NOTE: Okay, so in all honesty, I have no idea when this takes place. I have no idea who will show up in it, I'm just kind of writing as I go. And I also don't know much about transformers, so bare with me, mkay? I'm kind of using this story to improve my writing and keep me from getting rusty, so reviews are appreciated. I hope you guys like it, whoever's reading this, and thanks so much for reading!

Let me know if you want me to continue. I'm writing this to improve my skills, like I said, but if no one's reading then I just won't post. Thanks again!

Oh PS: Yes, I know the difference between Autobots and Decepticons, trust me. Parker's just being manipulated.

They all thought that I was gone.

But I wasn't lost—not, at least, in the sense that they thought I was. I was there, but I wasn't there. I flickered, lingering in the breath between two instants, unseen, unheard, unnoticed. Invisible.

Nothing.

I'd started to believe them, too. That somehow this was all wrong, that maybe I had missed the shuttle to the Other Side.

I lingered, tethered between this world and that with no reflection, no shadow, no visible body. They—the professionals, that is—called it an out of body experience. I was pretty sure, at the time, that that's what I'd been having. I watched myself from the outside—my body was splayed out on the pavement, blood pooling beneath my head. My dark eyes were wide open, almost comical, staring. My small lips were parted, trembling as my chest heaved desperately, unable to draw enough air into my lungs.

Blood frothed at my mouth, a sick gurgling slithering from my lips every time I inhaled or exhaled. The reason was obvious: a shard of glad was stuck in my throat, slicing it open. I couldn't breathe around it. Even from my stance outside my body, I could feel the pain. I grabbed at my throat, this version of me unharmed, and collapsed on my knees beside myself.

The paramedics hadn't arrived yet. I crouched down, glancing around, screaming for someone, anyone to please help me. No one could hear me. No one responded. My mother, from inside the car, was trapped and sobbing, her bloodied hand reaching out to me through the broken glass, her fingers so far from mine.

How had I ended up outside the car, anyway? I hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, but was it even possible? I'd been hurtled so far. I couldn't bear to look at myself. I stepped away from my struggling body on the ground and knelt beside my screaming mother, her hair tumbled and tangled in glass, one hand braced against the ceiling of our upside down car. I'd never seen her cry like this. In the back seat, my twin brother was crying and struggling with the seatbelt that had locked him in place.

"Hold on," I begged. "Please, hold on. Help's coming. Help's coming."

But it was taking so long. My mother called my name in a weak voice. She must have known I was going to die with that shard in my throat. It wouldn't be long before I drowned in my own blood. I felt sick to my stomach and staggered away, catching sight of the car we'd crashed into.

Of course. It explained everything. No wonder our car was mangled, flipped. No wonder I'd been thrown out. We'd been up against a gigantic purple semi painted with atrocious red flames. Even in death, all I could think was that whoever'd designed that truck needed to be shot. Repeatedly.

We'd really screwed up freeway traffic, too. It was stopped—we had so many witnesses. God only knew how many children were being horrified by this mess.

I glanced up at the semi again. The windshield was cracked, the front a little dented, but aside from that it hadn't in anywhere near as bad of shape as our poor Suburban was.

"Parker." At the sound of my name from between my brother's gritted teeth, I turned. "Parker! Oh, God, Parker!"

"Savannah!" I breathed, running over to him. I grabbed his hand, but mine slipped right through his. "Savannah, I'm here, I'm right here. Hold on, please hold on, please."

I ripped away from him and staggered out into the street, screaming.

"Help!" I cried. "Somebody please help us!" I ran for the semi, but there was no one in it. God, I hoped the driver had gone for help. Please let him have gone for help.

Please.

Just as I'd finished thinking, I heard the sound of sirens, a high, keening wail. A lime green emergency vehicle raced onto the scene, skidding to a halt. The doors flew open and men spilled out. They were everywhere, like ants, and they swarmed the scene. They focused on me the most, lifting me gently onto a stretcher, rolling me inside. I could only watch from outside, the concrete warm and hard beneath my feet. I didn't go with them. Instead, I lingered, yelling at them to help my family, to help my family, please just help them. I watched as they pulled my brother—my life, my everything, my other half—gingerly from the car.

I loved him. More than anything else in the world, I loved him. We'd never been separated. I couldn't leave him then, and he couldn't leave me. One of us without the other… it just wasn't right.

"Savannah," I breathed in his ear as they get him on a stretcher. "Savvy, stay with me, buddy. Stay with me. I mean if you go… if you go, who am I gonna make fun of, huh? Come on, bud, come on Sav, just stay. I'm right here, don't worry about me. Come on, baby sister."

