My Fortress
A/N: "My Fortress", re-written. This is a repost of an old story I used to have, but deleted a few years ago. It turned out to be pretty successful in '08. I'm hoping its re-write will be even better. I haven't done an OC x Canon story in a long time, so please critique me and hold nothing back. I love positive & negative crit because it helps me grow as a writer. Thank you!
Summary: Survival brings individuals together in the strangest of circumstances...even an accidental soccer ball to the face. M.E.C.H. is emerging in the small town of Tranquility, and stuck with an impulsive human in his care, Optimus Prime has a lot to handle. Movie-verse. OP x OC, Bulkhead x Miko, Starscream x Alexis, and others. Slight AU-takes place midway through the first Bay movie in '07.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro!
Chapter 1: Aim High
(Kylie)
Like any good rumor, it all started with a YouTube video.
"You should have seen it. It came out of nowhere with these…these glowing red eyes of death, man! Staring straight into my soul!"
"No way! You're totally making that up. How in the hell would you remember an encounter with an alien if you actually had one, anyway? Wouldn't it just wipe your memory or something?"
"That's in the movies, man! You gotta think outside the box! Shit's going down! The government's just trying to keep it hidden from public eyes, man!"
Stories of alien invasion and abduction had spread around the school like wildfire in the past few weeks since a local college student had posted footage of an oddly-shaped asteroid striking city limits. Despite the shaky camera angle, the chaotic noise of people running and screaming, and the glare of fire blocking out the image of said 'asteroid', the video had instantly convinced half the town's god-fearing population that Tranquility faced the threat of extraterrestrial invaders.
Closing my locker, I quickly changed into my athletic gear and headed for the soccer fields. It took every ounce of self-control to block out the heated discussion a few lockers down. Eavesdropping would only convince the others that I believed their ridiculous story. Not that I wasn't curious, but over the course of the last week, I had heard at least ten different stories about how someone's friend's great aunt came into contact with an evil alien robot.
Small towns have a way of taking the minor details of an event and transforming them into a grandiose doomsday scenario. One week, evil robots; the next, ghosts, zombies, vampires—you name it. With slipping grades and soccer season coming up, I could barely keep up.
I jogged out to the track lining the field, trying to put all thought of alien life forms and the like out of my mind.
"Kylie Fuse! Late again. What was so pressing that kept you in the locker room through warm-ups? Don't tell me you're hiding some boy back there, or I'll have to boot you from the team."
The coach's gruff voice broke me out of my alien-dazed thoughts instantly.
"No, Sir," I said as calmly as possible, despising the crack in my voice. As if to make matters worse, my cheeks instantly flared red with embarrassment, seemingly confirming his jab; this made a few of the other girls stare and snicker quietly.
Kill me now, I thought ruefully.
With all talk of invasions and secret boyfriends aside, the team divided into groups to run through the usual drills in practice. The lack of warm-up caused my muscles to constrict and cramp throughout the drills, but nonetheless aided in draining my mind of anything but basic concentration. My body fell into a steady rhythm of receive, aim, pass that I gladly welcomed after the hype of this afternoon.
A ruthless August sun blazed overhead, bleeding unrelenting heat down upon the fields. Dead grass crackled and snapped beneath our feet, pounded into the earth by a dozen other athletes struggling to keep up with one another. Everyone wanted to score the goal, make the winning kick or move that determined the game; and under the scrutinizing glare of Coach Winston, every girl rose to meet the challenge.
With powerful legs and a severely competitive edge, I was no exception. A giddy grin twisted its way across my lips when I managed to steal the ball, knocking over a blonde player in the process. She sent a nasty glare my way, but I paid her no mind.
"You snooze, you lose!" I called out with a smile.
Determined to score, I sprinted blindly for the goal.
"FUSE! No foul play!" the coach called out.
The more rational side of my brain tried to convince me that unnecessary aggression would only result in catastrophe later, but I needed to prove to Winston I had what it took to make the team. Besides, today's tardiness already had me on probation. I could not afford to miss this chance.
"OVER HERE!" one of the midfielders shouted, waving her arms for a pass.
In response, another girl from the rivaling team threw herself in front of the player, blocking her opening. The coach barked out more orders for the girls to stop targeting one another and spread out to act as a team, to no avail.
Heart hammering away in my chest, I pressed harder, willing my legs to move faster. My lungs constricted with each gasping breath, but the euphoria in my brain overpowered the physical exertion. As another player sprang up in front of me to block, I kicked the ball between her legs, twisting around her and continuing my dash for the goal.
