Note: All characters belong to their respective creators (like HASBRO), and I'm making no profit off this. I belong to myself, and so do my pets, so please ask before using us. However, you can take my brothers…

It was a typical summer. Or so I thought.

The letter came with the rest of the mail, and had the word 'HASBRO' as the return address.

How cute. Someone sent me prank mail.

I waited until I had gotten some lemonade before opening it. I wasn't in any hurry. The house was empty, except for my pets, and I intended to relax for the rest of the day (or summer, if nothing came up). My parents were on vacation, and my brothers were out doing...something.

I settled down to read the letter after sorting through the rest of the mail (junk, junk, junk, XXX-Porno...huh? Oh. Stupid brothers...), and was expecting a humorous, official-seeming letter from 'HASBRO'.

'Due to the use of re-runs during the summer,' it started, 'the Beast Wars' characters are at loose ends.'

Who are the Beast Wars' characters? They couldn't mean the voice actors, so they must mean the Transformers themselves...

'Because of the time location of the set, it is not possible to take the characters off it.'

Yeah, I'll bet. What time frame are they in? BC-something-or-other.

'Also, it is not thought that the characters would be appropriately behaved in society if they are brought here.'

I can see it now: Megatron- "Destroy the humans!" Although, if I could just point his troops in the direction of some of my nosey neighbors...

'As a final point in favor of keeping them where they are, the Vok have made it clear a large retrieval party is not welcome.'

Ooooo, the big scary aliens are gonna get us.

'So, as a compromise, HASBRO is sending someone to supervise the characters during the summer.'

Heeheehee...I think I know where this is going...

'After much debate, The Demented Angel was suggested as a supervisor.'

By this time, I was rolling on the floor with laughter. The Beast Warriors?! Supervise?! Me?!

I finally stopped laughing enough to read on.

'Lady Dementia,' it continued, 'the duties of this post would be: training, repairing the set if needed, possible negotiations with the Vok, and generally keeping the characters out of major trouble. Other duties may be added along the way. This is a strictly volunteer work, although you will be compensated for any damages you may suffer. Do you accept this job?'

I was on the floor again. Me?! Train the Beast Warriors?! How?! Where?! Why?! I clutched my stomach as I convulsed with laughter. Like animated TV show characters needed trainers or supervisors!

When I recovered the second time from laughing, I looked over the letter again, expecting to find the name, names, or some sort of symbol to tell me who wrote it. All I found was a little addressed envelope with 'HASBRO' as the address.

Okay, I'll send it back to 'HASBRO'. That should throw them for a loop.

I wrote my response (Sure, what the heck. I'll do it.), put it in the envelope, and walked up to the mailbox with my hyperactive dog. I could of sworn that when I closed the mailbox, the letter was glowing, but Lusha jerked at her leash before I could check. When I had her controlled again, I was far enough away from the mailbox that I didn't want to bother going back. So I went back to the house.

You know, it's strange. I never once considered that the letter might have been real.

I woke up around noon the next day, which is my preference (I'm lazy). Half-stumbling because I kept my eyes shut, I walked my dog to the porch door in the sewing/office room, and let Lusha's extra-long leash take care of the rest. I noticed she was really hyper this morning, yipping and yanking against her leash, trying to get away. There was probably a squirrel in the yard, or something, but I didn't open my eyes to find out.

I got her back inside, (where she immediately ran into the windows trying to get back outside) and fumbled my way to the shower before opening my eyes.

When I emerged, I started the search for caffeine. I didn't get very far before the cats found me. The two fuzzballs jumped up onto the table, (which they're not supposed to do, but oh well) and meowed urgently. Still half-asleep, I hauled myself back to the sewing/office room to open the porch door and let them out to roam. This time I had my eyes open.

Which is probably why I noticed the giant silver computer sitting where the old, small computer had been last night. It was kind of surprising that I hadn't noticed it the first time I had come in here.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn't. I don't wake up really quick.

