Transformers Robots in Disguise: Sideswipe Versus Thunderhoof

by John Sazaklis

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

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  Chapter 1

  On the outskirts of Crown City, two vehicles are racing on a secluded, miles-long stretch of road. One is a sleek red sports car, zooming far beyond the legal speed limit. The other, trailing behind, is a blue-and-white police cruiser. Both are more than meets the eye. They are really robots in disguise!

  The red sports car is Sideswipe, a fast-talking, fun-loving Autobot from the planet Cybertron. Strongarm, the cruiser, is a young cadet from the Cybertronian Police Force. Both Autobots are members of an elite team that keeps Earth safe from a diabolical faction of robots known as Decepticons.

  “Aw, yeah!” cheers Sideswipe as the wind rushes past him. “This sure beats sitting around the scrapyard.”

  “Slow down!” orders Strongarm.

  The hotheaded Autobot disregards the police-bot’s command and picks up more speed. Sideswipe and Strongarm are usually at odds with each other. Sideswipe thinks Strongarm is far too serious and hung up on the rules. Strongarm finds Sideswipe’s disregard for order and authority extremely annoying.

  The red sports car blasts his radio speakers, filling the air with an earsplitting, guitar-shredding heavy metal song.

  “Ack! What an assault on the audio receptors!” Strongarm cries.

  “Catch me if you can!” Sideswipe replies. “Or else, eat my dust!”

  Sideswipe’s tires kick up a cloud of dirt as he barrels faster down the road.

  The dust cloud envelops Strongarm, but she does not waver in her course.

  “You want to play dirty, Sideswipe? Fine by me,” she says. “Eat this!”

  In an instant, Strongarm shifts from her vehicle mode into her robot form. She somersaults in the air and lands right on top of Sideswipe.

  THUD!

  “Tag, you’re it!” she exclaims.

  “Hey, watch the paint job!” Sideswipe cries. “Okay, let’s see how strong you really are!”

  The sports car swerves quickly to the left and then veers hard to the right. Strongarm keeps her grip as well as her cool.

  “Is that the best you got?” she taunts. “At the academy, we were taught to expect the unexpected.”

  “We’re making an unexpected stop,” Sideswipe says. “And this is where you get off!”

  The Autobot slams on his brakes, and his tires squeal against the gravel.

  SCREEEEE!

  Strongarm hurtles forward and lands on the road in front of Sideswipe.

  SLAM!

  “Oof!” says Strongarm.

  Changing from his vehicle mode into his robot form, Sideswipe lends Strongarm a hand and helps her off the ground.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “My ego is more bruised than anything else. I should have heeded my own advice.”

  At that moment, the two Autobots feel a low rumble under their feet. There is another vehicle heading their way.

  “Speaking of unexpected, who is that?” Sideswipe asks.

  Strongarm focuses her ocular sockets on the approaching object. “It appears to be a human inside a regulation pickup truck. Probably a local produce supplier. Quick, we must maintain our cover!”

  In the blink of an eye, Strongarm and Sideswipe change back into vehicles. They idle by the side of the road as the farmer’s truck approaches them.

  “Too bad,” Sideswipe laments. “I was kind of hoping it would be a Decepticon, you know? I’m all revved up and ready for action!”

  “Throttle back, tough-bot,” Strongarm says.

  The two Autobots remain silent as the pickup passes by. The bed of the truck is piled high with crates. Each one is stuffed to the brim with vegetables.

  Suddenly, the truck’s front tire bursts.

  BAM!

  The driver lets out a cry of alarm as he loses control of the pickup. There is a wrenching sound of metal as the front tires pop off their axis. The crates on the bed of the truck teeter and totter while the vehicle swerves from side to side.

  “Whoa!” exclaims Sideswipe. “Who ordered the tossed salad?”

  In the distance, another truck is traveling down the same road in the opposite direction.

  “Those two vehicles will collide unless we intervene!” Strongarm cries.

  “Well, I wanted excitement,” Sideswipe replies. “So let’s rock and roll!”

  Chapter 2

  The Autobots rush after the runaway truck.

  ZOOOOM!

  Within seconds, the two heroes flank the pickup. Strongarm pulls up on the left side, next to the driver. The frightened farmer sees the police cruiser and calms down. He grips the steering wheel and shouts, “Help me!”

  As the pickup skids to the right, Sideswipe is there to keep it steady. He winces as the truck scrapes against him. There is a shower of sparks as metal grinds against metal.

  SKRRRRRRUNCH!

  “Argh! There goes the paint job!” Sideswipe groans.

  “Focus on the bigger picture,” replies Strongarm.

  Together, the tenacious teammates try to guide the pickup onto a parallel path while helping decrease its speed. Unfortunately, the oncoming truck and its driver are unaware of the danger that lies ahead.

  “That other vehicle isn’t slowing down, Sideswipe,” Strongarm states. “I’ll need you to take point here!”

  “Aye, aye, captain!” Sideswipe replies.

  Simultaneously, the Autobots peel away from the pickup and speed past it. Sideswipe cuts in front and slows down until his rear bumper touches the truck’s grille. Then he pumps his brakes, bringing both himself and the pickup to a complete stop.

