The Diagnostic Drone, er, I mean, Bob Skir
Beast Machines: The Lost Episodes, Season 2 - Battle for the Manhole
The Lost Episodes: A Fanfic of Not-Quite-Epic Proportions
Beast Machines: The Lost Episodes
Beast Machines: The Lost Episodes, Season 2 - Battle for the Manhole
Robots in Disguise: The Lost OAV
The Misdaventures of Phil Bond, Accidental Secret Agent
Episode 20 - Counterfeit Fake
by TheOrange - NOV.2001
Lost Episodes Reading Order  < 24 > 

<Deep inside Megatron's Devilishly Devious Dome of Duplicity and Dysfunction>

Obsidian: If the egg's shell does not break, the chick will die without being born.

Stryka: We are the chick; the egg is Cybertron.

Obsidian: If Cybertron's shell does not break, we will die without being born.

Stryka: Break Cybertron's shell!

Obsidian and Stryka: For the sake of revolutionizing the world!

The two generals emerge in a cavernous expanse as the electronically generated image of Megatron's Big Giant Head coalesces before them.

Diagnostic Drone: <clicking a stopwatch> Superb...

Megatron: The time has finally come, my generals.  After half a season of apparent inactivity, my plans have finally fallen into place, and I have constructed a machine that will destroy the Maximals once and for all!  Diagnostic Drones!  If you please...

A rather sizable chamber is lowered from its place high in the cavern walls and placed on the ledge before the two overly-loyal generals.  Wires and piping quickly whip away from the small protoform capsule-like chamber as lights on a panel begin to blink.  Air rushes out of the cracks of the door without warning, and the capsule's cover slowly creeps open to reveal its occupant.  Its ebony cargo is inched out ever so carefully, and once clear of the doorway, the chamber falls away like the mechanical placenta it is.  The camera pans around and finally settles on the face, just in time to see amber eyes flicker to life.

Diagnostic Drone, Mark II: Tada!

Megatron: Behold my greatest creation!  What do you think?

The two generals stare dumbly at the creature before them.  Megatron pauses for a moment, scrupulously eyeing the pair as only a holographic representation of oneself can.

Diagnostic Drone: <coughing politely> <sarcastically> Oh my, it is the most wondrous device you have ever created, master.

Stryka: Glorious, lord Megatron!

Obsidian: Superb, my liege!

Megatron: <saddened> This is no good.  It's just not the same...

Diagnostic Drone: How do you mean, Lord Megatron?

Megatron: Shouldn't they be telling me how terrible of an idea this is, or reminding me of the time I tried to replace Tankorr or something?  Having a couple of "yes-men" for generals really sucks.  With disparate, chaotic minds at least I can enjoy the witty repartee.  Yeeeesssss...

Diagnostic Drone, Mark II: <eying the critter> Well, personally, I think it's stupid.

A tentacle comes out of nowhere and smacks the drone across the chamber where it rebounds off the wall and is hit again, this time flying towards the ledge where the generals sit.  The drone skids to a stop as it makes contact with the other wall.

Diagnostic Drone: Feel better, sire?

Megatron: Much.  <to other drone> Thank you, Marty.

Diagnostic Drone, Mark II: <from the floor> Don't mention it...

Obsidian: What is this glorious creature's name, oh Mighty Megatron?

Diagnostic Drone: How about "Theodore"?

Megatron: <visibly choking> No, no... Theodore is gone.  I have to accept that.  He shall be called "Raymond".  Once he infiltrates the Maximal camp, he shall wreak untold havoc upon their forces!  Psychological warfare is still a valid tactic, is it not?

Stryka and Obsidian: Brilliant, Lord Megatron.

Megatron: Shut up.

Stryka and Obsidian: Of course, sire.

Megatron:  Yeeessss...

<Far Away, at the Maximal base>

Botanica is holding a series of flash cards in front of Blackarachnia, each successively handed to her by a small group of Carrotrons.  Blackarachnia looks more than frustrated.