Anyways, it was big, silver, high tech, and I had no idea how it had gotten there. But it looked really cool, so I went over and sat in front of it. Too bad the old chair was still there, with its broken back.

There was a big screen with words on it. I read them out loud for the benefit of my cats, "Hit key when ready." Ready? Ready for what? And which key? I sat there looking at the screen, not sure what to do.

After a while, my impatient cats decided to find out what I was looking at. Jump, my lap. Jump, the keyboard. Roll around. The shedding duo gave me wounded looks when I grabbed them off the keys (Whaaaaaat? All we did was possibly damage it!).

"Both of you are going outside," I decided. I went to the clear porch door. Blinked. Dropped the cats, and rubbed my eyes. Blinked. Looked back at the computer. Blinked. Leaned weakly against the wall, "Why me?"

*Beep!* "You accepted the job, Lady Dementia." The voice came from the computer. When I didn't react, it tried again, "Lady Dementia? Is there a problem?"

"That is not my back yard." My voice was calm and steady. I didn't recognize it. "It's a plain."

The computer apparently didn't understand what the fuss was about. "Yes, it's a plain. This location was considered the most suitable for your house. If you look out your front windows, you will see the nearby mountains and ocean." I didn't say anything. "Lady Dementia, the duties of your new job..."

"What new job?" I was not going to panic, I was not going to panic, I was not going to panic. There was a large herd of antelope-like animals grazing just beyond the porch. No wonder my dog had been so hyper this morning. I was suddenly glad I hadn't let the cats out yet.

"HASBRO sent you a letter..."

"That was REAL?!" I staggered back to the chair in front of the talking computer. I concentrated on just breathing for a second, absorbing everything that had happened. It was a good thing I can accept most anything when I wake up. Any other time of the day, and I might just go bonkers.

I considered. Was there anything I would really like to do better than be in the Beast Wars? I mean, what could go wrong?

"Oh, NO! My brothers!" I shot upright, visions of horror flashing before me.

I had accepted that I had been transported to the Beast Wars universe. I had even accepted that I would be supervising the Beast Warriors. A talking computer was no problem.

But if my brothers were here...

"Your brothers are still at your house," the computer said in a soothing tone of voice.

Oh, well. That's okay then. "Wait a minute. Isn't this my house?"

"No. It is an exact replicate, except that it is completely computerized, and anything may be modified through that at a word from you, if you need to."

I considered that. On one hand, being able to do anything to the house sounded fun. On the other hand..."You left them alone?! With MY stuff?!" I was almost frothing at the mouth. "What on Earth possessed you to do that?!"

The computer seemed taken aback, "HASBRO was not aware that your older brothers are not capable of taking care of themselves."

I sputtered incoherently, but finally got words out. "Take care of themselves? I suppose, but the house will be demolished!" I put my face in my hands, "I've got to get back."

"You can not. You have accepted the job." The computer screen displayed a copy of my letter.

" 'Sure, what the heck. I'll do it,' " I read my words out loud. I felt a resigned smile spread across my face, "Why did HASBRO select me, anyway?"

"After four older brothers, HASBRO decided the characters could not do you any more mental damage."

That shocked a laugh out of me, "How true. I suppose my name even reflects it; Lady Dementia, The Demented Angel." I sighed.

My cats came and jumped up onto the keyboard of the computer again. I didn't stop them. I was too busy thinking. Besides, the computer itself scared them off by flashing little lights and making buzzing noises.

"Okay," I decided, "I'll stay." Really, staying with the Beast Warriors sounded neat. I'd deal with my brothers later. "So, what's the deal? Who's all here, and what do I have to do?"

The computer was giving me a headache. Well, to be fair, what it was saying was giving me the headache. "What do you mean by there's a time anomaly?"

The computer launched into some scientific explanation I didn't understand. When it finished, I tried another tact to try to get some sense of what was going on out of it. "So, Megatron and Blackarachnia aren't Transmetal 2?"

