Fights have a funny way of getting out of hand. Always there comes a point where the parasite known as 'war' carries away it's many hosts, spinning out of their control, forcing them to make a B-line for ultimate destruction. The worst part is the hosts rarely notice it's doing so, and thus give little to non resistance till it is far too late, but occasionally, the host does notice, and tries to dig their heels in and get rid of the parasite. Unfortunately, even if this rare occurrence where to happen, usually it's only found in one of the hosts, and it's no where near enough to stop it.
It is quite what happened on Earth several times, but ironically, the last time was not completely the fault of the planet's original inhabitants, but from two different alien robot armies, who brought their war of over a milanea old over to Earth. One army, the one who called themselves ''Autobots'' noticed the signs that the parasite was growing too strong. They saw the path it was leading, and dug their heels in. They begged and pleaded with the other army to seize the efforts. They prayed for the parasite to be killed off, and it was not enough. The other army, the one's calling themselves ''Decepticons'' simply didn't care. All they knew was that they wanted complete control. They had to get rid of the competition. They took the Autobot's increased efforts of a treaty as a weakness on said autobot's side, and their attacks grew more enthusiastic. They expected victory in the near future, they did not expect everything to blow up in their faces, literally.
When a mostly trigger-happy army get's enthusiastic, sometimes it becomes hard for a commander to keep control. Hard as it may sound, such proved true for the leader of the Decepticons, Megatron. They grew more careless, more reckless, especially when they got their hands on something that would ensure their current threat would be elleminated. Unfortunately, they forgot it would completely destroy them as well. It had been Megatron's plan to detonate the bomb via a TV remote that they had fixed specifically for this purpose once they where clear of Earth's atmosphere. The eager holder of the remote, however, forgot the latter of the plan, and pressed the button the astrosecond the rocket took off. When the bomb blew, it encompassed everything, blowing earth to a small cloud of ashes floating around the sun. Perhaps in the far future, the ashes will come together and form a smaller planet. Of course, if that happened, it still wouldn't be suitable to hold life, especially considering the moon had been shot out by the force of the bomb.
Numbing coldness.
Pain, utter pain.
A scolding voice above howling wind
Small crackling sounds like a fire.
A stench common for dogs.
Still alive.
These where the first things that registered in the young boy's mind before he even opened his optics. It was the last one that made his optics shoot open, his right servo coming up to pat his chest, as if checking for a spark beat. The relieve of simply being alive washed out everything else, even the notion that something was very very wrong. Mentally, he ran a check to find the source of the pain, but to his dismay, he realized his sensors must have been fried in the explosion. Without them, it was much harder to tell. The young decepticon closed his eyes, trying to focus on the pain entirely, to find where it was coming from. The stabbing pain was based near his spark, but not quite. His lungs where the perpetrator... wait... lungs? No... that wasn't right. Couldn't be right. Something must be wrong with his processor as well.
He opened his eyes again, and in horror noticed the wrongness he had previously dismissed. His plating was gone, replaced by an oily substance he had come to recolonize as human skin. His red coloring was faded, to something more peach-like. In horror, he jerked up, the pain in his... his... his lungs magnifying each second as he stumbled to a window, hoping to catch a reflection. The fogged and frosted glass offered no help save for a mocking tease. "No, no, please no, " he pleaded, trying to wipe the fog off the glass in hopes it would help. He was too caught up in the task to notice the pain in his lungs subside when he spoke, and inevitably breathed. Frantically, he scraped and scratched at the...the...skin covering his insides. Surely this was just some sick joke. When his...finger nail... broke the skin, drawing out a thin line of blood, the epiphany of the truth hit him like a punch.
Confused, and slightly angry, he started tearing at his skin more, before slamming a fist into the window. Quickly, he jerked back with a yelp, his fingers now protesting at the sudden coldness of the window, and at the pain it caused him to punch it. The window, unscarred, just stood there, still frosted, and mocking him. It was panic, that quickly turned to anger, that made his mind irrationally strike out at the window again, and again, each time jarring his hand and doing no damage to the glass.