Botanica: How about this one?

Blackarachnia: <biting lower lip> A pretty bunny?

Botanica: <shaking plant-head> It's just no good, I'm afraid.  You're just too pussified.

Blackarachnia: Primus DAMMIT!

<Nearby, at the Oracle>

Primal: Buddha Buddha Buddha... I don't understand.  Your message confuses me.

Silverbolt barges in with Bonsai tree in hand.

Silverbolt: Optimus.  There's something--

Primal: <to Oracle> Dammit!  How is wearing red bicycle shorts and a pink wig going to help!?

Silverbolt: <harrumphing> Optimus, there's a package for you.

Primal: <flustered> Can't you see I'm busy?  Becoming one with the AllSpark?  "Buddha Buddha Buddha"?

Silverbolt: I'm sorry, Optimus, but it's C.O.D.

Optimus checks his wallet.

Primal: Oh, alright.

Silverbolt: So what has the Oracle been saying to you lately?

Primal: Hmm...


Oracle: Zettai Unmei Mokushiroku!

Primal: Primus bless you?


Primal: ...I have no idea.

Just as he's about to leave, Optimus grabs Silverbolt's shears and makes one quick motion at the tree.

Primal: <snip!> There you go.

Silverbolt: <looking at his Bonsai> By Primus... It's perfect!

Primal strides over to where the package is so that he can have it returned.

Primal: I'm sorry, you'll have to take it-- NIGHTSCREAM!

Nightscream: <with bits of cardboard in his hands> What?

Primal: Rattrap, if you please...

Rattrap: I'm on it, Optimus.  Take that, flyboy! <shoots Nightscream in the wing>

Optimus, smiling at a job well done, examines the contents of the unwanted delivery only to discover that it's...

Primal: Cheetor!

Rattrap: It's an Evil Cheetor Clone, actually.

Primal: <squinting> How can you tell?

Rattrap: It's written on the invoice.

Silverbolt: This must be Megatron's doing!  Look, it even has a Vehicon symbol branded on its chest!

NickBee: Now do you guys see why I defected?  Megatron's been spending all this time pottering around in that massive cranium of his, while Obsidian, Stryka and Thrust are out there trying to stop the only threat to his regime -- you guys -- and in all of his infinite wisdom he created ANOTHER Maximal?  Forget the fact that half his generals turned out to be turncoats; what the hell happened to his "organics BAD, technology GOOD!" kick?

Nightscream: <looking at NickBee> Perhaps he felt this was more of a time-saver.

NickBee backhands Nightscream.

Cheetor: <walking into room> Hey cats, has anyone seen my mittens?  I need to eat some pie.  <looks at package> Hey, what's going on?

Evil Cheetor Clone: Did you say "pie"?

Cheetor: Holy buttered crust!  An Evil Clone!?


Shadow Girl #1: Do you suppose it's true?  The whole planet?

Shadow Girl #2: Who knows?  Who cares?  I wanna get blitzed!  

Shadow Girl #1: Trying to understand reality is boring.

Shadow Girl #2: You are so right...

Narrator: Looking to Grasp eternity?  Can't do it sober.



Cheetor: <looking around> What the hell was that?

Botanica: Well, that's certainly never happened before...

Cheetor: Anyway, where were we?

Evil Cheetor Clone: Hey there, Slick.  Gimme a paw, bro!

Cheetor: ...what's going on, here?

Primal: <eying the invoice with his spectacles> This came from Megatron.

Evil Cheetor Clone: Didn't someone mention pie?

Blackarachnia: Great, just what we need... TWO hotheaded little insubordinate hairballs.

Botanica: Hey, you're improving!

Evil Cheetor Clone: <turns around to face Blackarachnia> Mon Cherie...

The clone ignores Cheetor, who is making faces at his evil twin, and sets his optics on the ghetto-bootied Maximal goddess.

Evil Cheetor Clone: And where have you been all my life?

Nightscream: All two minutes of it... <zap!> OW!