"Correct." Good. I thought they were kind of ugly.

"And Dinobot's not TM2 either, 'cause he's not dead?"

"Correct." Rattrap and Dinobot would argue constantly. Possible problem for me.

"Neither is Terrorsaur?"

"Correct." I bet Megatron's having fun...

"But Scorpinok's dead."

"Correct." Can't say I'll miss the brain-dead loyalist.

"What do you know, it DOES speak understandable English!" I smiled, then winced with pain from my pounding headache. "How about testing that computerized modification, or whatever you called it, and making a comfortable headrest on this chair."

The back of the chair liquidized for a moment and flowed into another shape. When it solidified, my chair had a headrest.

"Niiiiice." I settled into the chair, impressed, while the headrest adjusted to fit. "Really nice." The cats returned from wherever they had gone after being scared off by the computer, and made themselves into furry lumps on my lap. "Alright, back to business. What have you done to make sure the Beast Warriors just don't squish me? I'm sure they're not going to be thrilled to meet me." I held up a hand to stop the computer's immediate flood of techno-words. "Keep speaking understandable English, please."

It actually had to pause and think. "First, a question: Why would the characters want to 'squish' you?"

I snorted, "I'm supposed to supervise them. After looking over that list of training, clean up duty, and things I'm supposed to do, I think I can just safely say I'm babysitting them. And I bet they know it, too." I noticed the question mark on the screen, and guessed the reason. "I think they'll resent me ordering them around."

The question mark faded. "Understood. Improvements include: shielding outside and available inside the house, autoguns installed in key locations inside and outside, the house is self-repairing when given enough time, your strength and agility have been advanced, along with your fighting skills, weaponry in subspace compartments on your body and available throughout the house, full body shielding to prevent damage from any attacks by the characters or wild animals..."

I guess I asked for it. "Is there a lot more?"

"Yes. Do you wish to know of all of it?"

"Do I really need to?"

"It is not necessary at this time."

"Fine, than don't tell me unless I need to know." I frowned absently, "This is a pain. I'm depending on a computer, and computers hate me." I'm not really that fond of computers either...

"I do not hate you, Lady Dementia." It's amazing how disgustingly sincere it sounded.

"Give it time. As far as I know, every computer that I've come into contact with hates me, and has shown it by malfunctioning at all the wrong times." I contemplated the giant silver computer in front of me, "After saying that, I need to give you a name. Unless you have one?"

It sounded puzzled, "No, I do not have a name. Why do I need one?"

"So when you do break down, I can scream a name to go along with the curses."

"I will not break down."

I ignored that. "Let me see, you're a machine that controls everything in this house, you have huge amounts of weaponry at your disposal, and I'm assuming you are storing a lot of information. You are probably the most powerful machine currently on the planet." I thought for a moment and grinned evilly. "I think I'll call you...Tim."

I sat on the porch, watching the plain. Tim had assured me that its shielding would keep my pets safe and close by, so I had let them outside. Currently, my dog Lusha was going berserk chasing bunnies.

This was amusing enough that I didn't notice the two groups until they were almost to the house. I studied them as they got closer, comparing them to the end of Season 3. I think I liked this crew better.

Megatron landed first on those silly little roller-skates of his, but Optimal Optimus was right behind him, with the rest of the Maximals and Predacons approaching quickly.

We silently looked each other over. The Maximals and Predacons must have a temporary treaty just to come see me. I was flattered.

Tarantulas was the first to speak. "So, you're the one HASBRO sent." Well, duh. Or do houses appear out of nowhere on a regular basis? I didn't even bother answering, since it really wasn't a question. He gave a trademark chuckle, "YOU? You're Lady Dementia, The Demented Angel? You're a human!" All the others apparently thought this was hilarious, because they started laughing. Even the Maximals joined in, although Optimus, Rhinox, and Silverbolt tried to muffle it.

