Henry lay sprawled across the massive bed in the master suite of the mansion, one arm draped possessively over Kylie's naked form. She was curled against his chest, breathing slow and even in post-coital exhaustion, her skin still flushed and marked with faint red imprints from his grip.
The sheets were a tangled mess—damp, stained, reeking of sex and sweat. The mirrored ceiling reflected their entwined bodies like a private porn set, every angle captured for his later amusement.
He hadn't slept. His god-tier body didn't need much rest anymore, and his mind—sharp, calculating, villainous—never fully shut off. Instead, he traced lazy patterns along Kylie's spine while replaying the night's conquests in his head.
She was perfect: broken, devoted, dripping with his cum even now. The mansion's loyalty field had done its job flawlessly; her eyes held nothing but worship when she looked at him.
A low, insistent chime broke the silence.It came from the garage level—filtered through the mansion's intercom system like a distant thunder. Henry tilted his head, senses sharpening.
The sound wasn't human tech; it had an otherworldly metallic edge, layered with digital harmonics that set his teeth on edge.
Kylie stirred. "What...?"
"Stay here," Henry ordered, voice low and commanding. He slid out from under her without effort, her soft whine of protest ignored. Naked, muscles rippling under flawless skin, he strode out of the bedroom.
The door hissed shut behind him.Down the grand staircase, through echoing halls lined with posters from films he'd once projected—now his playgrounds—he reached the garage.
The black 1969 Dodge Charger sat gleaming under spotlights, hood still warm from their last jump. But now the dashboard had changed.
A holographic ultra-advanced digital screen had materialized across the windshield—sleek, black-edged, glowing with crimson and cyan readouts.
No ordinary car HUD; this was Omnitrix-level tech fused with the ROB's gifts. Energy signatures pulsed across it in real-time: jagged waveforms, geometric glyphs, coordinates overlaying a rotating 3D map of Earth.
Three distinct spikes dominated the display:
1. AllSpark: A massive, pulsing blue-white core signature—ancient, raw life-energy, buried deep under what looked like Hoover Dam. Power readings off the charts, capable of birthing mechanical life or twisting machines into weapons.
2. Autobots: Multiple smaller signatures clustered nearby—heroic alignments, defensive patterns. Optimus Prime's was unmistakable: steady, noble, radiating leadership. Bumblebee, Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz—scattered but converging.
3. Decepticons: Chaotic red-black spikes—aggressive, predatory. Megatron's frozen signature at the dam (still entombed in ice from the film's opening lore), but active ones: Starscream airborne, Blackout/Scorponok raiding, Barricade hunting, Frenzy infiltrating, Bonecrusher and Brawl rampaging.
The timeline synced perfectly with the 2007 film: early stages. Blackout had just hit the Qatar base, Scorponok chasing survivors. Autobots arriving piecemeal.
Sam Witwicky still fumbling with his first car (Bumblebee in disguise). The AllSpark's location known only to Sector 7. Megatron about to be thawed.Henry's lips curled into a cruel smile.
He knew this movie inside out—every explosion, every line, every betrayal. The AllSpark was the ultimate prize: infinite creation, army-building potential. In villain hands? A multiversal conquest tool.
Decepticons wanted it for domination. Autobots for protection. Henry wanted it for himself—to corrupt, to weaponize, to fuel his growing harem empire.
He slid into the driver's seat. The leather molded to him. The engine roared to life without a key—eager, almost sentient.
"Target: Transformers 2007. Entry point: Mission City precursor phase. Sync with current events."
The dial on the dash spun. The garage walls dissolved into swirling film-grain static. The Charger lurched forward—tires screeching on marble—then plunged into the vortex.
Reality snapped.
They emerged on a dusty backroad outside Los Angeles, late afternoon sun baking the asphalt. The Charger idled low, predatory.
Henry glanced at the dashboard: signatures updating live. AllSpark still locked at Hoover Dam. Autobots inbound. Decepticons closing fast.
He floored it.
The muscle car devoured miles, engine snarling like a beast unchained. Wind whipped through the open windows.
Henry's enhanced senses picked up distant mechanical whirs—transforming metal, alien comms chatter.
His Omnitrix hummed on his wrist, aliens whispering powers: Upgrade for tech merging, Shockwave-level destruction if needed, Ghostfreak for infiltration.
Kylie had followed—slipping into the passenger seat just before the jump, wearing nothing but one of his black shirts, unbuttoned low. She stared out the window, eyes wide but unafraid. Devotion burned in her gaze.
"Where are we?" she asked, voice husky.
"A movie I used to run every Friday night," Henry replied, shifting gears. "Giant robots. War for a cosmic cube. Explosions. Heroes. Villains. And now... me."
She reached over, hand sliding up his thigh. "And what do we do?"
"We take what's ours," he said, voice dark. "The AllSpark. The power. Any pretty little human caught in the crossfire—soldiers, techs, that hot mechanic girl Mikaela if she crosses my path. They'll all kneel or break."
The Charger crested a hill. Below: the outskirts of what would become Mission City chaos. Distant sirens. Military convoys moving. A yellow Camaro (Bumblebee) streaking along a parallel road, Sam and Mikaela inside, unaware yet of the storm.
Henry's eyes narrowed on the horizon—where Hoover Dam loomed, hiding the cube and the frozen tyrant. "First move," he murmured.
"Disrupt the balance. Let the Autobots and Decepticons bleed each other. Then I step in."
He tapped the Omnitrix mentally—selecting XLR8's speed without transforming. The world slowed fractionally around him as the Charger accelerated impossibly, blurring toward the fray. Kylie leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "I want to watch you take it all."
Henry grinned—vicious, hungry. "Soon, pet. Soon." The Charger roared into the dust, a black streak against the gathering war.