He was drawing his left arm back for an eleventh hit when someone yanked on the color of the jacket he was wearing, plopping him down on his bum. The kid tilted his head up to glare at the women who stood above him, lips pursed and hands on her hips. Her gray eyes where narrowed to tiny slits, her eye brows knitted dangerously close together. Even a fool who happened to be a complete stranger could tell this squishy was angry. Her words only confirmed his suspicion. "What do you think you're doing, young man? Jack takes me off course, and I have to waste almost half an hour getting your butt out of the snow, and trying to warm you up when lord knows I have better things to do. And what do you do? You try to tear up my cabin the moment you wake. Now stop bashing my window, cause he hasn't done a thing to you, and tell me why you where out in that snow in the first place." Her words where quick, with a sharp tint, making it hard for him to understand, but at the same time, giving him a feeling he should obey. Of course, the fact that she was the first squishy was larger then him didn't help matters at all. The black and brown down that sat next to her only hastened the guy's compliance. "Well? Start with your name. I don't have time to stand around all day. Wood needs to be stocked, dinner cooked, dogs tended, sled unpacked and more. So hurry up." The women snapped.
He was about to make a retort about how a mere squishy shouldn't boss him around. However, some common sense must have gotten threw his original panic, making him realize he had no clue about the strengths and weaknesses of his current body. Plus, she sounded like she did know what she was doing, which was more then he could say for himself. "I...umm...My...My des...name is Frenzy." he finally replied. For a while, there was silence, and he had to awkwardly look up, trying to read the women's face.
The women pursed her lips even more, before she lowered a hand to help him up. "Weird name. I'm Atka. He's Jack. Now tell me, do you're parents know you where out in the middle of nowhere with nothing on?" She asked, her eyes remaining locked on his, as she pointed at a seat, obviously telling him where to sit.
In a small dip of defiance, Frenzy stood where he was, rather then sit in the chair like a good little doggy. He glared at her for several moments, wondering how to answer that question. Was Soundwave even still alive? Did he too, get turned into a squishy by the blast? Or was Frenzy the only one unfortunate enough for this? With a shiver, Frenzy hoped it was the latter, for it would be ... terrifying to see certain transformers as squishies. Yet, he hoped it was not so as well, for who ever wanted to be the only one? "More or less. " Frenzy answered, "They know I was exploring. " he lied, looking at Jack instead of Atka.
Atka frowned, knowing the tale-tell signs of a lie when she saw one, and avoiding eye-contact was one. Yet, she shrugged it off. Even if his parents didn't know, there was no way he could get to them now. The river was melting a bit due to a heat-wave, and she wasn't willing to risk her dog team by going over it again. If he hadn't had been in such critical condition, she would have turned around and taken the kid all the way back to town then to her cabin, even if it meant taking two day's off her schedule. They would have to wait till the water froze back over, or untill the snow melted completely and catch a ferry. Either way, it wouldn't be safe to let him leave for quite a while. "Hmph. No matter. You're lucky Jack wouldn't let me drive on and leave you behind. Else you'll still be in that snow. " she said, before turning around, to start heating the stove to prepare for dinner for both the humans and the dogs. "You know how to chop wood? There's an axe by the shed. Make yourself usefull and place some logs in that bucket by the fireplace. " she ordered, dismissing the boy.
Frenzy frowned. He didn't know how to chop wood, but it didn't sound hard. In fact, it sounded a lot funner then just standing there in the room. Reluctantly, he opened the door, and shut it when the cold hit him like a wall.
"Well, go on. Wood isn't going to chop itself." Atka chided from the stove.
A/N: Ack, I'm not a good writer e-e. This is my first fanfiction ((my first real attempt at story writing other then roleplay, actually), so it's probably pretty horrid. And don't expect good personality depths -. I'm only good at those in roleplay's, apparently.
If someone else would like to take my basic idea and write a better story, please, do so. I'm more the reading type then the writing, but I've had this idea in my head for a while, but haven't found a story to read it. Basically, most of the autobots and decepticons got transported to a different dimension, one where they don't exist. Because they don't exist, they are also turned into humans. I can't say the whole plan of my plot, but that's the very basic idea, so if you want to take that and twist it to something else, go ahead. I would be -extremely- happy to be able to read my idea from the words of a much better writer.
Oh look at me, I'm gibbering. Anyway, please R+R. Thanks^^
PS: Like I said, I'm a reader, not a writer. Constructive criticism would be love.