Title: Judgment Day

Author: Gixxer Pilot

Summary: Jesse Sensor made plenty of little mistakes in his life, but nothing terrible came of them. This mistake was different. This time, he stood up Annabelle Lennox up on prom night. Companion to '5 Times the Hatchet'.

Author's Notes: This is a gift fic for Anasazi Darkmoon, because she deserves not only the credit for this story, but for putting up with me in general. In her review for this fic's companion piece, "Five Times the Hatchet," she made a reference to Wheelie and a Chihuahua that made me cackle out loud. The mental image was too good to ignore, and because my plotbunnies multiply like tribbles, this fic was born. It's not my best work, but it was fun to write. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I dig nice stuff. Unfortunately, I don't own Transformers, so I don't have the money to buy a ton of outrageously expensive merchandise or to pay off a huge lawsuit. It's why I do these disclaimers. J.J., heirs of Gene: please don't sue me! I also don't own Terminator's one line in this fic, so if Mr. Cameron would kindly leave me to my fics, I'd be much obliged.

Chapter 1

Being a teenager was a distinctly tough job.

It was especially rough for Jesse Sensor. Though he was born with the proverbial silver spoon, it really was hard work being attractive, athletic and suave. Everyone loved him, and everyone wanted to be him, even if he treated most people like absolute garbage. To balance a social life with a very busy sports schedule left very little time for studies, and what miniscule time was available to him had to be spent of good grooming practices. He was a junior who was privileged enough to walk in social circles with the seniors and many of their college friends. Schoolwork wasn't important, especially when football took front and center stage.

Jesse was, and always had been, a football star. From the time he played peewees, he was the standout on the team. Whether he was playing defensive tackle, running back, or quarterback, it was a rare time in which he wasn't able to prove his athletic superiority over his peers. There was only one position Jesse positively could not conquer: riding the pine pony. Kids like him did not sit on the bench, period. Jesse and his parents made it abundantly clear that naturally gifted children like him, even at nine, should be given the star treatment and afforded every opportunity to play. If that meant some of the lesser skilled children didn't get their fair share of time on the field, it was simply their fault they weren't good enough. Life was about winning, and winning at all costs. It was his father's motto, and Jesse felt he'd done well to adopt it.

It was quite pathetic that, for the most part, Jesse and his family had everyone fooled. The majority of the small town did buy that he was a perfect child, one who was simply prone to minor lapses in good judgment. The bottom line was that the kid was a good actor, and he used that skill to every advanced. At the tender age of seventeen, Jesse had perfected two art forms: lying and crying.

So when their precious little football star brought home barely passing grades, or when he was given detention for stuffing some poor, unsuspecting freshman in his locker (there'd be no way he'd be suspended – the team needed him), his parents chalked it up to 'boys being boys' and scolded the school for daring to discipline their perfect little angel. In their eyes, their son could do no wrong, and the rest of the world was simply jealous of his natural talent, abilities, and the fact that he was going to play pro ball and make millions. Yes, the rest of the world was just jealous, and Jesse thought it made people do ugly things.

Because of the ugliness, Jesse thought the best reaction was to, instead, be proactive. So, he took whatever opportunities he could find to launch preemptive strikes at anyone he felt might try to show him up. Facebook, YouTube and Twitter had become massively easy ways to weed out the weak and pathetic, the jealous haters, and the ugly girls. Along with football, cyber bullying had become his specialty, and it was skill of which he was proud. No one got the better of Jesse Sensor, ever. He maintained two separate Facebook accounts, an 'A' and 'B' list. The 'A' list was for his true friends, the small handful that were just like him, while the 'B' list was for the people who Jesse led to believe were on his good side. Not only did he believe in winning at any cost, he also believed that it was wise to keep his friends close, but his enemies even closer.

One of the things he liked to do from time to time was pick out a shy or otherwise unattractive girl, take her on a couple of cheap dates, and then leave her hanging in the most heartbreaking, public fashion when she thought he was truly interested in her. He'd even kept a score card and a calendar, publishing the updates via his A-list Facebook with the play-by-play, making fun of the poor girl without her knowledge.