I dodged another two rival players, deliberately ignoring cries for the others to pass. My legs moved with a mind of their own, scrambling in a clumsy but powerful dance with the ball to make it to the goal. The sweet net of victory awaited me at the other end of the field, open and ready for that winning kick!
I'm going to make it!
Taking a powerful stance, I angled toward the goal. I drew back, took aim, thrust my left foot forward, and-
"FUSE!"
From that moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. My cleat connected with the soccer ball with perfect timing, but in the heat of my shining moment, I had forgotten to use proper technique. I watched with dread as the ball sailed overhead, blasting past the goal net and straight into the face of an innocent bystander.
"LOOK OUT!"
Shit.
The poor guy fell backwards, limbs flailing in an attempt to steady himself before crashing in an ungraceful heap in the grass. One of his friends rushed forward, a student I recognized. What was his name again? Sam Wallace? Sam Witicky? Sam Whitiker? Argh!
Nearby students rushed over to see the damage, crowding around the fallen body. For a few moments, the man lay still.
"Don't just stand there like an idiot, Fuse! Get over there and help him!" the coach shouted furiously.
Scrambling to my senses, I complied instantly, wasting no time in rushing to my victim's side. I had to practically shove through the crowd of people to get to him.
"Man, I am so sorry! Are you all right?" I asked, kneeling down beside him.
The victim sat up, rubbing a tired hand over his face. A bruise had formed around the slight split above one eyebrow. Admittedly, that is not what caused my sudden sharp intake of breath. Inky blue-black hair fell across a face with some of the most perfect features I had ever seen, eyes a very intense shade of blue in contrast to his pale skin.
Just my luck to injure the first hot guy I meet. Great.
"I am quite all right. No harm done," he said with a kind smile.
Forcing myself not to stare, I offered him a hand, helping him to his feet. He couldn't have been much older than I was, maybe mid 20's at the latest. His form towered over mine at an astounding 6'5", making me shrink back by comparison. A few of the girls on the team stared, others bursting into quiet laughter. I quickly released his hand, suddenly aware of my heart working in overtime; I willed it silently to cease its pounding and quiet simply shut up.
"Are you sure you don't need any ice or something?" I blurted out, gesturing to his wound. "I kind of went…overboard with that one move, and I hate to see you suffer for it."
"Do not worry about it. I have suffered much worse at the expense of my own comrades," he added, "By accident, of course."
"That's a shame. Who would want to break in a face like—" I quickly cut myself short, face flaming.
Now is NOT the time to flirt, Kylie! I mentally scolded.
"FUSE," the coach shouted for the umpteenth time, "Stop dilly-dallying and get back on the field! Does that man need assistance or not?!"
I winced at the sound of his voice, calling out a sharp, "He's fine!"
The man looked sympathetic. "It seems your presence is required elsewhere."
"Yeah," I said with a strained laugh, "I'd love to stay and chat, but…y'know. Coaches…"
"Indeed. Well, it seems we both have things to tend to. Best of luck, Miss Fuse," the stranger smiled again.
"Call me Kylie. And, best of luck to you too—uh-…."
"Orion."
"Right!" I exclaimed, grinning nervously to cover up my obvious embarrassment as I turned back to the field. "See you around!"
"You coming, 'boss?" Sam shouted, clearly in a hurry.
"All in good time," Orion replied, smoothly following after the frantic student as though nothing had happened.
I dared another glance at the mysterious victim. How in the world did Sam have connections with someone like that? As they proceeded to the school's parking lot toward a yellow Camaro and blue semi-truck, I had to wonder if they were related, or if the guy simply came to help out a friend.
Coach Winston interrupted my ponderings again, screaming at me to get back on the field or spend the rest of the semester running laps around the track.
However, before I had the chance to return to the soccer field, the air filled with the sounds of grinding, screeching metal. A nearby black police car began to tremble and shift, gears and small limbs bursting out between the panels to take on a new, terrible shape. The parking lot came alive with the terrified voices of students, their screams blasting into a loud cacophony of chaos.
I had no time to scream as I broke into a run for the school, just in time for an airborne vehicle to sail straight toward my head.
"RUN!"
It seems the aliens had arrived in Tranquility after all.
A/N: Well, what do you think? Leave me a review with your critique or comments, please! They keep me writing, good or bad!
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