Now extended to April 18th!
FurorEvery year, spring brings new life and new opportunities, but with these also come new threats, new dangers. On a warm spring night, deep within a Montana forest, yet another of these primal dramas has come to fruition. Flora and fauna which had established their own footholds on life are trampled and pushed aside underneath three werewolves without a second thought. At this moment, The Chase is their only concern.
This deep within the forest, the green foliage is dense enough to snap back in the face of the immense brown werewolf charging his way through it. But he shrugs off the blows, his drive and focus more effective than any painkillers. His fur catches in the branches, leaving behind coffee-colored knots snared amongst the leaves, and even that barely slows down his pace. He feels like half a tree is tangled up within the braid that hangs off the back of his head. But as great a nuisance as the forest growth can be, it has to be doubly hindering for his quarry ahead. The disrupt
AlienatedOn an average morning, Joseph O'Donnell was the first thing his wife was aware of when she awoke: his large frame a source of comfort, even during this unsure point in their marriage. His right arm reliably wrapped around her, his left under the pillows to hide the stump where once a hand had been. How she missed him when he had served in Iraq. On those nights, the empty half of their bed might as well have been a vacuum.
This, however, was not an average morning if it even was morning. Sarah O'Donnell sensed something amiss during her first glimpses of wakefulness they were not on their bed, but a hard, flat surface. She aborted a slow drift out of sleep in favor of a straight-up leap into consciousness.
Panic threatened to grab hold as her eyes darted around to survey the dark room. There were no windows, no way of gauging the time of day. Only a few dim orange squares in the ceiling above them glowed with enough luminosity to keep the room from being pitch black. A fen
"Professor Sewell! Come quickly! You're not bloody going to believe this!"
Professor Elizabeth Sewell gave the intern a cross glare through her glasses. She was a middle-aged woman, with red hair just beginning to silver. She was not finicky about her appearance, yet she tried very hard to avoid the "stern librarian" appearance displayed by many of her colleagues. "Language, Mister Porter. If you wish to be a professional, you'll need to control that hasty tongue of yours."
"Right sorry," young Porter gasped obligatorily as he shoved aside both flaps that served as the door to her tent and beckoned her outside. He was a consummate portrayal of young adulthood: longish hair that constantly dangled over his brows, sloppily-shaven stubble, and lose, dirty clothes. Dark brown hair and eyes were the only color contrasting an otherwise pasty complexion. "But you must come see this! We've found something in the cave!"
Elizabeth sighed as she closed her archeology book, obviously in no hurry.
The Fifty-Ninth MinuteWith increasing regularity, the Earth was coming under threat by alien menaces other than the Decepticons. It made sense, the Autobot known as Pyro supposed; the planet was both out of the way and ideally located, depending on where you were coming from. Or which way you were going. The universe was funny like that.
Pyro, in the guise of a firetruck, regarded the man that climbed inside him. He had a rather strange face, but not the strangest they had on file. (Personally, his favorite was the "teeth and curls" look.) This was a new face, all flat and nose and long hair. And his clothes were strange. He had always had questionable fashion sense, but it had always leaned more towards the old-fashioned and less towards the... hm, "singed raggedy."
"Hello, Doctor," the Autobot said once they were rolling. Pyro increased his speed; they hadn't much time.
The man looked surprised for a moment. He glanced towards the passenger seat and the seats behind him to see if he had missed anyone, but
The ZooCybertronians did not experience grogginess. Unlike humans, there were no levels of consciousness; they were either offline or online. Moonhunter had tried to explain what it was like to Whiplash once, on a Saturday morning when her human brother Cassidy had been reluctant to get out of bed. But the young Maximal had not been able to fathom what it was like and she still couldn’t.
Although, when she snapped online to find herself in a dark cell, staring up at a barely-illuminated ceiling, she found herself wishing she could control her level of consciousness and go back offline without fully registering the freakishness into which she had just awoken.
She played back her most recent memories for some clue as to how she’d wound up here. There had a huge sphere in the sky, suddenly spearing out of nowhere while she scouted a valley on some remote planet. A blue light had illuminated her and then nothingness. It must have been a stun ray, or a tractor beam, or some efficient
First DateHenry “Beast” McCoy knew this arrangement aggravated Agent Brand. But she had recruited him for this “job” because of his different sensibilities, and thus had to defer to his judgment. Her profuse protests over the phone had given him an almost perverse sense of pleasure when he proposed the idea. Why couldn’t they just meet up at her apartment, she’d asked. He wasn’t “that kind of boy,” he’d answered. Eventually, she had no choice but to cave in to his demands.
And now they were on their first date. All soldier, she marched through the front door. Henry wondered if she was capable of turning it off. At least she had replaced the S.W.O.R.D. uniform with a gray pants suit... although for all Hank knew, she had it on underneath. Probably had it on underneath.
Always a gentleman, Henry stood and pulled her seat out for her. “I must say, Agent Brand,” Henry said, his baritone voice practically purring with smugness, &
The Cat and the RatCybertron was a cold world of uniformity and order. As colorful as its people could be, the world that birthed them varied little from golds and grays and purples. This world, however, was in complete contrast to Cybertron: colorful, jagged, uneven, wild and unstable. It was a completely alien planet, and the Maximal now known as Tigatron felt completely like he belonged here. Its primal beauty filled the chasm in his soul that had haunted him since the earliest days of his life, when he had first learned there was life outside of Cybertron.
He knew his fellow Maximals didn't consider this world home. But there had been a point after awakening on this planet where it was all he knew. Since then, his memories had mostly been restored as his core processor mended, but all he could remember about Cybertron was how ill at ease he had felt there. He was one with this planet now, and he never wanted to leave.
In the visage of a white tiger, he remained rigid, a lone sentinel over the