The night of the junior prom, Jesse lay back on his bed, legs stretched out on his bed. He exhaled contently as he grabbed his phone and punched in his email address and password for his A-list Facebook account. Quickly updating his status, Jesse laughed when he thought of how much work Annabelle Lennox probably went through to primp for the evening, only to find her date was nowhere to be found. She would not only have to pay for the dinner he reserved, but by tomorrow morning, everyone would know the truth about what she really meant to him. She was nothing in their school; her family was average middle class, and her parents were nothing spectacular. She was a loner, a military brat whose father did something super lame in the Army while her mom was a traditional stay-at-home parent. Annabelle never told him what it was her father did, and because he didn't really care, Jesse never bothered to ask.

He thought it was going to be just another harmless prank to pull on a gullible, quiet girl like Annabelle Lennox. He knew no boys had expressed even a remote bit of interest in her. Jesse was also aware that, much like any other girl, she wanted to go to prom. Though she wasn't hard on the eyes, she was just weird, always hanging around with the military friends of her father's. Jesse also swore she often talked to Will's truck, almost like it was aware of her. He'd caught her once growling at it, calling it 'Ironhide' and yelling at it to behave itself.

Jesse had made a show of it when he broke up with his flavor of the month girlfriend, a freshman named Julia who could have cared less she was dumped. He wooed the Lennox girl with his charm, his wit, and most certainly his money. Jesse wasn't all that concerned about Will, even though the man was an Army Lieutenant Colonel. The young man was a civilian, and a minor, so what was the worst that could happen? Besides, the base Lt. Col. Lennox ran had to be straight up dumpy if there were no other soldiers whose children attended their school. Jesse's personal theory was that the base was made up of a couple dozen people at most, and that Will, probably the worst commanding officer in the Army, was there simply to finish out his commitment before rejoining civilian life. He had to be a slacker, or grossly incompetent when it came to all things fighting. No other explanation, at least in his mind, made sense.

Annabelle Lennox was just going to be another figurative notch in his status update, something to conquer and then throw away. He would get the amusement out of watching her fall apart, and Jesse would go on knowing he was superior to everyone in the small town he called home.

It really was too bad he was too cocky to foresee his downfall.

A glowing red light source, similar to the torches carried by soldiers, peeked out from the shrubs in front of the Sensor house. The red light moved left, then right and finally elevated itself out of the green bushes. But instead of a flashlight's beam, as single set of small, red optics hovered above the windowsill. Wheelie silently cursed when his foot snagged on a stray branch, nearly causing the RC truck to topple back to the ground. He'd conquered the prickly bushes and blasted windowsill countless times on his previous visits, but each successful attempt didn't make any subsequent climbs any easier. Reaching for the windowsill, Wheelie hauled himself up as quietly as he could and poked his head inside.

Jesse Sensor was lying on his bed, legs crossed at the ankle with his headset blaring the sounds of the latest Grand Theft Auto video game. Watching the game as Jesse played, Wheelie snorted when he realized GTA's newest installment included 'aliens' that looked suspiciously like him and his Cybertronian counterparts. The young man shouted exuberantly while waving the wireless controller around in the air as his character ducked, bobbed and weaved about the screen. Jesse blasted away, face set in deep concentration while his tongue poked out the right side of his mouth.

Wheelie made himself comfortable on the windowsill. After observing Jesse for nearly a month, he knew the kid's routine was rather habitual. After video games, he'd check his Facebook, post a couple of sentences on his status that flirted with the line that constituted slander from freedom of speech about the latest school drama, tweet something gross about a girl's private life he had no business knowing, and finally settle in to sleep. Now, all the RC truck had to do was wait.

Two hours later, Jesse completed all of his bullying tasks and shoved his phone in his pocket. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head. Wheelie inched forward when he heard Jesse's breathing even out, signifying the teen was asleep. Luckily, Jesse was a heavy sleeper, so even if Wheelie was less than silent, the chances of being caught were slim to none.

