Title: Paper-Thin Hymn

By: Ceris Malfoy

Summary: I'd like to believe they'll come back for me... I can't help but feel like this is my punishment for destroying both the All Spark and Megatron... I am Samantha Anne Witwicky, and I swear to Primus I am not insane.

Continuity: Bay-verse

Inspiration: I've seen a few female!Sam stories, and have even liked two or three of them. While gender switch is nothing new for this fandom, I've never seen one that played out were things don't end so happily so Sam. This story has three parts, and each part will be a recounting of what happened during each movie as told by Sam at the end. Think of it as journal entries recounting her experiences. This will be a Decepticon/Sam fic, though I don't know which Con I want "her" with right now. I'll figure it out before I write the second part. This fic won't be finished until sometime in September – I can't wait to see the 3rd movie. XD It has Shockwave in it.

Status: Part 1 of 2


January 23rd, 2008 (maybe)

I am not insane.

I know what you're thinking. 'That's what they all say.' Am I right? Of course I am. And I know why you're thinking it, too. After all, those assholes in Sector 7 have made damn sure that there isn't a bit of evidence to support me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. This would all make much more sense if I started at the beginning.

My name is Samantha Anne Witwicky, friends call me Sam. As far as I know, I am currently 17 years old – I've kept track of the days as best I could, but time has a way of creeping away from you in here, so I could be wrong. Not that it matters much, right? I was born to Ronald and Judy Witwicky, and believe me, compared to my parents, I'm downright normal. More normal then I have any right to be, at least.

I'm a semi-hard-working student, usually pulling a B-average, sometimes managing an A to please the parentals. I'm good enough with computers –a little too good, according to my best friend Miles – but not on the hacker-level. I'm a comic-geek with a comic book collection that puts other comic-geeks' collection to shame. I have the biggest crush/obsession on Micah Banes, and have had this crush/obsession with him since the first grade. Some might say it was this crush/obsession that got me into trouble, but that's not true. How could I blame him, when it was me that got him dragged into this mess to begin with?

See, Micah is, was, into cars. Really into cars. Every girl he dated had a really sick ride, and as desperate as I was to get his attention, I knew I needed to get an even sicker one. Hence the two semesters of high school, slaving away over reports and equations to earn enough A's to get my dad to help me buy a car. I won't bore you with all the trivial details, but suffice to say that while the car I ended up with wasn't a brand new model that gleamed in the light, it was something I could feel happy about: a 1976 Chevy Camaro, all-leather interior and the best sound system I've ever seen (of course, the system didn't work right, but who was bitching?).

And while it normally wasn't something that would capture Micah's attention, it had one special feature that I hadn't known about. I was just putting my purchases in the car when I spotted Micah, running like all the demons of hell were after him, followed closely by a cop car. I never hesitated – got in my car, and gunned it. I pulled up in front of Micah, opened the door, told him to get in, and that's when everything turned to shit.

Turns out, the cop car wasn't just a cop car. Turns out, the cop car was a giant robot determined to squish the human that accidentally ran into it. Just my luck that my car turned out to be said cop-car-robot's mortal enemy.

Yeah. My car was a giant robot. An Autonomous Robotic Organism from the Planet Cybertron, a.k.a. Autobot, to be precise. My car introduced me to others. Others that said they were looking for me.

Epic shit went on, let me tell you. To cut an extremely long story short – Micah and I got kidnapped by a government organization that technically doesn't exist by the name of Sector 7, blackmailed the head of said organization (and now that I think about it, that might be part of the reason I'm here), and learned that I would have absolutely no sympathy if the Decepticons (the faction the Autobots were trying to keep from destroying the universe) did destroy Earth, or at least the assholes in Sector 7. Hell, I'd probably help. What right did those sanctimonious bastards have to take a living thing, cut it open, rip out its inner-workings and then create new technology off of it? Didn't they think? I shudder to think about what might have happened if Megatron had ever broken out of the Cryogenic Freezer they had him stuffed into, especially since the fools were keeping the All Spark, a Cybertronian artifact with untold powers, in the next hanger over.

Real smart.

And, yes, that was sarcasm.

