Transformers Prime Wreckers Novels & Stories

🌸 Author’s Note – Thank You From the Bottom of My Heart 🌸 I woke up this morning to see that Wreck Me Quietly had been added to 12 readers' libraries overnight. Twelve. That might not sound like much to some people, but to me… it’s everything.

“Lord Prime Adi '' replied Wyren. “Let me guess, this is a new transporter? You broke another one? And you couldn’t ask your superiors, then they would know you broke another device?” She asked. “Very true Craya, so please, the lord Prime’s address?” Wyren pleaded. “I just forwarded the details,” she said with what seemed like a sigh. “Thanks…… Oh thank Draxel!” it exclaimed as it placed a box on the floor, typed in some things on the device, making the box disappear.

"Prime is offering peace. Reject it and Prime offers destruction instead." "We've survived destruction before." "Not like this. Elena was restrained. Played by rules. Maintained appearances." Cassandra steps closer despite the weapons. "Prime has no such limitations. Will burn cities to kill you. Will eradicate bloodlines completely. Will turn your victory into ashes." "Then ashes it is. Leave." Jamie's done talking. Cassandra shrugs. "Your choice. But know this. Prime predicted you'd refuse. Actually hoped you would. Peace is boring. War is interesting. And Prime hasn't had interesting in centuries."

"Emergency Council session! Earth-Peripheral has gone dark! We can't contact them through any means!" The team looked at me. I nodded confirmation. "They're gone," I said. "The Unmaker erased them. This is its warning shot. Twelve realities are now eleven. And we have five years until it comes for us." The weight of that settled over everyone. Earth-Peripheral. Billions of people. Gone. Unmade. And we were supposed to stop the being that did it. Six young heroes against the First Silence. "So we train harder," Xavier said from the doorway. He'd heard everything. "We learn faster. We prepare better. Because if we don't, Prime Existence is next."

Born from lightning, a destroyer emerges. The fall of Olympus in his hands. - Oracle of Trophonius “Lord Androkles? Are you awake? Lord Ares is requesting your presence.”, a hesitant, almost scared voice called from the other side of my door. “You call yourself a soldier of Ares…” a separate voice whispered as if reprimanding the other. “Oh, please, like you’d be any more forceful. He’s the destroyer.”, the first voice whispered back.

Their eyes, usually vacant, flared with a blinding, silver intensity. "The Groundskeeper is coming," Kael whispered. "The one who sweeps the dust. The one who ensures the 'Broken' stay silent." From the center of a nearby "Draft-World," a massive entity emerged. It didn't look like a Keeper or a Mimic. It was a Scavenger of Form—a shifting mass of discarded limbs, broken gears, and static-filled voices. It was the biological and mechanical waste of a million rejected universes, stitched together by the Architects to guard their trash.

"We handled the Board. We can handle a few angry grandpas." "They aren't grandpas," Reyes said grimly. "They’ve spent the last century synthesizing their consciousness with pre-war combat AI. They are post-human. And they are waking up the Prime Forges. Neo-Angeles isn't a city anymore; it's a war machine. And they are expanding." Dax lowered his SMG an inch. He looked at the massive, crippled Crawler. Its treads were completely blown, and smoke was billowing from the primary intake vents. It wasn't going anywhere.

Then I slept. The next morning, the sunlight was harsh. My body still ached. I lifted my arm. The skin was still loose and waxen, but the deep, blood-red scratches were gone—every last one. Smooth and unblemished, as if last night had been a dream. But the residual sting was so real it made my head spin. A mad thought struck me. I sprang upright, joints cracking, grabbed my car keys, and sped to the Faulkner Group building.

The three of them were trapped inside the underground complex, the walls sweating moisture under the strain of the cooling units. Elias stood behind Damien at the master control panel, his suit jacket buttoned tight, his mind calculating the exact financial math of the damage. The main plot and the romantic arc were now completely fused; every line of code they altered was a direct strike against the families that had built them to be weapons. The stakes were no longer just about billions of dollars—it was about who got to survive the wreckage.