Well, alright, Silverbolt probably just didn't get the joke.

Rule Number One of being in charge: Act like it. I narrowed my eyes, folded my arms, and glared.

Rule Number Two of being in charge: Use the first problem to teach a lesson.

"Tarantulas!" I barked. The Beast Warriors stopped laughing and stared for a second. I had used my 'I'm-Gonna-KILL-You' type of voice I had had to develop to get anything across to my brothers, and they were a little shocked. "I don't like your tone of voice. I want an apology," I practically growled. Yeah, I know. It was mean, but necessary. If I didn't get any respect now, I'd never get any later.

Tarantulas chuckled again. "Or what?" He pointed his spider legs/machine guns at me, "You're just a weak little fleshling."

Dang it, he had called my bluff. I could kick his butt with my now-superior combat skills and weaponry, or give the word and have some autoguns blow him away, but Megatron had been using those tactics with Tarantulas since the Predacons had arrived on Earth. They obviously hadn't worked.

What could I do, what could I do...My mind raced for something while on the outside I elaborately yawned to show my opinion of Tarantulas.

An idea hit me like a flash of insanity (maybe it was...). My face contorted in a familiar way. I call it my smile. Other people have called it many different things. My brothers just call it 'demented'.

I think I heard Cheetor whimper.

"Excuse me a moment." I turned and walked inside. The Beast Warriors curiously watched me through the windows as I chatted with a big silver lump, and then rearranged some of the furniture in the TV room. I looked consideringly at the window surrounding the room and called out some instructions to Tim. The windows turned to solid, opaque walls.

I spoke some more with Tim before going back out, telling it what I wanted. I walked out feeling sorry for Tarantulas. He really hadn't done enough to deserve this, but I needed to make an example for the others.

And then any feelings of pity for him fled.

Tarantulas was in the center of a sort of half-circle of transformers, who were making no effort to stop what he was doing.

What he was doing was tormenting Georgia. I had stopped dead in my tracks when he called over to me, "Why doesn't she have any ears? She looks like a freak!" He hoisted her up by her tail.

Then next thing I knew I was standing over him holding my poor little white cat. My fists stung a little, like when you hit a volleyball, and Tarantulas had a couple fist-shaped indents in his face. He seemed kind of dazed. From these clues I figured out that I had attacked him and rescued Georgia.

My voice had gone straight from 'I'm-Gonna-KILL-You' to 'You-Are-SO-Dead'. "NO ONE hurts my cat." I put her down carefully, and she ran under the porch. I turned slowly back to the Beast Warriors, who were staring at me in surprise. Tarantulas wobbled to his feet, looking very angry.

"If you must know," I told them, "her ears were amputated because of skin cancer." I could think of several parts of Tarantulas I'd like to amputate right now...

I glared around at the assembled Beast Warriors. They just stared at me in shock. I spoke slowly and clearly, so no one could claim later that I didn't warn them. "No one hurts my pets. Those animals right there are my pets," I pointed to my dog and a black cat. "They're names are Lusha and Cat. You've already met Georgia," I shot a look at Tarantulas. "Now, you must understand that I'm very protective of them. If you harm them, I will make you pay dearly." With my brothers, I usually just simplify it: Touch them and die! But who knows? Maybe these guys just might want to pet them. "Is that clear?" I calmly waited for an answer.

"What would you do, hmmm?" Tarantulas had apparently recovered.

"I'm glad you asked." I darted behind him before he could react (Tim must have improved speed, too. Cool!), and grabbed him by his spider legs. "Come with me," I yanked him off balance, making him follow me inside. I caught a last glimpse of the others, mouths hanging open, before the door closed, and Tim clouded it.

I could get used to being really strong. I hauled the Predacon spider into my newly restructured living room, and closed the new door. Tarantulas tried to jerk himself free as I dragged him inside, but I didn't let go until the door was closed. I released him, and he looked around the room warily.