  Strongarm continues her course, turning on her siren and flashing lights to capture the driver’s attention. As the big rig careens closer, she realizes the oncoming vehicle is a fuel truck!

  “Oh, scrud!” she exclaims.

  The gas tanker is much closer now, and having seen the police cruiser, the driver slams on his brakes. The tires squeal and tear divots into the road. The air fills with dust and the acrid smell of burning rubber, but the truck continues to barrel toward Strongarm—its massive size and weight pushing it forward.

  Thinking quickly, the Autobot pivots ninety degrees, bringing her broadside perpendicular to the truck. She braces herself for the impact as Sideswipe watches on in horror.

  “Strongarm… NO!” he yells.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

  The tanker’s brakes emit an ear-piercing squeal as the vehicle grinds to a halt.

  Then silence.

  When the dust finally settles, Sideswipe realizes that the gas tanker has stopped only inches away from Strongarm. The police cruiser is still in one piece!

  Before either Autobot can react, the farmer shouts from his window.

  “Thank you so much, whoever you are!”

  Then he climbs out of the pickup and walks over to Sideswipe. He tries to peek inside the tinted windows.

  BEEP! BEEP!

  Strongarm honks her horn, distracting the farmer.

  Sideswipe revs his engine and peels out around the pickup and onto the road. Strongarm follows close behind.

 
The driver of the gas tanker and the bewildered farmer watch as the mysterious sports car and police cruiser disappear along the horizon.

  What started as a friendly competition nearly ended in disaster. Sideswipe is relieved that Strongarm is unharmed, but he would rather not admit it to her.

  After a long while, Strongarm breaks the silence.

  “You know, we kinda work well together,” she says.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Sideswipe replies. “But if you tell anyone back at the base that I said that, I’ll deny it! I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “Deal,” Strongarm says, and laughs.

  The Autobots return to the scrapyard and roll up through two aisles of miscellaneous junk. There, they switch from their vehicle modes into their robot forms.

  The Crown City scrapyard has become the new Autobots’ command center here on Earth. It belongs to human Denny Clay and his twelve-year-old son, Russell. The Clays befriended the bots after they literally crash-landed into their lives some time ago. They also help the Autobots to track down and capture Decepticon fugitives running amok on Earth.

  “Welcome back, bots!” says a friendly voice.

  It belongs to Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Strongarm’s determined and kindhearted team leader. Bumblebee was the lieutenant of the police force back on Cybertron. Now he is in charge of this ragtag bunch of robots that can sometimes be more trouble than a dozen Decepticons.

  “I hope that training exercise helped bring you a little closer to working better together.”

  “Too close for comfort, if you ask me,” Sideswipe says, looking at the scratches on his plating.

  “Sideswipe shows great potential, Lieutenant,” Strongarm says to Bumblebee. “He just needs to be a little more serious.”

  “If I get any more serious I’ll suffer from brain rust. Or worse… I’ll turn into you!”

  “I can certainly give you more dings, if you like!”

  “Keep your optics on the prize, guys,” Bumblebee interrupts. “Next training exercise will be centered on the use of our weapons. We all know that they are powerful energy weapons that manifest whatever we need in battle just with sheer thought or will. That’s where your focus counts!”

  At that moment, Denny and Russell appear. Denny lets out a long whistle.

  “Whoa, Sideswipe, what happened?” he asks. “You really got that authentic ‘battle damage’ thing going on!”

  “Yeah, you look like you went ten rounds with Thunderhoof in the Rumbledome!” Russell adds.

  “Thunderhoof?!” Sideswipe exclaims. “That slag-heap doesn’t stand a chance against me! Why, I’ll turn him into scrap metal the next time I see him!”

  “Quit blowing exhaust,” Strongarm chides. “We all know that he is a very dangerous Decepticon. And now that he’s teamed up with Steeljaw, well, it’s enough to give me nightmares for the next ten cycles!”

  “Luckily, Steeljaw and his gang have been keeping a low profile,” Bumblebee says. “And speaking of, what really happened to you?”

  Sideswipe smiles. “We had to intervene and help some civilians in trouble. No biggie.”

  Bumblebee’s optics go wide.

  “You did what?” he exclaims. “By the All-Spark!”

  “Relax, Bee,” Sideswipe says with a shrug. “Nothing happened. Nobody saw us. We stayed incognito the whole time!”

  Bumblebee always worries about keeping their presence unknown to humans, but Denny and Russell are exceptions that he’s made.

  “I’ve got some touch-up paint,” Denny offers. “We can buff the plating out, wax it up, and make you brand-new.”

  “Sounds like a good time to me,” Sideswipe says. “Thanks!”

  “Change of plans, team,” Bumblebee says. “I just got a message from the command center: Intruder alert!”

  Chapter 3

  In rapid succession, Bumblebee and his team shift from their bot modes into vehicles. Strongarm takes Denny as her passenger, and Sideswipe scoops up Russell.

  Together, they race toward the command center—a part of the scrapyard that has become their new base of operations.

  Amid the control panels, two more members of Team Bee are intently watching the computer screen. They are the smallest and biggest bots at the yard.