Wheelie tiptoed down the windowsill and into the room. He eased the phone from from Jesse's pocket and plugged in the connection device from his fingertip to the device. The connection instantly allowed him to begin rifling through the latest content updates. Wheelie shook his head, cut the connection and replaced the offending piece of technolgy. The kid truly was a piece of work, and any sympathy once held was now long extinguished. After reading the latest Facebook post, Wheelie was looking forward to exacting a bit of payback. That step complete, he moved over to the teen's beside to wait for the right moment.

When he heard snoring emanating from Jesse's bed, Wheelie slowly scaled the blue comforter. Sending a quick prayer to Primus for all to go well (he'd repeatedly reminded the Autobots that 'Cons were allowed to pray, too), Wheelie skirted the edge of the mattress until he was level with Jesse's face. He sucked in a deep intake of air and reached out one tiny finger. Right as he was about to make contact with Jesse's shoulder, Wheelie yanked his hand back. Smirking evilly, the little RC truck extended his hand again and flicked Jesse's face right between the eyebrows.

The teen awoke with a start. Confused and disoriented, the first thing he saw was the red glow of Wheelie's optics and matching sadistic smirk. Mouth agape, Jesse sat straight up in bed, a scream making its way past his lips as nothing but a dry croak.

Wheelie sat back on the nightstand and crossed his legs. He flared his optics to the brightest setting possible without burning them out and dulled his paint to make the bright glow of the red stand out against the dark of the room and his coloring. "Heya, Jesse. Nice night, huh?"

The kid's jaw dropped. He opened and closed his mouth twice, his eyes wide enough to almost look as if they were popping out of his head. Shaking his head, Jesse slapped himself hard in the face. There was no way. A remote controlled toy truck was talking to him. The teen pulled the comforter up tot his chest and pointed with one shaking finger. He was finally able to locate his voice somewhere in the pit of his stomach just in time to squeak out, "You - You're - You know my name! You're talking to me! But, you're a robot! Who are you? What the hell are you?"

Wheelie snorted. So much for this kid being a hardass. In his time with the 'Cons, the scrap drone had seen sparklings react with more dignity. This was going to be easier than he thought, though it wasn't an unpleasant surprise. "I'm an alien. I thought that much would be obvious, even for a dumb jock like yourself. What did you think I was? Some whacked out, illegal genetic experiment gone wrong?" Wheelie answered, the tone of his voice dripping with condescension.

"I - uh," Jesse stuttered. His brain was still spitting out sentence fragments and partial words. "What do you want?"

Wheelie hopped off the nightstand and made himself at home on Jesse's bed, the teen backing up as far as he could with each of the former Decepticon's forward advances. The RC truck thought if Jesse was afraid of him, it would be a glorious moment when he met the true reasons behind the mission. "What do I want? Well, I want a lot of things. A nice girl, a roommate who doesn't snore, world peace, you know? Those kind of things."

"But that's-," the teen cut himself off.

Wheelie snapped his fingers dramatically. "Oh! You mean right now, with you?"

Jesse nodded dumbly.

"Well, the easiest thing to tell you is that I'm here because I think you're an ass," the little Autobot said. "You're a conquest for me, something I'm here doing only to prove that I can get the job done. I think you know all about that."

The teen swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wheelie pulled out a small knife-like object and started dramatically filing at his fingertips, small metal shavings dropping on to the bed. He looked right at Jesse with a demented gleam in his optics and smiled. "Oh, I think you do, but that's not my job. I'm here to give you a little encouragement in the right direction. The way I see it, right now, you have two choices. One, you can keep sitting there, looking like an idiot who's about to wet himself, or two, you can do the honorable thing and start running. I'll even give you a head start. What do you think?"

The young man, still scooting backwards, finally ran out of real estate and toppled off the end of the bed. His actions answered Wheelie's challenge well enough. Jesse scrambled to his feet, the blanket dropping away and landing on top of Wheelie. In the brief moment the Decepticon was under the covers, Jesse ran for his door. He was muttering incoherently, and he didn't notice his uninvited guest crawl out from under the bedding. Standing on wobbly legs, Jesse looked more like a newborn foal than a lifelong, gifted athlete.