Evil Cheetor Clone: I know I may be a bit young for you, but I promise that if you give this dark heart a chance that you'll see the true Maximal goodness that pulses inside my laser core. <kisses her rather elongated hand> What do you say, my lady?

Blackarachnia: <a little lightheaded> Umm...

Evil Cheetor Clone: Will you at least tell me your name so that I may shout it from the highest artificially constructed apex in this fair city to let all who hear it know that I have finally found the one I love?

Blackarachnia: <barely conscious> It's, er... Blackarachnia.

Silverbolt walks in, still admiring his Bonsai.

Evil Cheetor Clone: Blackarachnia... fair widow... dark poison of my spark.  Would you give a weary traveler the honor of this embrace?

Silverbolt wastes no time in throwing a flurry of ginsu knives at the Evil Clone, but the newcomer is too fast and moves himself and the she-spider out of the way.  Nightscream isn't so lucky.

Silverbolt: Unhand my lady, ebon infidel, or taste my wrath!

Evil Cheetor Clone: <propping up Blackarachnia from a nearly swooned position> Are you alright, fairest widow?

Blackarachnia merely nods as Silverbolt lunges at the suave swine-cat.  The clone turns and stops Silverbolt in his tracks, but doesn't harm the enraged Maximal.

Evil Cheetor Clone: Hey there, buddy, calm down!  Didn't mean no harm by that, right?  I didn't know she was taken.  I'll keep the paws off, okay?  <extends hand> Put it there, pal.  Let's call a truce before this gets ugly.

Silverbolt: <shocked> Damn, he's smooth.

Evil Cheetor Clone: <kissing Blackarachnia's hand again> My apologies, fair one.  I acted out of haste, but not out of insincerity.  Forgive me...

Blackarachnia: <to Silverbolt> You can say that again...

Nightscream: He's way cooler than *our* Cheetor.

Nightscream flinches, waiting for Rattrap to shoot him, or NickBee to bludgeon him, or something.  The two other Maximals just nod in agreement.

Nightscream: Wow, that's a first.

Cheetor: <genuinely upset> W-what are you saying, guys?

Blackarachnia: That you're an idiot who tried to usurp Optimus and his command.

Botanica: Your popularity among consumers is a fluke.

Silverbolt: I've seen better color schemes on Animorphs.

Cheetor: <ready to cry> ...Optimus?

Primal: <still reading invoice> Not now, Hot Rod, I still have to pay for Cheetor, here.

Cheetor: <spraying water works> I AM NOT HOT ROD!

Cheetor runs off, but no one notices.

Evil Cheetor Clone: Please, if you could call me Raymond.  Or Ray.

Primal: No, I like Cheetor better.

Evil Cheetor Clone: Whatever you say, big guy!  You're the boss!

Primal: <teary-eyed> My boy...

<Somewhere on the surface of Cybertron>

Geever: Gee Crawley, what are we gonna do tonight?

Crawley: Dude, shut the hell up.

They both look at a sign that has "Cheetor Crossing" written on it, but since it's in Cybertronian they have no idea what it says.

Geever: This place gives me the willies.

Crawley: Yeah.  We should get out of here before we become someone's comic relief.

A vaguely Cheetor-colored blur streaks past the pair, and the resulting vacuum pulls them 100 meters across the surface of the planet.  When they regain their composure, the two realize that they aren't alone, and look up, and up, and up.

Crawley: <ulp> Hello there, purple furry guy...

<Remains of the Manhole of Doom>

Cheetor: What did I do to deserve this? <throws stone> Ever since we've gotten back all I've wanted is to hang out and have fun like any other kid... but that's not going to happen any time soon. <throws another piece of debris>  I don't mean to usurp Big Bot's command, but if he saw what I saw in my last dream before we left Earth...