And then, ladies and gentlemen, I got fucked royally by fate and destiny and ended up smack dab in the middle of a giant alien robot war being fought on Earth. On one side, Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, basically telling me to shove the one artifact their race values above all things into his spark – which would destroy both the All Spark and Prime – and on the other, Prime's scary-as-all-fuck brother, Megatron the Slag-Maker, demanding I hand over the cube and be rewarded by living the rest of my life as his "pet".

I chose to ignore both of them, and instead thrust the All Spark into Megatron's chest – which was actually kinda fun, in an Oh-My-God-I'm-Gonna-Die kinda way.

And that's where my life turned to shit.

See, according to what the scientists that have been studying the cube told me, the cube's implosion should have leveled the entirety of Mission City, and the shockwave would have left billions in damages in every direction. I, being at ground zero, should have been completely disintegrated.

Only I wasn't.

In fact, if it weren't for the Cybertronian designs permanently burned onto my palms from where I held the ignited All-Spark, no one would have been able to tell that I had ever been there.

I don't know exactly what happened after that. All I remember is the feeling of heat-that-was-not-heat and the soaring feeling of triumph-that-was-not-my-own. I remember gazing up into a miniature supernova held between my hands and through that into a swirling ball of fire, light, and electricity. I remember hearing Megatron's roars of pain and fury, Optimus Prime's cries of denial and worry, and my own screams of defiance and a pain I felt only distantly. But more than that, I remember embracing something alien and alive and powerful beyond anything I could imagine.

And then the clarity fades. There are sounds, fuzzy images, and distant emotions, but mostly there is nothing, a void in my mind and thoughts. I am assuming I lost consciousness, but all things considered, I suppose the events that followed my defiance could have been so traumatic that I simply blocked them out. It certainly wouldn't surprise me.

The next thing I clearly recall is a slow coming-to; my vision blurry and my body tingling with that slightly-painful, completely-annoying half-asleep feeling; my thoughts cloudy and scattered; my tongue feeling like it had swollen to twice its usual size. Speaking from experience gained since then, I know now that I was drugged, possibly with simple pain-killers, possibly by sedatives, more likely with something specifically designed to keep me alive and awake but listlessly compliant.

Since then, my life has consisted of tests, experiments, and punishments. Moments of clarity are few and far between – I'm usually given an alarming cocktail of drugs, which I suspect greatly skews the results of the tests I'm forced to undergo.

I hate these bastards. I hate what they've done to me, and I hate what they're planning to do. I hate them, and the power inside of me agrees. With each passing day, the power inside grows more and more frustrated with our treatment. It has sent pulses, a distress-signal meant to attract protectors, but…

…I don't think they'll come.

Part of me wants to believe that they'll come for me, even if it's only to rescue the power of the All-Spark. Part of me wants to believe that Optimus Prime and Bumblebee and Ratchet and Ironhide would never stand by and allow this to happen to me. But that part of me is small and quiet, and grows smaller and quieter with each experiment I survive. Most of me believes that this is my punishment for daring to end Megatron's life; for daring to use the All-Spark as a weapon instead of the life-giver is was; for daring to defy Prime's orders.

I was placed in a position where I saw no other choice but to do what I did, and I know that if placed in the same position knowing what the consequences were, I'd still do it exactly the same.

I just want to go home. I want to know what happened to Micah and Mom and Dad. I want to be safe.

My name is Samantha Anne Witwicky, and I swear that I am not insane.


This is NOT going to be a Mirror!Verse. The Decepticons are not going to be the good guys in this fic, nor are the Autobots the bad guys. However, this fic will be based off of Sam's perceptions, and Sam, despite having the All-Spark's powers inside of "her", does not know everything. In fact, there's a lot of stuff Sam doesn't know, like the fact that according to her government, Sector 7 is disbanded, and the Autobots have no reason not to believe that it has. She also doesn't know that several people under Sector 7 pay-roll have had her declared dead, and have hamstrung any efforts the Autobots have made to verify that fact. She doesn't know that her current location is next to impossible to penetrate with scans of any kind, and that the pulses the All-Spark power inside of her sent out were never felt.

I feel kinda mean now. XD RnR?