Wheelie was all too happy to follow him through the door. Perhaps his presence would be a bit of encouragement to keep Jesse moving. Maintaining a distance great enough to keep him moving, but not to trip him, Wheelie herded the teen in much of the same way a rancher would herd cattle. He moved left and right, making sure Jesse stayed in front of him. Moving toward the door, the teen finally got the message, turned and fled. "Yeah, that's right. Keep moving," Wheelie hollered.

The teen staggered to the door, nearly tripping over his baseball bat on his way to the stairs. Jesse fumbled with the stubborn doorknob on the back door before the offending item cooperated. He burst through the threshold and into the relative safety of his back yard. He sprinted through the wet grass, all while looking back over his shoulder for Wheelie's position as the RC truck gave chase. Clad in nothing but his socks and sweatpants, Jesse ran for the woods adjacent to the family's property. As he ran, he yelled, "There's a satanic mechanical Chihuahua in my bedroom trying to kill me! 'Come with me if you want to live', my ass! The evil Arnold was right! It's judgment day, and they've come for me!"

:Do you think he's going to be able to do it?: Ratchet asked over the internal comm. to the dark Topkick positioned to his left.

The two Autobots were sitting, in their alt modes, in a small clearing on the outskirts of the small town situated near Diego Garcia. Wheelie had promised them he'd be able to deliver Jesse so the three could exact a bit of payback, but over the years, both Ratchet and Ironhide learned what Wheelie said and what Wheelie did were often two separate things. Both knew there was a fifty-fifty chance it would work.

:It'll be fine, 'Ratch. Just have faith.: 'Hide scratchy voice rolled through the comm., the weapons specialist's own special brand of sarcasm fully present with it. :Though I'm surprised he agreed to help us at all.:

:Well, I'm not holding my breath.: Ratchet snorted loudly, the medic still unsure as to how two mechs as different as Ironhide and Whelie managed to get along rather well.

Even though Wheelie sometimes reminded him of Sam's pathetic little rodent Mojo, Ironhide had somehow form an alliance of sorts with the smallest Cybertronian in NEST. The majority of the base, after it had calmed from the incidents with The Fallen, had been split in opinion. Some thought 'Hide and Wheelie would get along great, while others thought the weapons specialist would just step on the former 'Con and be done with it. Perhaps it was because they were both a little crazy, loved to beat things up, and were all around foul-mouthed and opinionated that they hit it off. That, and Wheelie never tried to lubricate Ironhide's foot.

Ironhide shifted on his axels, metal joints creaking when he moved. :Wheelie's a persistent pain in the aft. If he doesn't scare Jesse out to us, he'll annoy him enough that we'll look like the more attractive option.:

:Huh. Agreed.:

As the sentence left the weapons specialist's mouth, both mechs picked up the sound of rustling leaves and frantic breath coming toward them from the row of houses roughly a half mile away. Their sensors registered one human life form, heart rate and body temperature elevated, making his way toward the clearing. He was being trailed by one tiny Cybertronian signal.

Smug, 'Hide sent over the internals, :Huh. What do you know? You owe me, medic.:

Ratchet reciprocated by cursing a blue streak.

But as Jesse burst through the clearing, both 'Bots sobered immediately, readying for the task at hand. They sat patiently, knowing that the kid would run for the only familiar thing out in the dark of night, and something in which he'd likely find protection. The yellow of Ratchet's paint attracted him like a moth to flame. Jesse hurried over, testing each door handle, all while cursing his luck that none would give. When he was certain he wasn't getting into the Hummer, he went to the ominous looking black Topkick. He tugged and pulled on each and every one of Ironhide's doors, slamming his fist into the glass when none would open.

Ratchet and Ironhide signaled each other over the comm., the weapons specialist 'accidentally' knocking Jesse on his ass when he transformed as payback for the fist to his window. The teen crab-walked away from the shifting metal and moving parts, stopping in shock when the two Autobots completed their transformation sequences. Ironhide spun the gyros up on his cannons, and Ratchet used his full height and patented 'you will listen to me this instant' glare to the maximum effect.

"Oh my god. There's more. I must have done some really whacked drug, and I didn't know I did it. That's the only explanation. The only one," he mumbled.