All the windows were gone, so blank walls surrounded us. The TV had a large chair that had once been an easy chair in front of it. Tim had reinforced the chair, and attached it to the floor.

I pushed Tarantulas into the seat, "Tim, now please." Restraints formed and snapped over Tarantulas's limbs, keeping him in the chair. I smiled down at the struggling spider-bot, "Thanks, Tim."

I let my smile widen, and he flinched. I really don't know why people don't like my smile..

"What are you going to do?" Tarantulas didn't sound as confident now. He tried to sneer, "Torture?"

"Of a kind, I suppose." I walked behind him to some shelves. "Hmmm, let me see...Oooo, that one, and that one...Oh, what the heck, that one too." I was having fun now.

Tarantulas was trying to see what I was doing without making it completely obvious. He tried to act unconcerned, but his relief when I came back where he could see me was noticeable. "Is that all your torture is? Little tapes? Ha!" He chuckled at my apparent foolishness.

I just grinned and put a video into the VCR, hitting 'play' on the remote. I grabbed the rest of the controls and walked back to the door, behind Tarantulas. I placed the VCR and TV remote controller on a table next to the door so I could reach it easily when I came back in. The TV screen was showing the FBI Warning by now. I put the sound controller in a subspace pocket (Cool!).

"Have fun!" I said cheerily, just as the movie started, and walked out. I paused outside the door and listened.

"Welcome to Disney Theatre. La La la..."

"Noooooo!"

Oh, revenge was sweet...

Depth Charge and Rampage were picking a fight on the porch when I opened the door. "Do you two ever stop?" I leaned against the door frame with a sigh. Dinobot and Rattrap were both arguing, too, along with the rest of the Maximals and Predacons, so I wasn't quite sure who I was referring to.

"Where is Tarantulas?" Megatron wanted to know. I grinned. He had to threaten some of his troops at that moment, so I didn't volunteer anything.

Optimus got his forces under control again with some speech about 'respecting the peace agreement', or something like that. Megatron just squeezed Rampage's spark, and blasted Quickstrike. Worked about the same way.

While the two leaders were busy with the rest, Rampage came over to me, looking a bit odd. "What are you doing to him?" the crab-bot asked.

I tried to look innocent, "What makes you think I'm doing anything?"

Rampage eyed me suspiciously, then suddenly swayed, turning greenish. I watched curiously as he whirled around to stare at the wall between the outside and the living room. "What's wrong?" I asked, and got a strange idea. I had always had the theory that Rampage could be an empath...

He had everyone's full attention as he queasily had to sit down. Well, it was more like a controlled collapse.

I crouched next to him and rubbed his back sympathetically, "Put your head between your knees, and breathe deeply. It might help." He nodded, and I glanced up to see the rest of the Beast Warriors gaping at me again. Especially Depth Charge. "What? The poor guy's obviously sick."

"Such fear..." the Predacon crab was fixated on looking at the wall, his face a mixture of fascination and revulsion. "But, it's somehow tainted..." He shivered, "It's making me sick!"

Well, I think that proved my theory. "You're getting that all from Tarantulas. I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd be affected too." The nauseous look on Rampage's face was hilarious, but I didn't laugh. He might puke on me.

"What are you doing to Tarantulas, human?" Megatron demanded, but he seemed uneasy. In fact, they all seemed uneasy.

I sighed dramatically, "You might as well come in and see." I opened the door and beckoned for them to go in. They nervously filed by me (Tim had to make the door bigger to squeeze them through). I tugged on Rampage's arm until he got up and came in, too.

"Go straight, and there's a little room at the end of the hall off the kitchen. If you have to throw up, I suggest you go in there," I told him. He nodded and hurried off.

The Beast Warriors milled around in the sewing/office room, examining some of the stuff. They obviously didn't know what any of it was, including Tim the computer and the cloth laying out. Rhinox was experimenting with the sewing machine while most of the others watched.