I threw in the last part out of habit—an old joke between us. When we'd been born, our father had mixed up our birth certificates, naming is the wrong names. As a girl, I should have been Savannah Rook, and he should have been Parker Rook. Instead, I was Parker, and he was Savannah.

"Parker," he cried, struggling on the stretcher. "Parker! Where's my sister? Where is she? Is she okay? You have to help her. Leave me alone!"

The men had to hold him down as he wiggled and writhed, smearing a little blood.

The last thing I remember of that day was my brother's voice, screaming himself hoarse. I never saw him again.

Only a couple of years have passed since the accident, only a couple of years since they'd taken everything from me—my mother, my brother, my voice, and any trace of sanity I'd had. In place of the sanity is rage—a deep, all-consuming rage, burning like a fire, taking out everything with it. It's destructive, violent. It makes me cruel. It's the sort of thing that, when it rises, leaves me blind.

The only thing on my mind anymore is revenge, and it's something they've promised me. I'd get revenge on the ones who took my life—it'd have been better if I really had died. Instead, I'm stuck here, living without them.

"Parker Rook."

"Hmm?" I glance up from the novel I'm reading into glaring red eyes. "Oh. What do you want?"

"He wants a word with you."

I sit up and fold my page, stretching my legs. With an angry hiss, the gigantic robot reaches through my door and snatches me none too gently about the waist.

"Cade!" My voice is horribly raspy. I sound like I've got a permanent case of laryngitis, but it can't be helped. "Put me down!"

Cade—that's short for Barricade—growls and carries me anyway, treating me like I'm an animal, swinging me at his side. I struggle, but I know it's no use. He's a million times stronger than I'll ever be, so I just hang there until he sets me on my feet in front of a pair of very familiar, clawed, metal feet. I crane my neck back, already knowing the owner.

"Be gone," he says in a deep voice and Cade scuttles away. I grin.

"Megs," I say in a low, dry rasp. "How can I help you?"

I know he doesn't particularly like the nickname—hates it, in fact—but he loves me and it doesn't really matter. Besides, he has his own nicknames for me. As long as I don't use these names in front of everyone else, we're fine.

"Rook," he pinches my waist between two gigantic fingers and lifts me to eye level. I wince at the pain and he loosens his grip slightly. "I forget how delicate you are," he says, and it's not really an apology but it'll do. He draws me around to his shoulder and drops me there.

I'm used to this position, so it's easy for me to find my balance. Making sure we're in private, I lean my head against one of his cold metal head-plates, tapping my fingers against it. Rattatattatat.

"Stop that," he says, and I do it one more time. Rattatattatat. And then I stop.

"So," I say, clicking one fingernail against him impatiently. I hear him rumble and know he's annoyed.

"There is something I need from you, my bird," he says in that deep, grating voice.

"Anything," I manage to choke out. God, sometimes I really miss the days when my voice was normal.

"It involves the Decepticons."

My hairs all stand on end and my fingernails scrape against his metal. I hear him chuckle and resist the urge to bare my teeth.

"I thought you'd be excited, little bird."

The Decepticons. The ones who caused the accident, ruined my life. Since Megs's men had saved me from them that day, fighting me out of the lime emergency vehicle, he'd filled me in on everything. The one we'd collided with, Optimus Prime, was there leader. The one holding me captive, the one who'd taken my mother and my brother had been their torture specialist, Ratchet. He'd told me about others—Ironhide, Sideswipe, many others, and I'd memorized them all. I'd memorized the entire story.

Megs—that's Megatron—and the Autobots, the ones who had saved me, had been trying to save their planet, to revive it. But Optimus and Decepticons like him had stood in their way, wanted to take over, to end the planet. Because of the Decepticons, their home planet, Cybertron, had been destroyed.

Because of them, my life had been destroyed. Megs and I have a lot in common that way.

"Explain," I grate.

And he explains it all to me, taking me in one hand and allowing me to sit snugly in his palm while he gently strokes my hair and my spine with one careful finger—almost like I really am some sort of delicate bird. Though, by his standards, I am. One wrong move and I'd be crushed.

His plan is so simple that it almost isn't a plan at all. Basically, he would have one of his men stage an attack on me when he knew the Decepticons were near—that way, the self-righteous Decepticons would think they were saving me—and they would take me to their base, or somewhere near them. Simple as that. I would feed them some sad story, change my name, beg never to be left alone because I was so scared of the giant robots… and, with any luck, they would take me in.