Ironhide and Ratchet's blue optics glowed against the starless night sky. "Oh, yes. There are more of us. What you see here, young man, is just the tip of the iceberg, as you humans would say. But, that's a story for another time," Ratchet informed in his usual dry tone.

"If you're here to kill me, just do it quick!" the kid said, throwing up a hand in front of his face.

It was Ironhide's turn to roll his optics. He leaned down, his face mere inches from Jesse's. Stuffing the cannon attached to his right arm in the kid's face, 'Hide growled, "Kill you? If I wanted to offline you, I'd have you in tiny pieces before you even realized something was wrong."

Putting up his hands in a placating gesture, the teen said, "Look, if this is about the bologna on Matt Cooper's new car, we can talk about it. I didn't think it would strip the paint that badly." Jesse threw in a smile, hoping it would calm his interrogators. "And, writing 'My girlfriend is my sheep,' with the bologna probably was going too far."

"That's not why we're here," Ratchet responded, though he made a mental note to figure out what exactly bologna could do to his paint job.

Wheelie finally chose that moment to struggle his way through the clearing. Upon seeing him, Jesse shrieked.

"Nice of you to join us," Ironhide quipped as Wheelie moved over to take his position near 'Hide's left foot.

The red glow of the formerly enemy optics poked through the weeds, the shutters of Wheelie's visual devices barely high enough to eclipse the height of the tall grass surrounding the former Decepticon. Standing up, he pointed one finger toward Ironhide. "Hey! I'd love to see you try to run through all this crap when it's bigger than you, all while you try to keep up with this moron," he motioned toward Jesse, "when he won't slow down!"

Ironhide scoffed, his appreciation for the RC truck's lack of fear evident in the smirk on his face. He looked down and said simply, "Grow." There was no venom in his tone, and it was said with the lighthearted teasing only found among comrades.

Growling, Wheelie reciprocated by using one his newly-acquired human gestures. He raised his tiny silver hand and extended his middle finger.

Confronted with Wheelie's lack of class, Ironhide threw back his head and laughed. Wheelie was petulant and somewhat immature, but he was honest and fun. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to insult me. Remember I've been around the medic here for longer than you've been online, son."

Jesse took the moment the three aliens were distracted to try and slip away. But, as soon as he moved, the yellow one's head snapped back. He reached out one hand and tripped the teen with practiced ease. Jesse regained his feet and struggled against the hold Ratchet had around him.

"No! No! No! I didn't do it! Don't kill me!" he wailed. Jesse's pleading degenerated to pathetic begging, crying and sobbing, the teen crawling to cling to Ironhide's toe. 'Hide looked expectedly scandalized.

Ratchet popped open a compartment in his left forearm and produced a small jug of water. Uncapping it, he dumped it over Jesse's head. "Oh, for Primus' sake. We're not here to hurt you! Now would you just shut up?"

The water was cold, and most certainly a shock to his system. Jesse sputtered, clearing the liquid from his eyes while Ratchet's words made their way to the processing part of his brain. "Wait. You're not here to kill me? Then why are you here?"

Ratchet straightened and held up one finger. "You're here because you are a young man who is terribly misinformed. You need an etiquette lesson, and we are here to give it to you."

At his blank stare, Ironhide roared, "ANNABELLE LENNOX, YOU IDIOT! That's why we're here!"

Jesse's face fell. The prom. The game. In his haste to get away from Wheelie, he hadn't noticed that the black Topkick was eerily similar to the one Annabelle often drove. He looked in the windows and caught a glimpse of the sticker stuck to the back glass. Realization washed over him, a sense of foreboding close behind it. "Oh, hell no! Ironhide? You're who she was yelling at?"

Hide covered his surprise well. "That's me. And I don't take kindly to pieces of human garbage like you treating my friends the way you treated Annabelle. I've seen your Facebook page and your Twitter account kid, and you're undeserving of the life you have. You need some manners, boy."

Wheelie mumbled something about the pot meeting the kettle, but was cut off by Ratchet's hand to his head.

'Hide, pulling a page out of Prime's playbook, dropped to one knee. "I don't like you. I never will. But we wanted to tell you that we're going to be watching you. All of us. And, like my friend here said, there's a lot more of us you don't know about. We moonlight as ordinary cars. So, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, just remember that we'll never be far away."