Dark swarming figures surround and swallow up the Maximal team.  Cheetor watches in horror as everyone he cares about is swallowed whole.  Some of the aggressors are even his own friends, but they too in the end are devoured.  He even sees the demise of those he doesn't know, yet can't shake their importance.  Looming over it all is a face only Unicron's mother could love.  All around he hears laughter, and feels The Pit closing in on him faster and faster.  An image from the past descends from the sky.  He and he alone is left to face a dark streak, fast as the night.  Cheetor meets his demise face to face, and that face is of none other than...


Cheetor: <ulp> ...hold me?


Cheetor: Well, maybe it didn't happen exactly like that, but nonetheless... it seemed like it was a vision of things to come.  And I'll do anything and everything in my power to stop that end from happening!  I swear it!

Cheetor throws one last rock.  A few moments later a howl can be heard, but the catbot thinks nothing of it.  He's too lost in his own world.  That is, until a lone and rather suspicious helicopter drone crosses his line of sight.

Cheetor: ...the hell?

Cheetor follows the drone as stealthily as he can until it disappears between some fallen rubble, no doubt cast down due to previous endless chase scenes.  Of course, far more interesting than that is Stryka dressed as a bouncer in front of a hatchway -- a hatchway attached to Megatron's Giant Floating Head, cleverly yet obviously disguised as an indigenous building.

Cheetor: You've gotta be kidding me.

Stryka: Halt!  Who goes there?

Cheetor doesn't have a chance to hide before a few drones bring him front and center.  Stryka eyes him suspiciously.

Stryka: Ah... a Maximal.  <moves away from entrance> You may pass.

Cheetor: Really?  Then in that case, I think I *will* pass.  Another time, perhaps?

Stryka: No, really, I insist.

Cheetor: <narrowing optics> Isn't there something backwards about this? <sniffs>  Heeeey!  What's that smell?

Lured by the scent of pie, the placated Maximal enters the hatchway, which promptly closes behind him.  Cheetor performs many stealth maneuvers in search of pie, all of which are unnecessary.  He finally finds himself inside a rather large and familiar chamber.  A rather large and familiar holographic figure forms before him without delay.

Cheetor: <acting surprised> Megatron!

Megatron: Yeeeessss...


Shadow Girl #1: Did you hear about the girl who pretended to be a prince and tried to revolutionize the world?

Shadow Girl #2: No!  What happened to her?

Shadow Girl #1: Well, she turned into a car.  Kinda like this.

A Shadow Car Wash jumps into existence around the two girls, and when they emerge they are two Shadow Cars.

Shadow Girl #2: You know, this makes a lot more sense in a show like this one...

Narrator: A car with no key will rust, because it doesn't go anywhere.

Shadow Girl #2: Wait, we're stuck like this?

Shadow Girl #1: Hey!  Let us--

Narrator: There's no time for that!



Cheetor: Did you see that?  That's the second time that's happened this episode.

Megatron: See what?

Cheetor: You can't tell me you didn't notice--

Diagnostic Drone: Hold that thought.  It's time for a scene cut.

Cheetor: Huh?  What're you--

<Back at Maximal Base>

Small sensors on the Evil Cheetor Clone's head flicker and spin back and forth, gathering data on the stronghold.  Optimus is too busy to notice.  The other Maximals stare at the newcomer in awe.

Optimus: Hey, I noticed you come equipped with a jetpack.

The small sensors retract, and the clone gives Optimus a big wide grin.

Evil Cheetor Clone: Yep!  Wanna race?

Primal: I thought you'd never ask.  Ready?

Evil Cheetor Clone: Set!

Primal: GO!

The two take off and run in circles around the Oracle chamber.

Rattrap: What a guy...

Nightscream: You can say that again.

Rattrap: Shut up. <shoots Nightscream>

<Inside the Big Giant Head>

Megatron: Now, where were we?  Ah yes.   <ahem!> Welcome, Cheetor.  I have been expecting you.

Cheetor: <pulling out swords> You'll be expecting a world of hurt if you don't give me some of that pie.

Megatron: Why, certainly...

Diagnostic Drone serves up pie, but Cheetor only stares at it impotently.

