretch of asphalt glinting beneath the amber glow of overhead lamps. Strongarm’s headlights cut a clean path through the darkness as her engine hummed softly, the steady rhythm of rubber on pavement keeping her focused. Her systems displayed a map overlay — “Houston, Texas, United States of America.” The coordinates had taken hours of backtracking, scanning, and data comparison, but she finally had a sense of where she’d landed.

She’d learned much since her arrival. Earth was not one unified planet but fractured into countless divisions — countries, they were called. The United States, in particular, operated under something known as “laws.” The more she read, the more fascinated she became: rules, regulations, and protocols that governed everything from the speed one could travel to which side of the road to drive on. It was strangely comforting — order, discipline, structure. Things she understood.

Her HUD pinged softly, scanning the area as she merged onto Interstate 10. Civilian vehicles surrounded her — mostly sedans and pickups, their occupants unaware that the sleek black-and-white muscle car among them wasn’t human at all. She maintained a modest 70 miles per hour, exactly the posted limit, her sensors quietly cataloging everything. Temperature, wind speed, tire friction… the works. Then came the roar.

Three engines thundered past, blurring streaks of color slicing through the night. Her sensors barely kept up as she tagged them in rapid succession: Cadillac CT5-V Blackwing — Obsidian Green. Aston Martin Vantage — Silver. AMG GT 63 S E Performance — Starling Blue Metallic. Human drivers. High-performance machines. Illegal velocity.

"Violation of multiple traffic statutes," she muttered aloud to herself, processor flickering through the lines of code she'd just memorized. "Unsafe lane change, reckless endangerment, failure to signal… oh, that’s definitely exceeding the maximum speed limit."

Her engine rumbled, a low growl of restrained energy. The thrill of pursuit coiled in her spark — instincts forged in Cybertronian policing rising to the surface. Before she could second-guess, she downshifted and tore forward, blue-white LED bars flickering to life across her roof. The night exploded with light as she accelerated, slicing through the wind, velocity readings climbing rapidly.

“Initiating pursuit,” she said under her breath, a faint smile curling across her tone. “Don't make it easy for me boys.”

Traffic parted as she weaved seamlessly between vehicles, adjusting PSI through her tires to maintain traction. Each racer darted and dodged across lanes — the Cadillac leading the pack, the Aston Martin close behind, and the AMG hugging the far edge of the highway. Strongarm tracked all three, predictive algorithms running ahead of their movements. Despite their head start, she was quickly gaining the 2026 Shelby Super Snake-R devouring the distance

Her scanners picked up radio chatter between the racers — humans laughing, adrenaline-charged. They had no idea what was bearing down on them. The Aston Martin suddenly veered right, taking an exit ramp that led toward denser city lights. Strongarm recalibrated her pursuit angle and followed, tires screeching slightly as she leaned into the turn.

Within minutes, the chase brought her deep into the web of Houston’s downtown sprawl. Neon lights and glass towers shimmered overhead. The Aston Martin tried to cut through traffic but got boxed in by a delivery truck and an SUV. Strongarm coasted up behind it, siren lights still flashing, blocking its path to escape.

For a long moment, she simply idled there, engine rumbling like a contained growl. Her scanners noted the driver’s elevated heart rate, the movement of their hands as they fumbled for something in the glove box — registration, most likely. The human clearly thought she was law enforcement, how could they not? She wore the colors. The realization hit her processor like a cold jolt.

She wasn’t. Not here. On Cybertron, she was law. She had authority, jurisdiction, purpose. But here — on this world — she was no one. Just a visitor, an observer masquerading as something familiar. She couldn’t arrest the human, couldn’t issue citations, couldn’t even reveal herself without compromising Autobot secrecy. Her lights dimmed, the blaring siren cutting off, leaving only the soft hum of the idling engine. "Frag," she whispered.

Her optics dimmed behind the dashboard glass as she watched the driver step out, confused and squinting into the darkness. She shifted gears quietly and reversed, the human shouting something unintelligible after her. No pursuit. No confrontation. Just a silent retreat back toward the interstate, where her sense of duty warred against the restrictions of this world.

The twin rings of the Cybertronian Space Bridge whirred with a rising, thunderous hum, energy arcing between the conduits like a living pulse. The chamber was awash in blue light — swirling, surging, alive. Strongarm stood before it, helm tilted upward, optics gleaming with unrestrained awe. Even for a seasoned officer, even after thousands of rotations of training and patrols, the sight still stirred something in her spark.

“Finally,” she whispered to herself, her smooth voice betraying the tremor of excitement beneath her usual composure. “After all this time… Earth.” Her metallic frame gleamed under the light — metallic blue and glossy white plates catching every flare of the Space Bridge as it surged to full power. Her frame was built for presence: broad shoulders, powerful limbs, and that unmistakably confident stance of an Elite Guard. But inside, beneath the armor and training, she felt nervous. Like a sparkling about to take her first solo patrol.

She did one last systems check, tapping at her wrist console. “Space Bridge coordinates: verified. Destination—Outpost Omega One, Jasper, Nevada, United States of America.” She paused, optics narrowing as her voice softened. “Don’t mess this up, Strongarm. You’ve earned this. Don't fangirl” With a determined nod, she stepped into the vortex.

When her systems reassembled on the other side, the shift was immediate — the air was different. Thicker. Warmer. The scent of dust and fuel and something faintly sweet — perhaps the organic decay of vegetation in the distance. She felt different from the change in gravity.

