On Vultures

Humanity was disgusting. That was the simple truth, yet here he was: trapped among them. But not for long. He would have his triumphant revenge and he would wreak the havoc this planet deserved, and punish its pathetic Autobot excuses for protectors.

Why protect the fleshthings? He never bothered questioning Autobot motives, for doing so would ultimately be a waste of time. Their days were numbered and soon they would no longer matter. But the humans were revolting. Even what made their race even possibly acceptable wasn't theirs to begin with; it in fact belonged to him. And they would pay for using his technologies and dissecting his body in such a repulsive manner. Sumdac in particular would compensate for his, he almost sneered for the word, 'injustice'.

The humans were vultures, not even able to develop their own machinery. Had they no sense of worldly nationalism? Again, his contemplation almost triggered a wry response in his processor, though he repressed it. It would not do well to have the helpless, fallen 'Autobot' chuckling in a facetious manner. His own recalling of his situation did well to dispel any positive charges in his mainframe.

The vultures; they would soon become the scavenged. When his Decepticons were finished with this planet there would be little to salvage, but there were traces of Cybertronian power present here that might do well to look into. There was the possibility. And the Allspark to think, of course.

But there was no thinking of 'after' as of yet. He was still a disembodied head, and the vultures, barely sentient in their own right, were still unfortunately in control of his resources. Not much longer. But until then, there were plans to be made, downfalls to be schemed, and glorious returns to orchestrate.

The scavengers would pay for their deeds, and he whetted his appetite for their destruction with every passing moment in their revolting presence.