Transformers Oneshots

Oneshot 1

The air crackled with static, then silence. Optimus Prime's voice, usually a beacon of hope, was drowned out by the sickening crunch of metal on metal, the guttural scream of the ship tearing itself apart. A Autobot scout, Y/n, felt the sickening lurch of the craft as it plummeted towards the green jungle canopy.

His last mission had been a simple reconnaissance run, a check on a Decepticon rumor. He'd never expected to end up here, in a place teeming with a different kind of war, a war fought by men who looked like…well, like the Decepticons, except smaller and without the chrome gleam.

Y/n slammed into the jungle floor, the force of the impact jolting him from his alt-mode. Dust filled his optics, obscuring the swirling canopy above. 'Optimus… did you…?' his voice was ragged, the connection severed. He was alone.

His systems, miraculously, were still intact, but his Energon reserves were low. He needed to transform, to become something that blended in, to hide from whatever this strange world had thrown at him. He scanned the dense foliage, his sensors picking up the distinctive scent of diesel, the hum of a helicopter engine.

He found his target - a Huey gunship, a workhorse of the war in this land. A moment later, Y/n was no longer a sleek, silver Cybertronian car, but a sleek, silver gunship. He was an unwelcome guest in this strange, brutal warzone.

Days bled into weeks. Y/n, disguised as a Huey, flew over the rolling green hills, his sensors picking up the grim symphony of war - the thunder of artillery, the bursts of rifle fire, the screams of men. He learned the language of the soldiers, their fear, their anger, their desperation. He saw their humanity, the way they cared for their wounded, the way they mourned their dead.

He was still a soldier, fighting for what was right, but he saw this war through a new lens. It wasn't just about conquering or destroying. It was about survival, about holding onto hope in the face of unimaginable darkness.

He was not a weapon, a killing machine. He was a protector, and he found himself protecting these strange, fragile humans from the very dangers he had flown from. He used his superior technology to guide patrols, to locate hidden enemy positions, to evacuate the wounded under fire. The soldiers, initially wary, came to rely on the 'ghost Huey', the one that always seemed to be where they needed it, always saving them from the jaws of death.

One night, under the shimmering light of a full moon, Y/n found himself landing near a group of soldiers around a crackling fire. They were tense, their faces etched with worry. He picked up on their fear, their unspoken questions.

'Why are you here?' one soldier finally asked, his voice husky with the weight of countless battles.

Y/n, unable to speak their language, projected an image of Earth, of his home planet, of the Autobots fighting for peace. It was a crude attempt, a desperate hope, but it seemed to resonate.

The soldier nodded, a slow understanding dawning on his face. 'We fight for freedom too,' he said, his eyes reflecting the firelight. 'We fight for what's right.'

Y/n felt a pang of empathy, a connection to these men, these warriors, who fought for the same ideals, even if their methods were different. He was not just an Autobot scout. He was a soldier, a protector, a friend. He was Y/n, and he had found his purpose in this strange, brutal, beautiful world. He was home.

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