Wheelie elbowed his way in. "Yeah! And if you ever do anything to hurt my friend again, I'll be visiting you every night for a little one on one session!"

Jesse visibly shuddered. "I-okay! I'll never do it again! I swear!"

"Oh, somehow I highly doubt you'll keep your word. You're a liar and a cheater, Jesse Sensor. But one day, you'll get what's due to you," Ratchet added. "Now, go back to your nice, warm home and forget this ever happened."

The kid bobbed his head up and down. He turned and disappeared into the night. Wheelie rolled over to where he was standing and picked up a small, black object. "Hmm. Jesse's phone. I'll bet we could - Hey, Ratchet? Did you record all that? Because I have an idea."

Annabelle Lennox arrived at school the next day, fully intent on living through another day in hell. She hated her school, and she hated the people. They were all stuck up snobs, especially one Jesse Sensor. She couldn't believe she fell for him and his ridiculous charm. It was foolish, it was stupid, and it was utterly embarrassing for her date to stand her up on prom night.

Not only did he stand her up, but his no-show also stuck her with all the night's expenses. The dinner, the limo, all the non-refundable money she couldn't' get back she was forced to pay. Sure, her dad and the Autobots offered to help, but this was her mess, and she was going to clean it up. But it wasn't just the money. It was the fact that Jesse had no respect for her, or apparently for himself.

When Annabelle turned the doorknob for her first hour English class, she noted instantly that the tone of the room was different. The other students turned to stare at her when she walked in, but this time, they weren't staring at her with condescending or vicious gazes. Instead, she saw a little bit of pity, mixed with gratitude. What was going on?

Taking her seat, Annabelle got her homework out of her bag and prepared to turn it in. People were turning and whispering, and she kept hearing words and phrases like, 'the Facebook jerk' and 'what an asshole' mixed in with the general conversation of the room.

Finally, Annabelle could take it no longer. She turned and addressed the room. "Look, I know you guys all hate me, but if you have something to say, I'd appreciate it if you'd just say it to my face. I know you all think I'm a loser, and whatever. I've accepted that. You can think that all you want. I don't care. I just want to know why you all hate me so much, so just talk! You all do it so well behind my back every day of the goddamn week, so why should doing it to my face be any harder?"

Sarah Robertson, one of the most popular girls in the school, tugged gently on her sleeve. "Anna?"

Annabelle whirled around to face her, anger flashing in her eyes. "What?"

"Check Facebook. Someone posted Jesse's 'A' list status updates. We know the truth about him now, and you were right," the girl said meekly. Even more quietly she said, "And, we're really sorry we ever doubted you about Jesse. He really is a jerk."

Taylor Westin, another one of the popular girls and Annabelle's least favorite person in the world, added, "And yeah! The same person who posted all Jesse's updates also posted a video of him begging, pleading and crying. It's all over YouTube. It was pretty funny!"

Annabelle looked around the room. The rest of the class had moved in the circle around the three. All the students were nodding in agreement. The young Lennox girl was shocked. What had happened to cause everyone who, just one day earlier hated her with a passion? How had everyone so quickly turned on Jesse? Annabelle smirked to herself. She thought she had an idea of the answer, and she was relatively certain it had something to do with a medic, a weapons specialist, and maybe an RC truck.

When the cosmos all aligned properly nearly sixteen years earlier to bring the Autobots, Sam and Allspark together, she never had any idea this would be her life. She also didn't realize that those events, set in motion when she was just a baby, would also net her a set of fathers, brothers and sisters who would protect her with every fiber of their being. Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet and an endless list of Autobots treated her as if she was their own child. The two sets of twins and the Arcee triplets treated her like a sister. And then there was the human memebers of NEST who took just as good of care as their Cybertronain counterparts. It was an eclectic family, btu a family none the less. It had its ups and its downs. There were far more ups than downs, but sometimes a base full of alpha personalities got old.

But, as Annabelle logged into Facebook and read all the updates and the comments, she decided that if the fatherly type figures decided they wanted to go all Papa Bear, she wouldn't ever complain again.

-FIN-