Megatron: Why, whatever is the matter?  Why don't you eat?

Cheetor: <looking at his hands> That's none of your business, Megatron!

Megatron: Oh, but I think it is.  Poor little kitten who's lost his mittens, however shall you eat this pie?

Diagnostic Drone, Mark II flies up with a pair of rather majestic-looking mittens.

Cheetor: As if I needed any stinking mittens to eat pie, least of all YOUR mittens...

Megatron: <chuckling> Oh foolish and naive young Maximal, these are not any *ordinary* mittens.  No.  These are the legendary Mittens of Leadership!  Yeeeessss...

Cheetor: But I thought they were only legend!

Megatron: <coughing> Yes, I said that, didn't I?

Diagnostic Drone: Yes, you did.

Megatron: Shut up, Marty, and give him the mittens.

Diagnostic Drone, Mark II: But, I didn't--

Megatron: NOW!

The drone lays the mittens at Cheetor's feet.  Cheetor puts his swords away and picks them up, but rather than put them on he examines them fervently.

Megatron: Think of it, Cheetor.  The power.  The superb tactile skills of great Maximals past.  All that can be, literally, at your fingertips.  With these mittens...

Cheetor: ...I could become leader of the Maximals...


A familiar red white and blue robot ghosts over the form of a damaged yet determined Cheetor activating the immense and ancient power of the Mittens.

Optimus Prime: Arise, Catimus Prime.


Cheetor: Sweet...

<Back at Maximal base>

Cheetor: Hey!  What about me?

>THWACK!< Get back in your scene!

<Back at Maximal Base>

Primal and the clone are sitting next to the Oracle, sharing a beer.  Empty bottles lie in front of the screen.  The other Maximals look rather tipsy as well, except for Botanica, who is off tending to the garden.

Evil Cheetor Clone: You know, I've been thinking about what you said earlier.  You should definitely go for it.

Primal: <looking over at the technorganic garden> You think so?

Evil Cheetor Clone: Oh yeah!  Big funky monkey stud like yourself?  How can you lose?

Primal: Thanks, Cheetor!  You're a real pal!

Evil Cheetor Clone: <grinning> No problem, Ace.

Before Primal has a chance to get his mack on, Cheetor busts into the room with the sacred mittens in tow.  He's obviously out of breath from running so far.

Cheetor: <panting> NO ONE gets between me and my screen time!  I DEMAND to be in this scene!

Evil Cheetor Clone: Hey, bro, relax!  Take five!  Put your feet up and have some pie and an Energon brewsky!

Cheetor: <pulling out his swords> You!  I've finally--


Crawley: That sure was a narrow escape!

Geever: Yeah, I thought we were goners for sure!

The two are knocked aside again as Cheetor races into the frame.

Cheetor: <out of breath> Dammit!  What was that for?  I was right in the middle of--

<Somewhere near Iacon>

Benny: Can't you move any faster?

The Last Autobot: Can't you slow down?  I'm not as old as I used to be, you know...

Cheetor: <chest heaving rapidly> What... the... hell... is... going... on...?

Benny: Maximals?  We have to stop him!

The Last Autobot: He looks harmless enough.  Are you sure these Maximals are really going to destroy the planet?

Benny: Quiet, sucka, and prepare to dance!

Cheetor: <still out of breath> Who... are... you--

<Outside the Citadel>

Thrust throws a ball to a nondescript tank drone.

Thrust: You've finally learned how to catch.  Good.  Now throw it back to me.

Drone: ...

Thrust: Come on, you can do it.  Throw it back to me!

Drone: ...

Thrust takes the ball from the tank drone.

Thrust: Throw!  Like this!  See?

Thrust throws the ball at the drone.  The drone shoots the ball and it flutters to the ground, melted.  Thrust begins to quiver uncontrollably as his own drones surround him.  They all stare at the lone tank drone.

Thrust: <to drones> Scrap him.

The cycledrones fire at the miscreant playmate, leaving the tank drone a pile of molten, uneven slag.

