Chronicles of the Doomcat
Part 2: The Rise of the Doomcat
By: Miss Special
"Cheetor! She's waking up."
"Nnnn? Huh? Sorry, I must've dozed off..."
"Get a grip! This is what we've been waiting for."
The golden eyes slowly blinked open, adapting to the light. The head lifted off the bed, looking around, taking in the surroundings.
"State your name," Cheetor said coldly.
In a harsh, metallic voice, it replied almost automatically, "Destroy-" It stopped. Spirit almost fainted. "No, Ange-" It stopped again, this time thinking hard. Finally, it answered in a definitive tone, "My name is Destroyer Angel."
Spirit's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Didn't see THAT coming."
"Destroyer Angel?" Cheetor repeated. "I don't understand."
"I- Angel-" she stopped again, trying to figure which person she should say this in. "I... combined me- Destroyer- while the program was loading. Angel and Destroyer are me."
"How did you get back here?"
"Angel, while the programs were being combined, managed to use Destroyer's security codes to activate the pod's drive and get back here. Her- my- processor overloaded."
"Which is why you went unconscious."
"Destroyer Angel," Spirit asked quietly, "Do you know who I am?"
"You're Spirit. Cyberkitty." Spirit felt better at the use of her nickname. "And that," Destroyer Angel continued, "Is Spothead...er, Cheetor." Cheetor burst out laughing, mostly out of relief.
"I thought he hated that nickname," Destroyer Angel said to Spirit, who then joined Cheetor in laughing hysterically.
"Okay," Cheetor told the Beast Warriors who were all sitting at a restaurant table, "Keep in mind she's not Angel, but also remember she's a lot like Angel." The warriors nodded. "Alright, Spirit, bring her in."
Destroyer Angel walked up to the people she knew were Angel's friends. And since they were Angel's friends, they were her friends.
"Um... Hi!" Her voice didn't have the metallic ring, because she'd been practicing making her voice sound normal. She sat down by Cheetor, and Spirit hopped up on the table. No one was looking at Destroyer Angel. Most of them were looking down at the table. Maybe they didn't like her because she was Destroyer.
Destroyer Angel was doing a poor job of hiding what she felt, and Cheetor picked up on that.
"So, Destroyer Angel, what kind of girlfriend do you think I should try to get next?" he asked her in a conversational tone.
"One that'll stick with you longer than a week." She said it very seriously, but the answer was undeniably something Angel would say, which is what Cheetor had hoped for.
Nightscream perked up, asking, "So, what's that mark on your shoulder?"
"It means I'm a Maximal." Was Nightscream stupid or something?
"No, the other one."
"It's Vok. It means, 'Destroyer'."
"Oh. So you're Vok and Maximal?"
Destroyer Angel thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I am."
The table went quiet again.
"That's it. I'm getting this out of the way right now." Spirit stood up. "Destroyer Angel, are you here to obliterate, destroy, blow up, or in some other way hurt us?"
"No."
"See? Nothing to fear." Spirit sat back down.
"Then what are you here for?" Botanica asked.
"Destroyer's functions are reprimand and enforcing. But Angel's aren't. But I'm not Angel. But I'm not Destroyer... I don't think I'm here for anything."
"Y'know," Rattrap said. "Destroyer Angel's kinda a mouthful ta say. D'ya have a nickname?"
"Not that I know of."
"DA, maybe?"
"How about Desty?" Nightscream offered.
"Don't call me Desty," Destroyer Angel said threateningly. Nightscream shrank in his seat.
"Destroyer?"
"Angel?"
"I guess Angel works."
"Why Destroyer Angel, instead of the other way round?"
"Angel Destroyer? It sounds like I'm out to destroy myself." She laughed.
"Okay, Angel, remember that time during the Beast Wars, when we thought Cheetor was dead, and you went out to find him?" Blackarachnia said.
"I- Angel- was convinced he wasn't dead," Destroyer Angel said cheerfully. "I knew he was lost, so I did go looking for him, and I met up with Zombie Dinobot, and Cheetor, and both nearly killed me. Why do you ask?"
"Just checking."
"You're a lot like Angel," Silverbolt observed.
"Destroyer didn't have much of a personality, so Angel's didn't get covered up much. And Destroyer didn't have any memory, so my memories are all Angel's. Although, I know stuff that only Destroyer would know."
"Okay, then what's the Vok's preoccupation with winged cats?"
"They're Doomcats. The Vok felt Doomcats were the best way to go, since they cover land, air, and water to a point, very sufficiently."
"So you're not a panther-bird semi-fuzor?"
"No, I'm a Doomcat."
"Are there any other Doomcats?"
"There was Tigerhawk, but according to Angel, he's dead."
"Why aren't there more?"
"Doomcats take lots of resources and energy to make, and require protoforms."
"That's why they wanted Angel back so badly."
