Transformers Prime Rid Optimus Prime 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."

"Look closely, bro! It's Transformers! It's Optimus Prime! "What's with the lack of reaction? Are you even a man?" "But my girlfriend is still waiting …" "They can't compare to Optimus Prime!"

Warmonger Chassis Type 13 [A] - Primal Machinations “Planetcracker” Omniresonant Greathammer [S] - Primal Machinations “Primdahl” Round Shield [A] - Mechanica Dharma “Retribution” Mass Driver Pistol [A] — Each of them were installed with the hyperionization submodules that Raijin had put together, which helped protect their armor and shields from Imperial disintegrators. And so they easily raised their shields in front of them, and happily shrugged off any incoming fire from the ships they charged towards.

a voice boomed. From the center of the room, a massive figure stepped out. It was ten feet tall, made of matte-black armor and white light. It had the shape of a man, but its face was a blank, silver screen. "I am the Sentinel Prime," the machine said. "I am the sum of all the failures. I am the wall that you cannot climb." The machine raised a hand, and a blade of pure energy ignited from its wrist. It didn't lunge. it teleported.

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.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, son. You’re lucky she’s just a baby and doesn’t understand what you’re saying yet. If Ophelia was a little older, your words would hurt her deeply.” Alister glances over his shoulder at the back seat and sighs. “The name is Optimus Prime, not Ophelia, dad. Also, I heard what the maids said. Mommy isn’t my real mommy and Optimus' dad is uncle Lenox. So, she is not my sister.” Cold shivers run down my spine as I listen to my son lay it out on me. First, an unknown sense of dread fills me, but soon, it turns into hot, seething rage that burns through my entire being.

I could only stare at the figure standing on the observation deck. He didn't wear a silver mask. He wore a sharp, charcoal-gray suit that looked exactly like the one Ryan had worn in New York, but his skin was a translucent map of silver mercury. The Second Prime. The architect of the "River Pact" ten years ago. “You’re looking at the arm, Phoenix,” the Second Prime spoke. His voice was a flawless, terrifying baritone—a chorus of a thousand Kings speaking through one stolen throat. “You think it’s a tax. A curse for being the Mother.”

the other me said, her voice a chillingly perfect copy, stripped of all the fear and static that roughened mine. Before I could form a thought, let alone a word, Jeff was moving. He placed his body between the rifle and me, his hands raised in a placating gesture, but his stance was that of a cornered animal. “Stand down,” he commanded, his voice dropping into a register I’d never heard—a tone of absolute, unassailable authority. “That’s a direct order, Prime.” Prime. The word hung in the air, heavier than the weapon aimed at us. The woman—*Prime*—didn’t lower the rifle. “The asset is compromised, Sir. The risk is unacceptable. Protocol demands—”

In the Estate Gardens, about Four Years Later... The most feared creature in all of the Western Seaboard, the Alpha Prime of the Shadow Sovereigns, the King of Wolves, was now currently pinned to the grass, defeated. "Surrender now!" a high pitched voice squeaked. "Never, I do not surrender. " Alex growled playfully, though he made no effort to move his massive arms, which were currently being held down by two forty pound terrors. "Attack!" the second voice commanded.