Cheetor: >wheeze!< >wheeze!< >cough!< Kill--


Shadow Girl/Car #1: I guess being a car isn't so bad

Shadow Girl/Car #2: It certainly has its advantages...


Cheetor takes his sword and slices the first Shadow Girl/Car in two.

Cheetor: That's for calling me "Hot Rod"!

Shadow Girl #2: But we didn't-- AIEE!

Cheetor: <looking at screen> You want some of this? <slashes camera>

Narrator: For those blameless murderous rampages, plead:


Cheetor: Argh!  I'm gonna--


Cheetor squares off with the clone.  The other Maximals are either too drunk or too busy gardening to notice or care.

Cheetor: So, Evil Me Clone... we meet at last.

Evil Cheetor Clone: You don't stand a chance.  Give it up.  They like me better.

Cheetor: <looking around> And this is what it got them.  I'm wise to you, Evil Me Clone.  I won't let you get away with it.

Evil Cheetor Clone: <pulling out his own swords> And just how do you plan to stop me?

Cheetor puts away his swords.  His enemy looks on with interest and smirks, but does nothing else.  Cheetor pulls out the two wonderfully crafted mittens and slowly puts one on each hand.  They fit like gloves.  Well... they ARE gloves.

Cheetor: With the power of pie, I'm gonna slap yo' butt!

Evil Cheetor Clone: What are you going to do, gorge me to death?  Vehicons don't eat pie, idiot!  We fuel up on energon, PERIOD!

Cheetor ignores his enemy's taunts and focuses his rather miniscule mental power into a tight little ball that looks a lot like a pie.  A roiling energy forms between the gloves, and Cheetor fires the pie-shaped discharge at his evil clone.  The Evil Cheetor Clone falls back from the discharge, sparking and on the verge of shutting down.

Evil Cheetor Clone: WHY?  Those gloves weren't supposed to work!  Megatron!  Save me!

Cheetor: I... <throws off the gloves> have had... <picks up the clone> enough... <spins him around by his ankles> of YOU!

With a mighty heave, Cheetor throws the clone at the Oracle view screen, and we all know what happens to robots that touch the Oracle without permission...

The Oracle: Access denied.

The resulting discharge of energy sends the clone through the many miles of rock to the planet's surface, where the clones body fizzles out and lands on the ground in a crumpled, almost unrecognizable heap.

Cheetor: Never underestimate the power of pie, bitch!

<On the surface>

Diagnostic Drone: Well, well, well... look what has become of you.

Evil Cheetor Clone: >GUUURK!<

Diagnostic Drone: The way before you has been prepared.

The drone watches as the clone's eyes fade until they are as dark as the rest of him.

Diagnostic Drone: I suppose you have no choice but to revolutionize the world...

>The End?

*    *    *

Tales of Cybertron, Part 5

Geever and Crawley look up at their eventual demise.

Theodore: Humans.  And not a scrap of organic matter on the entire planet.  If I am to destroy Megatron, I shall have to feed.

Geever: Well, if you gotta feed, feed on him first.  He's more filling than I am.

Crawley: Thanks a lot, traitor.

Theodore: Do not worry yourselves.  I assure you it is nothing personal.

Crawley: Really, I don't taste very good.  There's a reason humans don't practice cannibalism very much...

Geever: <quietly> Oh, that was brilliant...

Crawley: <whispering> Shut the hell up, Geever.  I don't see you trying to get us out of here...

Before anyone else can say anything, a rather large rock hits Theodore in the back of the head.

Theodore: What was that?

Crawley: I dunno... someone's throwing stuff...

Theodore: <turning around> I won't allow--

Theodore is pegged in the eye with another rock.  He howls in pain and falls to the ground.  For the moment the massive Beast Changer is felled.

Geever and Crawley: That'll work.

They run.

Crawley: Think it'll leave a scar?

Geever: Nah...

  back to top
Copyright © 1999 - 2021 TFBOoG@LoO!.com & That's Orange, LLC