Megs is certain that it'll work, believing that, like he and his Autobots, the Decepticons wouldn't stand for the torture of a human. Guess my family didn't count. Eventually, when I got close enough, I would feed Megs information. I'd be his spy, and, eventually, we would bring them down.

In Megs's palm, I'm practically wriggling with excitement. He wiggles his fingers around me, tapping me.

"Excited, my bird?"

"Yes," I manage.

"You can finally have the vengeance you've been craving for two years, child."

"Yes," I gasp. He scratches the top of my head, taps my damaged throat.

"You remember what they did to you?"

"Yes," it's only a small breath, but I know he can hear it. Curling his fingers in, he catches my chin with a finger and tilts my head toward him, leaning in close to me. I lean forward too, pressing my forehead to the space between his eyes.

"It's time."

I smile softly. "When can I leave?"

He pulls me away and, like I'm a bird, places me on his shoulder again. It's the one place in the world where I'm most comfortable. I don't lean against him this time, however, because we're walking out of the gigantic room—a storage room? I have no idea. We move around too often to be sure—and into the larger holding area where all the other Autobots are.

"Barricade," he barks, his voice so loud I would flinch if I wasn't used to it. Barricade approaches, red eyes focused on me. Megs explains the plan to him, and within a couple of hours I'm loaded into Cade, in his cop-car form, with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Megs, before setting me on the ground one last time, strokes my back just once, gently, a silent good-bye. I grab one finger only for a moment before shooting him a grin and climbing into Cade's back seat. I give him a thumbs up and I can practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Barricade," I hear him say as Cade starts his ending. We wait. Megs's voice is hard and firm, almost scary. Almost. But Cade trembles beneath me. "Do not allow any harm to befall her."

And then we're driving away.

I've got four ear piercings in my left ear and two in my right. The top two on my left sit close enough that the top stud has been wired, allowing Megs, Cade, and anyone else to communicate with me as needed. The stud below it allows them to hear whatever is going on.

As we drive, Cade fills me in on a few more details. In a couple of days I'll let them know, via earring, if I think we need to meet. If we do, we will at a place that we've decided. If not, then we don't.

I spend most of the drive in my own head, thinking about my story, about what I need to do and who I need to become. I glance at myself in the rearview mirror and wince, trying to find within myself the girl I need to become.

I've never been one for weakness. Since Megs had taken me in, I'd completely given up the whole wimpy, girly, boo-hoo crying thing. Megs had made me strong, a warrior. I'd trained both physically and mentally, all for this day. I had to be convincing. I had to succeed.

I glance in the mirror again, forcing myself to look. It's hard; every time I see myself in a mirror, I see Savannah, too. His dark eyes had been identical to mine, same shade, same shape. I just have longer lashes, and he fuller brows—or at least he had, when he was alive. We'd shared the same dark, curly hair, the same dark skin and strong jaw. People had always told us that, though we weren't identical (due to gender, obviously), we shared the same face.

Of course, the scars on my throat and abdomen tell a story, I think, snapping myself out of my reverie. I need to think up a false story for them, along with my identity.

Cade moves the mirror so I can't see, and I punch the seat. He continues to wiggle it around even as I grab it. I growl, a low, husky noise, and he revs the motor.

"Asshole," I mutter, then sigh.

Megs's voice rasps in my ear, making me jump, but I quickly settle myself down.

"Hmm?"

"Almost there."

"Gotcha, Captain."

"Don't let me down, little bird."

"Not a chance."

He disconnects and I sigh. Let him down? Never. He is the one person—robot—whatever, the only one in my life who I care about. I love him. He is my family, everything. He'd taken me in, saved my life, fixed me up and trained me, and was now giving me the revenge, the closure I'd been craving.

There is not a single living being in this world that I love more than him, and, aside from his occasional harshness, he has never once treated me poorly. He has spoiled me.

No. I will not let him down.

NOTE: OK so that's chapter 1. Hope you liked it! Here's a little preview of the first sentences of chapter 2. Let me know if ya want it! Reviews are much appreciated.

Preview:

I shriek—which is quite painful and nearly impossible, considering my throat—and dive to the ground as dirt and rock fly up around me, hitting me in the back as I cover my head.

"Jesus, Cade," I mutter. "Take it easy!"

"Be more convincing!" He charges me, knocks me to the side, and tosses me up in the air. I'm screaming… well, sort of. My voice keeps cutting out like I've got a bad connection on a cell phone.