"Yes."
"But you don't want to work for the Vok?"
"No."
"Okay, then. So, do you have Destroyer's abilities?"
"The I thought Vok designed new ones for me, but I haven't been able to access them." The Maximals all thought, Hey, maybe she isn't so bad after all.
Destroyer Angel was accepted.
"Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you, there's a set of armor you have, that you came out of the pod in. It's in the apartment, in the closet." Spirit and Angel were walking home from the restaurant, and Angel wanted to make a stop along the way.
"Armor? Huh, so that's what I was wearing. Look, there it is." She pointed to a windowless place, with a sign that said "Fortunes read."
"This is where you met that Seer person, isn't it?"
"Uh-huh." Destroyer Angel walked in, and the conversation the Seer had been having came to an abrupt end. The bot she was talking to- the same one as last time- stood up and said, "Hello, Angel! I didn't expect to see you again."
"That's not Angel," the Seer said quietly. "And once again, I didn't predict her coming."
"Seer, I know your predictions are never wrong, but that's got to be Angel."
"No," Destroyer Angel said. "I'm not Angel." The bot looked surprised, and the Seer assumed an "I told you so" position.
"However, I did foresee your coming, Spirit." Spirit's ears went upright. She began to think maybe this Seer person was for real.
"If you're not Angel," the bot asked, "Then who are you?"
"Destroyer Angel."
"Ah," the Seer said, "So they caught up with Angel. Come here, and I'll see if I can predict your future." Angel did so, and the Seer put her hands on the sides of Angel's head.
"Hmm..."
"'Hmm'?"
The Seer sat back in her chair. "I cannot see your future. You were not to be."
Again with the funny messages? "I wasn't to be?"
"Destroyer Angel, I see people's futures by tapping into the Matrix and finding out what's in store for them. The Matrix has a purpose for everyone. That is, except you. I couldn't see what the Matrix intended for Angel, and now it doesn't know you exist. No one could have predicted Angel combining the programs, so in a sense, you are an accident. And not just on normal levels. The Matrix didn't intend for you to be, and this is the first time it's ever happened."
"What does this mean?"
"Your future is entirely in your hands. Nothing, not even the Matrix itself, knows what's in store for you."
"So I have no fate."
"None whatsoever. If you think about it, you're free. Free from fate, destiny... Luck and chance are your allies."
"Uh-huh. Okay. I'm an accident on a cosmic level, and there's nothing but chance, luck, and me affecting where I go and what I do."
"Exactly."
"Right.... Okay.... Huh. Okay."
"You may want to go home to think about this some. It's a lot to handle."
"Okay."
Destroyer Angel was silent while she and Spirit walked home.
"Now, about that armor," Spirit said as they walked into the apartment. "It's over there in the closet."
"Okay." Destroyer Angel thought about how she was the only deciding factor in walking over to the closet, and as she opened the closet door, chance or luck would determine whether or not the armor fell on her, but not fate or destiny.
Chance and luck were on her side, and the armor was set up neatly, awaiting Angel's inspection.
The armor appeared to be made out of transmetal, but she wasn't sure. She admired the myriad sharp edges, and then noticed something sticking up over the armor's left shoulder.
It was a sword hilt. And a sheathed sword was attached to the hilt. Angel detached the sword from the rest of the armor, and looked it over. Both sheath and hilt were pure white, and relatively unadorned. Holding her breath, she drew the sword from the sheath.
The blade was at least four feet long, flat-sided, gleaming white, and immensely sharp. It wasn't a fencing sword, Angel knew. It was too cumbersome for fencing techniques, and the wrong shape. The flat part was almost a handspan across, which made it too wide for fencing, and it was too sharp to effectively engage other swords.
It was, however, excellent for cutting down enemies. This wasn't an ordinary sword, Angel thought. It needed a name. A good name, too.
No good names came to her as she swung the sword around a few times. Neither Angel nor Destroyer Angel had held a sword before, but it seemed like she'd had it all her life. After awhile, she resheathed the sword and replaced everything in the closet. Destroyer Angel was neater than her predecessor.
“Hey, Cyberkitty, I’m going out for a walk,” she told Spirit.
“It’s after dark and the gangs are out. Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Cybertropolis after dark was a dangerous place to be. The crime rate was high, and thugs loved to prey on people weaker than they.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so don’t get worried.”
Spirit nodded, busy with what she was doing. She was designing a computer program that allowed reformatteds to eat organic food without being affected negatively, and she was almost ready to begin testing on it.
Destroyer Angel kept a wary watch over the streets. Was she looking for a fight? She was certainly asking for one, walking alone in the dark.
“Hey, girlie, we’ve got somethin’ for ya.” Well, whether or not she was looking for a fight, she was about to get one. Angel turned around calmly. There must have been at least ten of them- burly, punkish, greasy mechs, armed with blasters and knives. Angel, the original one, would’ve squeaked and run, but Destroyer Angel just stood there.