  The little one is Fixit. This multitasking mini-con was pilot of the prison transport ship Alchemor—the same ship that crashed to Earth and let loose the countless Decepticon criminals. Now he serves as the resident handy-bot and lookout.

  The big bot is Grimlock. He is a dinobot and former Decepticon who defected to the Autobots. He’s really not a bad bot—he’s just misunderstood.

  “Intruder dessert… avert… alert!” Fixit cries.

  The crash left him with a slight malfunction. After a quick chuck, Fixit rights himself once again. “I’ve prepared the defense systems. Shall I activate them?”

  The Autobots change back and crowd around the mini-con.

  “Not just yet,” Bumblebee replies. “Allow me to get a closer look.”

  The lieutenant studies the screen and finds three individuals lurking around the perimeter of the scrapyard. They are wearing tattered clothing held together with safety pins. The one in front is covered in tattoos and has a buzzed head.

  “Hmm. They appear to be battle-ravaged,” Bumblebee states. “One of them is marked with curious and indecipherable symbols. If we scan them into the holo-scroll we can find out if they are a threat or not.”

  “They could be the human versions of Decepticons,” Sideswipe jokes. “They look like bad guys.”

  Bumblebee shoots Sideswipe a stern look.

  “These beings do indeed look unsavory,” Strongarm agrees.

  “They don’t look so bad to me,” says Grimlock. “Maybe they’re nice?”

  Bumblebee ruminates for a moment. The dinobot has a point.

  “Grimlock is right,” he says. “We shouldn’t be so quick to judge. After all, appearances can be deceiving.”

  Denny lets out a belly laugh, startling the group.

  “Need I remind you that you’re all robots in disguise?”

  Russell pushes his way toward the screen.

  “I know them,” he says with a scowl.

  “What are they?” Strongarm implores.

  “They’re teenagers. And they’re my classmates.”

  A wave of disbelief passes over the Autobots.

  “Clearly, they’ve repeated the grade a few times,” Russell adds.

  “Wow!” Sideswipe exclaims. “They must think school is really cool.”

  “No. They think they rule the school,” Russell replies.

  “Ha!” Strongarm scoffs. “They wouldn’t last a day in the academy.”

  Fixit fidgets nervously.

  “Best not to take any chimps… champs… chances!” the mini-con stammers.

  “The little bot is right! Time for an interrogation!” Sideswipe shouts gleefully.

  “Hey, I give the orders around here, remember?” Bumblebee interjects. “Fixit, stand down. They are civilians.”

  Bumblebee turns to Sideswipe.

  “When I asked you to step up your game on the team I didn’t intend for you to skip the line straight to leader.”

  “What can I say, Bee? I’m an overachiever.”

  Bumblebee cannot help but smile in spite of himself.

  “Maybe they’re customers,” Denny says hopefully.

  Bumblebee nods. “Come on, Autobots, let’s let Denny and Russell conduct their business as usual.”

  The bots shift into their vehicle modes and pull into parking spots in a small lot full of used cars. Fixit hides under a large trash can, and Grimlock tries to look as inconspicuous as possible by freezing in place.

  The humans hurry toward the front entrance of the scrapyard.

  “This’ll be a blast and a half, Rusty,” Denny says to his son. “I’ve never met any of your school friends before.”

  “It’s Russell, Dad. And they’re not my friend
s,” Russell says, correcting his father. “They’re my classmates. And they’re all jerks.”

  The twelve-year-old falls silent as they walk along. It was true his father was not around much when he was growing up. Now, with his mom traveling in Europe, Russell was spending a lot more time with his dad.

  In the distance, the three teens climb onto a rusted and bent highway sign and slide down into another clearing in the yard. They whoop and holler at their newfound diversion.

  “Those kids could get hurt doing that,” Denny says.

  Russell rolls his eyes.

  “Stay here, Dad. Let me handle this.”

  Russell walks over to his classmates. The tallest one notices him first.

  “Yo, Joey! Johnny! Look who it is!”

  Joey, the red-haired one with glasses, squints at Russell and sneers.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Rusty Clay,” he says.

  “It’s Russell,” the boy replies.

  Johnny, the black-haired one with a stubbly beard, ambles over. He’s wiping dirt off his ripped jeans.

  “From the looks of this place, we should call him Dusty Clay! Ha!”

  “Nice one, Johnny,” Joey says. “Didja hear that, Steve? Dusty Clay! Ha!

  The two friends high-five each other.

  Steve, the tall one with the tattoos and a buzzed head, steps up and looks down at Russell.

  “What brings you to our new hangout, Dusty?” he asks.

  “Hate to break it to you, Stevie, but it’s my hangout,” Russell replies.

  Steve blinks in surprise.

  “Is that so, small fry?” he taunts. “What if I say it’s mine now?”

  He shoves Russell to the ground.

  A deep voice booms from behind the boys. “You’re welcome to have it if you want to pay the real estate taxes, wise guy!”

  “Who you callin’ wise—” Steve spins around and comes face-to-face with Denny.

  The man forces a smile.

  “Denny Clay,” he says, extending a hand.