Soo…This here's the first chapter of my rewrite, I hope you enjoy it. Please don't forget to review, I'd like to hear what you think. As you'll see, some parts are staying basically the same but I'm sure you'll notice some things are completely different. I'll have this story posted in both the movie section and the cartoons section in order to widen my possible viewing base. Anywho, thanks for all your support and patience, I hope you enjoy the story. ^_^
Project: Mockingbird v2.0
Chapter 1: Of Silence and Fear.
*Set ten days before the second movie*
The human female had not moved from her spot since they first deposited her there, that being a trial in and of itself, and Sunstreaker was surprised to note that her unwavering stare seemed to actually unnerve their sentry. He found himself wondering why.
Why did the mech seem so uncomfortable? She was small, organic, and inconsequential. Why was it so disquieting for him, having her sit in silence, gaze trained on him and looking nowhere else, that the Decepticon had begun to leave for increasingly longer periods of time simply to avoid it? Sunstreaker hadn't really taken much note of it at first but after two weeks of the same thing, the pattern was obvious, it had gotten to the point that their sentry spent approximately three hours out of every twenty-four, the human measure of a day, actually watching them, and most of that during the human's recharge period.
His curiosity was such that he had begun to unconsciously send out a pinging inquiry to any open sources that would pick it up, so far he had gotten no reply. From anyone.
He grew more irritable by the nanosecond.
And then something surprising happened; the femme spoke. "It's because he's young," she glanced at him over her shoulder, "my guess, judging by his behavior and that of the others' towards him, is that he's not really a Decepticon. I think he must have been from a colony of Neutrals that were attacked and was captured at a young age; he retains his initial programming. It's why he feels guilt under my gaze." She rolled her shoulders to relax the muscles and turned to face him fully, he gave no response to her sudden statement nor even an indication of any life at all, and she shrugged before lifting her right hand to her throat. "Ein." The room was filled with the churning, mechanical sounds of transformation as her metal choker turned into a small Cybertronian and climbed onto the proffered hand. The being, Ein, released a muted chime of happiness and began to babble in a mixture of Sparkling talk and true Cybertronian, bringing a smile to the human female's face. "I'm glad you're alright too Ein, but look, I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?"
The Sparkling chirped an affirmative and settled more calmly into the palm that held it. "That's a good boy. Bring up the most recent medical scans please, then see if you can find me a rolling chair. We should have a good four hours before our delightful sentry returns with my noon-day meal; I'd like to get some repairs in before that happens."
Sunstreaker recoiled at that.
When told to picture one of the greatest intellects in North America, the image that comes to mind is not generally anything remotely similar to that of an older girl running full tilt down an empty alleyway with a very imposing man in hot pursuit.
And yet…
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*Approximately two years previous, set a few days before the first movie opens.*
It was dark, sometime past midnight perhaps, not that the girl running through the network of alleys and side streets really cared one way or the other, except in the passing hope that the deeper shadows would better hide her form from the man chasing her down. She was pissed, scared but pissed; it was ridiculous as far as she was concerned, her other form could squish the man following her with no difficulties what so ever, but nooo, that body was several miles away and she was stuck with her pathetic weakling body.
Not that her body was really weak per say, but it was rather slight, at least she had several years of MMA under her belt, so it wasn't like she was defenseless or anything. But then again, the man had quite a few pounds on her, most of it seemed to be muscle, and, if the initial attempt at grabbing her was any indication, at least some training in hand-to-hand combat. The reading level on her pissed-off-'o-meter, as her coworkers so kindly put it, was slowly rising towards the 'Eff this' alert, at which point she would stop running and likely try to bludgeon the fool to death, hopefully with something other than her fists, as she really disliked having to deal with swollen hands. Luckily, before she reached that level, she turned a corner and found an alley with several doors that opened out into it. She paused for only a moment to stare incredulously at the, while obviously old still totally hot, yellow Camaro that was just sitting pretty in the middle of everything before she came back to herself with a lurch and began trying every door in sight.
"Well, shit." That was the only thing that really came to mind when she came to the sudden and rather unfortunate realization that every damn door available was locked. It would be okay, or… well at least not that bad, if it weren't for the fact that this particular alleyway was a dead end and the time she'd spent on checking the doors had allowed her pursuer to close the extensive gap she'd managed to make. Those extra pounds made a difference, even if they were muscle. And she could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he would be on her in what felt like a matter of seconds. Her eyes raked the surrounding area, searching for somewhere, anywhere, to hide; they caught on the Camaro and she practically dove for the passenger door muttering a, "Please be unlocked, in the names of all the deities, please be unlocked." It was.
She pulled the door shut after her as quickly and quietly as possible, locking it behind her and then ducked onto the floor board, tucking her curled body as far underneath the dash as she could manage, thankful, for what would probably the first and last time, for her small build. She forced her body into stillness, or as close as she could get anyways, there was no stopping the occasional tremor from her abused legs and she winced at the thought of the cramps she would have tomorrow from the lactic acid build-up from pushing herself to outrun the Brainless Behemoth. A sudden angry growl had her whole body tensing, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Breath caught and eyes widened, her ears strained for even the slightest sound.
She heard several things, her own rapid and erratic heartbeat, a strangely pleasant buzzing hum from the car, the heaving breaths of Sir Brainless Behemoth, and his heavy, slightly faltering she noted with a cruel pleasure, footsteps as he checked the doors as she had done. He let out another growl and what sounded like a low curse in a language that sounded suspiciously like Italian as the car suddenly rocked slightly and she realized he was sitting on the Camaro's hood, grumbling. He stopped suddenly, releasing a low chuckle, and she heard his footsteps again, circling around to the car's driver's side and she felt her face pale with the realization that she had not thought to lock the car's other door. There was a sudden motion as the man yanked on the door handle and she winced in sympathy for the whine-like sound the car seemed to emit at his action; he circled the car and repeated the action on the other door, letting out what was definitely a curse when he found this door locked as well. He went back to sitting on the hood and she recognized the muted taps of a cell phone having its buttons pushed with extra viciousness.
There was a pause and then his voice filled the air, he was speaking the language that she was pretty sure was Italian at this point and then there was another pause and, to her surprise, she found that he was suddenly speaking English. "She got away, not much I could do, short of shooting her anyways, and I know better than to do that, no damaging the merchandise. Silas would have me killed for that." Her blood ran cold at that casual statement, not even the indignation of being 'merchandise' could overcome the cold terror caused by the realization that this person was armed and, consequently, could have killed her at any time, still could kill her. "Look, the brat got away; can you just come get me? The girl ran like a bloody greyhound and I'm practically on the other side of the city now. I still don't see why we didn't just grab her at her home; it would have been much easier if you ask me… Yeah, I know you didn't, but you're also not the one she ran into the damn ground… Just come and get me already."
All the energy in her body evaporated, gone like smoke but without the lingering smell. They knew where she lived? Why were they after her to begin with? And that ever panicky thought, 'He could have killed me!'
She listened with what felt like every atom in her body, heard as he shuffled impatiently from atop the Camaro's hood, heard as a car pulled up with the squeaky-screech of a vehicle in need of a brake pad change, heard as he got in with an exchange of unpleasant words and they left. And suddenly she was crying, sobbing so hard her body trembled and she had to gasp in each strangled breath until slowly, and quite without her noticing, the world faded from her view and she fell into an exhausted slumber.
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