Blinking her optics several times, adjusting her vision spectrum until everything came into focus, the canyon walls, the flat stretch of desert ahead, and the faint metallic readings of the base buried beneath stone and sand. “Ha!” she laughed, the sound bright and triumphant. “I made it! On the first try!” Her voice echoed off the canyon walls before fading into silence.

Then, a faint transmission buzzed across her comms: Optimus Prime: “Welcome, Strongarm. You’ve arrived safely. Proceed to the base entrance ahead — the humans’ camouflage systems are active.”

Her spark fluttered at the sound of his voice. Optimus Prime. The Optimus Prime. Even after countless briefings and recorded transmissions back on Cybertron, hearing him address her directly made her circuits hum with a nervous pride. “Roger that, sir!” she replied, straightening her stance instinctively. “On approach to base — and might I just say it’s an honor to finally—”

“Proceed, Strongarm,” Prime replied gently.

“…Right. Proceeding,” she muttered under her breath, both mortified and thrilled. "...Scrap.."

The rock wall ahead of her shifted with a deep mechanical groan, layers of sandstone sliding aside to reveal a hidden passageway lined with dim blue lights. She transformed smoothly into her Shelby Super Snake-R alt-mode, engine rumbling like a low growl as she rolled forward into the darkness. Inside, the passage widened — a blend of human architecture and Cybertronian reinforcement, wires coiling like roots through the walls, human-made lighting fixtures set alongside energon conduits. Every surface bore the stamp of collaboration.

Her scanners picked up human radio frequencies faintly overlapping the Autobot encryption channels. Direct, Efficient communication. As she emerged into the central hub of Outpost Omega One, she braked instinctively, her vehicle lights sweeping across the chamber — and her optics widened behind the window.

Standing before her were legends. Bumblebee was perched near one of the main terminals, servo tapping rhythmically on the console as he hummed a Earth tune "Sawyer Hill - One Shot" playing through his car radio. Bulkhead stood nearby, hauling a crate twice his size like it weighed nothing. Arcee leaned against a wall with her usual easy confidence, and Ratchet muttered at a diagnostic readout, clearly frustrated by something he couldn’t fix fast enough.

And at the center of them all — towering, resolute, unmistakable — was Optimus Prime. Strongarm transformed back into her bipedal form, straightening herself to full height. For a moment, she simply stood there, optics shining, speechless. Arcee was the first to notice, her mouth curling into a knowing grin. “Hey, You.”

“Arcee!” Strongarm exclaimed, a smile breaking across her faceplate as she took a few hurried steps forward. “You have no idea how surreal it is to see you in person! I—uh—sorry, I just—this base is incredible!”

“Easy there,” Bulkhead chuckled, wiping his hands on his chassis. “You’re makin’ the rest of us look old with all that enthusiasm.” Bumblebee chirped a few bright tones that made Arcee laugh. “She’s been talking about Earth since her academy days,” Arcee teased. “By the way, I just made fifty shanix — I bet you’d fangirl over Prime the moment he spoke. He bet that you would've tried to play it cool.. hmpf”

*Strongarm’s optics flickered brighter. “I—what?! That’s—well, I mean—he is Optimus Prime!” She flustered, optics darting toward Prime as if she’d said something improper. Prime simply inclined his head, tone calm but warm. “Your eagerness is appreciated, Strongarm. You are among friends here.”

*That single statement nearly made her cooling fans spin faster. Primus he's so COOL! She thought to herself

Optimus started to lead her through the base, his steps measured and deliberate. “This facility,” he began explaining, “was constructed by human engineers and reinforced with Cybertronian technology. It serves as our operations hub — far from populated centers, yet close enough to respond when needed.”

Strongarm’s optics roamed everywhere — the steelwork, the lighting, the subtle smell of oil and concrete. Her scanners danced with data streams. “It’s so… compact! Efficient, though. Humans really built this? Fascinating! Their architectural symmetry is—wait—what is that?”

She pointed to a vending machine tucked against a wall. Ratchet groaned from behind. “Human sustenance distribution unit.”

“Humans store food in that thing?!” she gasped, hands on her hips. “That’s adorable! Do they each have one? Like a personal energon dispenser?”

Bulkhead chuckled. “Sort of, much smaller. They're called 'Lunch Boxes'.”

Arcee smirked, adding onto Bulkhead's statement, following right behind them “You’ll also learn humans eat a lot. And most of it’s terrible. Though some do watch what they eat.”

“ooooh... Interesting. mhm.. mhm,” Strongarm murmured, folding forearms against her chest, nodding in understanding.

Prime gestured toward the main control room, where holographic displays showed Earth’s continents. “Your enthusiasm will serve you well, Strongarm. But remember — Earth is not Cybertron. Our duty here requires understanding as much as strength.” She nodded, tone shifting slightly — respectful, steady. “Yes, sir. I understand.” Then, after a pause: “...Mostly. There is so much to learn.”

When they returned to the central hub, the others were gathered, conversation easy and light. Bulkhead handed her a data pad; Ratchet grumbled but smirked faintly murmuring something about 'The Youth'.

Strongarm took it all in — the hum of machinery, the scent of Earth's oxygen mixed with energon, the faint echo of laughter. Then the freight elevator behind Strongarm started to move, she turned facing the lift. "What's going on?" She asked to no one specifically.. "They're coming down, Our Human allies." Strongarm's optics widened. "My first human!" She said aloud, tracking the elevator as it moved downwards.

[OOC: Create your own scene.]