I interrupted them before they did something weird, or the machine broke. (Although Terrorsaur had somehow gotten his finger sewn onto the fabric already. Don't ask me how, I don't know.) I herded them through the new hall created by the walls surrounding the living room, and into the kitchen.

I don't think they know what most human technology does, much less how to use it. By the time I got back from letting in my pets, Inferno had turned on the stove and burned himself when he touched the burners, Quickstrike had gotten stuck investigating the inside of the oven, and Dinobot was trying to stuff Rattrap into the microwave (well, okay, so maybe he DID know how to use it).

It was only after I had sorted everything back out ("Don't touch anything!") that they heard the yelling.

It was muffled, but still recognizable as Tarantulas.

I sat on a counter, and pulled out the sound controller. "I wonder how Tarantulas is doing?" I stabbed the button to increase the volume on the TV in the next room.

"...Cinderella, Cinderella, Poor CINDERELLA!..." the singing made the transformers wince. Sickly sweet songs with cute little Disney characters singing them. The Beast Warriors shuddered with horror as the song continued on.

Tarantulas's yelling turned to screaming.

Heeheehee...Revenge is mine!

I went into the room first to get the remote controls and turn off the TV.

Tarantulas slumped over in the chair until only the restraints held him up. His screams subsided to whimpers.

I stood by him as the others came in. "Oh, Taraaaaaantulas!" I called.

A whimper answered me.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Well, maybe if you watched some more, you'll be more responsive..."

"NO!" Tarantulas cringed back in the chair. "No more! Please! I'll do anything!"

"Oh, so you can talk." I fiddled with the remotes absently. He struggled futilely with the restraints, panicking. I decided to let him off the hook. "I'm still waiting for that apology."

"I'm sorry! Please, don't make me watch that again! I'm really sorry!" Tarantulas hunched in on himself, "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease..."

"Alright, I forgive you." I sternly looked down at him, "But if you do that again..." I shook the remotes threateningly. He shook his head frantically, eyes wide.

I patted him on the head, "Good boy. Tim, you can release him now." I helped Tarantulas to his feet when the restraints melted away. I kindly gave him direction to the other bathroom (since Rampage hadn't returned yet), and he ran off to go throw up.

I turned to the rest of the Beast Warriors, who had watched the scene in stunned amazement, and smiled. They all flinched (What?!).

"Now, does anyone else want to try anything?" I asked nicely. Not even Megatron dared answer.

Back in the kitchen (and rejoined by Rampage and Tarantulas), I decided to start over. "My name Lady Dementia, The Demented Angel. I've been sent here to keep you guys in line by HASBRO."

"Eh, are we supposed ta stop fightin'?" Rattrap's question was met by mutters by the rest.

Hmmm, I hadn't thought about that. On one hand, I wouldn't have to keep repairing everything if I just had the fighting stop. On the other hand...well, I've seen how well these guys can keep the peace.

Besides, it'd be boring.

"No, just try to keep it non-lethal. And if you break it, you fix it."

Megatron smiled nastily, "In that case...Predacons, attack!"

Oh, no. I am not cleaning up this place more than I have to. "STOP!!" My yell froze the Predacons and Maximals before they started fighting. "My house, and the area around it, are declared a neutral zone." I glared at Megatron, "If you want to fight, go outside."

The Beast Warriors shrugged, and went outside.

I thought of one last thing. Running out onto the porch, I waved my arms to get their attention. Megatron and Optimus came back, and I handed them both a printout. "HASBRO gave me a schedule for you guys for the summer. You don't like it, tough."

Megatron quickly read through it, and growled. "The Predacons are not coming here every day for training!"

I smiled.

"Uh, nevermind."

I shook my head as I went back inside. I'm never going to understand why people do that...

And that was just the beginning of my summer!

Lady Dementia, The Demented Angel, would love feedback! Write her at dementedangel@hotmail.com
"A whimper answered me."