Christmas aboard the nemesis!

A second Christmas

. . . 2012. . .

. . . December 25th, Velocitron . . .

"Starscream, why did you drag me to this racing track?" Megatron asked, sitting in the bench.

"My liege, you must like racing in your free time." Starscream said.

Megatron had a sigh.

"I only like this racing when it involves running from me," Megatron said. "The thrill is more fun."

From afar we see our racers. One of which was a dark gray and maroon speed racing car which was recognized by Soundwave. The following Decepticons are watching the race: Knock Out, Starscream,Megatron, and Soundwave. There were five racers being: FighterPilot, Robustshell, Nightdash, Serpent, and BuckWizer.

Robustshell was the one with a dark gray and maroon red paint job.

BuckWizer was green with a secondary black themecolor.

FighterPilot was completely gray.

Serpent was white and black.

Nightdash was a plain yellow.

"Ready," The announcer, being OverRide, started. "Set," The wheels were turning. "Go!"

A streak of dust speeded behind the racers. Megatron had one elbow on knee and the side of his faceplate cupped. Instead of plotting ways to annihilate the Autobots,  Starscream and Co dragged Megatron to a race. A  pathetic race that wasn't entertaining. Knock Out was cheering for Serpent (Apparently he knew the cybertronian behind the name) and Starscream was leaning forward with a grin on his faceplate.

The speedsters eventually transformed into their robot modes coming to a skinnier ramp.

Robustshell was distinctive.

She had hazel optics while the others had orange, purple, or gray optics.  They were so distinctive. The large screen showed the crowd of cybertronian related beings how it was going. Those hazel optics were familiar.  They were familiar to Megatron. Megaton squinted his optics toward the slightly short but speeding femme.  She had wheels adjusted to under her  feet acting as roller skates. She seemed at ease due to her build that was designed for speed. She had intent optics. Each stride was like a gush of air being traveled at the speed of light.

She nearly slipped but she managed to regain balance.

Megatron half wanted to believe she could transform into a cheetah and win the race.

His optics were glued on her figure darting, zipping past the tight spots, and the screech taken by her wheels which produced a white flash created due to the friction against the wheels. It reminded Megatron how one time Amy was cutting  a hallway corner carrying her usual quick pace and struggling against not hitting the wall but very much improved but instead there was no wall just a barrier to the barren ground.

Megatron held his breath seeing a looming incoming corner that cut off to the right lacking a left corner.

Robustshell narrowed her optics toward the corner then started to change her aim and slow her speed.

By this  time, they had all but forgotten about the cyber organic Amy Pond.

                                                                *                                                                      *

. . . After the race. . .

"Hello."

Robustshell did not need to look over her shoulder collecting her winnings from those who bet on her.

She didn't return the hello.

"I am Megatron." Megatron asked.

"Megatron of the insults?" RobustShell said. "Bite my ass."

The cybertronian beings looked over to see a royally-pissed-off-tyrant and they quickly left.

"That is no way to treat a new comer." Megatron said, with a growl.

Robustshell turned toward Megatron with hateful optics.

"You are not new, old mech," Robustshell said. "To me you are just an old avenue."

"What avenue is that?" Megatron asked, cooly.

"Something I am never revisiting, ever." RobustShell said then she started to walk away.

Megatron grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Have we met before?" Megatron asked.

Hazel optics were a rare occurrence.

The last time he saw someone with hazel optics was with a small human. He hadn't forgotten about Amy. The little human who had nightmares. The one who he allowed to sleep on him for comfort so she wouldn't be running about in everyone's way. All he could see in those optics were burning hate and discomfort. Anger.  Resentment. All of which toward him.

"No," Robustshell said, snatching her long shoulder out of his grip. "But I have met someone like you before!"

Megatron rubbed the palm of his servo where there a thin scar left by her long sharp digits.

"I am one of a kind." Megatron said.

"The last time I admired someone, they hurt me and I don't want that," Robustshell said. "Never."  It sounded very sincere. "So go back to your 'team' or whatever the hell you call them. Because I am just one of many fish out there in the galaxy. And stay away from me.  Next time you approach me . . . you are losing an optic."

Robustshell turned away then went down the path into the sand storm.

Robustshell didn't sound like Amy, she sounded way too older.

Megatron was left standing contemplating how it could be possible that . . . No. . . That  is impossible.

Amy had to be dead.

Megatron shook his helm of the idea then he exited the winning collection room.

The End