“Y’know what that means, girlie?” their leader continued. He was the biggest of the bunch. “It means you hafta give us somethin’ in return.”
“And what might that be?”
“Oh, I think we can think of somethin’.” He eyed her up and down, and Angel picked up on what he wanted. Although she hadn't changed physically when she became Destroyer Angel, she carried herself differently than the original Angel, and had managed to turn a head or two while walking by.
“And what’ll you give me?” She wasn’t going to go along with him, but she might as well play with him a bit. Some of the thugs were muttering amongst themselves. No one had ever gone along with them like this. They usually tried to run.
Their boss was at a lost for words, but he recovered. “We’ll give it to ya after we get what we want.”
“No deal. I get what I want first, or I’m outta here.” She was picking a fight, and she knew it.
“Hey now, girlie, who says you get ta have a say in what goes? You’re outnumbered.”
“By a bunch of Predacon rejects. I’m not scared.” She couldn’t find any faction symbol, so she figured they didn’t belong to one- very embarrassing.
“I’d watch what I said if I was you, girlie. You may get yerself into trouble.”
“Naa, not with you,” she said lightly. “The most powerful thing you have going is your smell. What’d you do, take a bath in a garbage can?”
“You’re gonna be sorry, girlie.”
She let her voice have its natural metallic ring and said, “No, you’ll be sorry.” Earlier, the boss had signaled for some of his men to go around behind “girlie” and make sure she didn’t get away. One of them held a gun to her back. Destroyer Angel smiled.
“This is your last chance, girlie.”
Angel didn’t say anything, but she wrapped her tail around the gunman’s leg and yanked it out from under him. She wheeled around and wrenched the gun out of his hand before he could use it. She looked the pitiful gun over, shrugged, and threw it far off into the shadows.
“Get ‘er!” the boss ordered. His flunkies weren't too bright; they all charged her instead of shooting at her. She flew-hopped over the mob and was able to take out three of them using fists and wings.
Odd. Angel couldn't fight this well. Well, she was Destroyer Angel, not Angel, and Destroyer Angel could fight.
She grabbed two bots and smacked their heads together. Two more down. One grabbed her from behind and pulled her into a half-nelson. She leaned forward and used her wings to launch him off her back.
This was easy. It was also fun.
The remaining five were smarter than the rest. They brandished their blasters menacingly and grinned. Hmm, Angel thought, I forgot my bow at home. It would be handy right about now. Oh, well.
She charged towards them, transforming to beast mode along the way, evading all their shots. She managed to get behind them and transformed. Her paws became swinging fists just in time, and another two fell. All that were left were the boss and one other guy, who was trembling in fear.
Destroyer Angel was feared. Huh.
The bot was shaking too badly to aim at all, and his shots went wide. Angel side-jumped the boss' fire, hooked her footclaws into the ground, and launched herself at the boss. He fell to the ground unconscious.
Destroyer Angel stood and faced the remaining bot. She said to him, "My name is Destroyer Angel. Make sure you don't cross my path again." He was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane wind. She didn't want to fight him.
"Run," she ordered. He stared at her until she took a step towards him, and he took off as fast as his weak knees could take him.
Angel blinked a couple of times, looked around at the offline mechs strewn everywhere, and dusted off her hands.
"Well," she said brightly, "That takes care of that." She walked home with a spring in her step.
"Hello, and thank you for joining us on the morning news," the person on the video screen said. Spirit was just about to head out the door for work, and the Doomcat was plopped in front of the screen.
"One of the Cybertropolis' top gangs was defeated last night by an unknown bot. Police found most of the gang's members unconscious and damaged, but one was left unharmed. However, when questioned, the remaining mech would only say, 'Destroyer Angel.' Do we now have a new contender in the Tournament of Champions?" That was slick, Angel thought, the newscaster tying two different things together like that. Angel watched intently as the newscaster talked about the upcoming Tournament of Champions.
The Tournament of Champions was a yearly event held in the coliseum on the outskirts of the city. In it, the best Transformer fighters competed against one another in hand to hand combat for a trophy and prize money.
The trophy was big and shiny.
"I wanna do that!" Angel exclaimed, sitting up.
"So that's what you were doing last night. Angel, if you looked at the lineup for the Tournament, you'd see mostly Predacons are signed up. Few self-respecting Maximals want to show off their strength for money, so the victory's essentially hollow. The best fighters probably don't compete."
"But look at the trophy!! It's all big and shiny, and I wanna see how good I am, even if it doesn't mean I'm the best. Angel couldn't fight, but I'm Destroyer Angel, and no one knows my limits yet!"
"All right, Destroyer Angel." Spirit smiled. "Sign yourself up. You've got a tournament to compete in."
End Part 2.