Transformers Optimus Prime Pictures Novels & Stories

Waiting until there were no witnesses. With slow, careful movements, Clarissa turned the handle and opened the door. Light from the corridor spilled in slightly, falling across the bed where Junior slept curled up. A Transformers robot toy was clutched tightly to his chest. Optimus Prime. A gift from Alina for Junior's third birthday. Clarissa knew this because she'd heard the story countless times. From Margaret. From the staff. Even from Junior himself when the boy was still comfortable enough to talk to her. "Mama Alina said Optimus is strong like Junior. So Junior has to take care of him."

Liam rolled his eyes at him, "The material clearly suggests it's going to transform into Optimus Prime!" Diana sighed internally, ignoring their silliness. After swiftly putting everything together, she pressed a button. A beam of light projected onto the wall, forming a small screen. It displayed a series of unintelligible code. "Wow!" Caleb exclaimed in amazement, "Is this a scene from a Hollywood blockbuster? So cool, right, bro?" "...Making a fuss over nothing!" Liam closed his mouth, which had slightly fallen open in surprise. His admiration for Diana grew a notch stronger.

The Transformers lie in the realm of tomorrow; the very distant tomorrow. Still, Mr. Lapuz was greatly amused by Ecto 2.0, the robo-puppy that Terra had gifted Kate. He was blown away by how lifelike it behaved. Its prick ears gently pulling back, its tail wagging, its four jointed legs much more flexible than his own arthritic two. Ecto 2.0 also had these expressive, big blue anime eyes made of OLED. The same eyes were equipped with depth cameras that allowed it to gauge any terrain and relay the most apt maneuver to its small but powerful legs. Lastly, Ecto 2.0 was equipped with AI and could remember the layout of Kate’s room and the whole house plus the faces of the people constantly arou

The provisional council chamber beneath the rebuilt Apex tower had transformed into a theater of controlled terror. The long table, once a symbol of fragile democracy, now served as Prime’s stage for interrogation. Clone-Prime sat at its head, wearing Damian’s face with the cold precision of a mask carved from ice. His black suit was impeccable, open collar revealing the faint scar that mirrored the original, but the eyes held none of the fire that had defined Damian through every hell they had survived. They were empty. Calculating. Hungry for the destruction he had planned all along.