Transformers: Prime Miko Novels & Stories

I looked directly into the microscopic, pinprick fracture in the brass plating of the pendulum's base. Right into the lens of the hidden camera. The camera that had been feeding a live audio-video transmission to an untraceable IP address for exactly thirty-six months. The camera Keith King believed was his greatest, darkest secret. I leaned in just an inch closer, letting the lens capture the full, unbothered warmth of my smile. I wanted him to see the look of pure, terrifying anticipation in my eyes. I stared straight through the glass, as if I were looking through a two-way mirror, directly into the eyes of the man on the other side of the screen.

I hung up. I rested my chin over my knuckles, casually staring at the nothingness in front of me as if it was a very normal thing to do. It's impossible for me to acquire that virus. There's no way I'm going to interact with anyone, especially now that there's a very reasonable excuse not to. Suddenly, a black and purple blur crossed my vision. I whipped my head to the side, following its trajectory. It was a butterfly.

Resting his head on the top of my own, we waited until Tenny seemed to find what he was looking for. "Ah, yes." He pointed to a page that was decorated in gold and silver - actual flakes of the elements if I wasn't mistaken. "This figure is the Prime." The figure was neither male or female by external markers. Haloed in colors from concentric circles of palest to darkest, the Prime stood on what looked to be a bed of snakes. Each snake was eating the tail of the snake closest to it. Each snake was a slightly different color as well. Dozens of lines ran from Prime to the snakes. From Prime's hands, body, face, feet. Everywhere. Prime looked vaguely like a voodoo doll.

she barks. "Alpha Gabriel from Howling Gale Pack at your service," I say with a smirk. Molina's face falls, and she immediately bows down. "Oh, I am so sorry, Alpha. I didn't mean to be disrespectful. Please don't hurt me," she pleads. I grinned, pleased by the sudden change in Molina's demeanor. "There's no need to be afraid," I reassure her, taking a step closer to close the distance between us. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

We landed with my back facing the ground full of marbles, shattered bottles, and garbage while she landed in a kneeling position with her blazing eyes still staring at me and her hand on my neck. “Never forget that I AM MIKHA’EL,” She said in a thundering voice that made the whole place shake, and she stood up and spread her wings and flew away in her phoenix form. Like nothing happened. Yes, I am nothing compared to her. HE IS MICHAEL who disguises himself as a teenage girl. WTF?

"Amelia, you made me realize during our practises that all of us tend to make mistakes. I always thought my father was at fault and he indeed was, but he did love me. I wouldn't forgive him for what he did to my mum, but at the same time, I treated him like shit for many years and now he's gone. He deserves to have people here on earth, who still love him and remember him in their heart. Thank you Strawberry, for unknowingly making me realize. I love you . . . Holy . . . shit!" The next moment went by a blur as I witnessed my black wig tossed on the grass, my blonde locks cascading down my back like waves and stopping at my waist. My glasses were thrown down as Noah took a step back. "You---

We're fucking rich! :-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-*:-* FEINHEIM MIKA: She's awake.

It only made them want to be around the Prime the more. Heartbroken—I'm totally calling her that now—had tears running down her cheeks freely by now. Half of me couldn't believe her. The Prime Empire used girls for a living. They found it fun. Like a sport. They loved drama and stirring it. She must have been very blind to have fallen for their twisted shenanigans.

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.

Something inside me buckled. I was going to— “You won’t.” The voice slid through the chaos like silk. Not a sound. A presence. I turned my head—or maybe my mind did—and there he was. Mikah. But not like before. He stood tall, glowing faintly in all white. Not translucent or distant like a ghost, but real. Solid. Strong. His dark eyes were calm, and in that stillness, I felt everything steady. “You won’t hurt anyone, Priscilla,” his voice said in my mind, soft but unshakable. “Not this time. Not ever again. You were never the weapon… You were always the cure.”