PREVIEW!!
This is a preview of what's to come, and so should not be considered a whole chapter just yet. Comments and Reactions to where this is going is much appreciated.
Title: Folie Á Deux ~ The Shared Madness of Two
~ Formerly "Voices" ~
Author: Rai WhiteNoize
Fandom: Transformers (Generation 01)
Characters: 1984 – 1985 Autobots & Decepticons; Various Human Characters
Pairings: Multiple; Eventual Red Alert x Angela
Rating: R
Genre: Family / Drama / Humor / Action & Adventure / Romance
Summary: When a Decepticon attack leaves an orphaned young girl in the care of the Autobots, all hell breaks loose as the members of the Ark struggle to learn the proper means of organic parenting, especially when a perfunctory brain scan from the Chief Medical Officer reveals serious mental instability in the child. Growing up under the watchful optics of the Cybertron Army is a strange and wonderful way to live, especially when you're the only one of your kind around, and crazy to boot.
Timeline: Takes place a few months before the events of the episode "Transport to Oblivion". Covers Seasons One and Two of The American G1 Cartoon; Various references to Binaltech (Alternators), Kiss Players, Teletraan 15 Go! Go!, and The Headmasters in later chapters
Warnings: Language / Violence / Alcohol Consumption / Blood & Mild Gore / Nudity & Suggestive Themes / Adult Situations / Transformers x Human Relations / General Fandom Crack
Disclaimer: "Transformers" and all related media, merchandise and trademarks belong to the GLORIOUS that is HasTak, and I am not making any money whatsoever from using them in this fictional work. I wish I owned Ratbat though. Sadly I don't.
Notes: Inspired by Fall Out Boy's newest album. No joke, I blame Patrick for this. "Folie Á Deux" is a psychiatric condition in which two individuals suffering (Unrelated) neurosis come together to become cataclysmically and exponentially crazier. Holy shit. And on a small side note, I think I'm falling in love with Angela something fierce. She's just so fun to write – And draw, and RP, and think about – You know? Ah, my mother hen instincts are showing up again. XD
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Chapter One: Angela, Age 8 (1984)
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She was very small,
The red and ivory Security Directory of the earth bound Autobots' first thought had been a decidedly obvious one, as he stared down at the filthy, broken little thing grasped lightly in the Freightliner Tractor Trailer's blue servo, the look on the compassionate and far too kindhearted Prime enough to wretch a most painful feeling in his erratic Spark. "How could –" Optimus paused for a moment, vocal processors hitching slightly with static before he settled on shaking his head and drawing the small, tortured child closer to his chassis, holding her just over his Spark chamber.
The sudden movement and gentle warmth elicited a small whimper from the human child, and she raised her still working arm and clutched loosely at the Autobot Leader's grill. Bleary purple eyes looked up at him with mild trepidation and some other emotion the Lamborghini could not place, and she offered her savior a pained half-smile that pulled excruciatingly at the mechs' Sparks. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead turned away and heaved violently, making sick sounds as blood erupted from her mouth and pooled at her lap, streaking down between her legs and staining Optimus' fingers an angry crimson.
She blinked, looking mildly surprised, before closing her mouth and collapsing completely against his windshield chest, bloodied fingers leaving bright shocks of scarlet over the reinforced glass. Red Alert felt a little sick himself, cobalt optics widening in a mix of alarm and paranoia as he took a step back from the mess, almost falling over the equally stunned white Vanette Ambulance in his haste. "Ratchet!" Optimus' raised his voice sharply, tone dangerously clipped as he cast a quick glance at the stunned and slightly disturbed medical mech standing almost dazedly across of him, urgent tone pulling the Chief Medical Officer from his shock.
"Right." Taking a bold step forward, Ratchet reached out for the bleeding, very possibly dying child, an almost unnatural grace and infinite care in his motions as he gently clasped cherry red fingers around her equally claret stained form, her arms dangling between and her head turned to the side, just enough for Red Alert to see the full damage the poor thing's body – Her face was a map of bruises, her lower lip torn so badly it was a wonder she could still move it at all, her eyes deep cast in contusions and bloody around the retina. Her neck was completely abused, countless lacerations and burns and again with the bruises decorating her frail limbs and what little else of her body he could see under the flimsy, filthy rag she wore.
Her arm was undoubtedly broken, bent at an impossible angle it was never suppose to bend at, several (If not all) of her ribs ruined, if those painful protrusions from her midsection was anything to go by; both her legs in no better condition than the rest of her, assorted bumps and burns scattered about the pale skin; although they did not seem to be damaged severely, only quite weakened. She was covered in dirt and grime, caked blood and remnants of refuse decorating what insignificant expanse of her was not sliced and darkened and burned. He could only imagine – Though he would rather not – What damage she must be suffering internally, from the broken, wet sounds of her breathing and the way she had vomited her own plasma he could fathom it was not pretty. She bore the dark kisses from whatever machinations the Decepticons had put her through, and it made the hardened Security Director's intake tanks lurch.
She sat up, knees touching and legs spread out in opposite directions, a hand propped in between them to support her frail frame. She was surprisingly fully alert for someone as damage as she was – Ratchet and Wheeljack's reports had not been pretty; the child was dying, it was only a miracle she had survived through all that time she had spent under Decepticon torture, and the ensuing battle between the Autobots and said aggressors. She had stabilized, the medic said in curt, hard tones, the masked engineer by his side looking for all the world like a lost soul with the painful expression easily readable in his cerulean optics.
How much time, Prime had asked. Ratchet had looked away, briefly, before responding with a most disheartening of shrugs. "Who can say," He murmured, "She'll go when she's ready. Hell," He cast a wary, tired look at their commander, suddenly looking much, much older than he had just moments before, "She might stay. If she has a reason to." And that was why, after much deliberation among the upper brass (That is to say, those already present and Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide, and Blaster); it came to be that they would strive to find a reason for the child to live on – Never mind she had lost everything, her entire family, everyone she ever knew, her entire life – They would not stand idly by as a human withered away and died.
Optimus let out a cycle of heated air through his vents, rubbing his nasal plates with his right servo as he rested briefly against the rust-orange walls of the Ark. He looked up at his commanding officers, azure optics dimming slightly in terrible guilt and remorse. It had been his fault, he firmly believed, it had been his fault that all those people had suffered so long and so terribly to satiate Megatron's crazed pleasure; had been his fault they were all dead and buried and no more, an entire population wiped out and he left with a damaged, possibly dying child.
Primus, a child! The thought alone caused his Spark to rupture intensely inside him, the pressures of responsibility and the terrible burden of leadership weighing even more heavily now on his metal shoulders. He straightened up though, determined not to show his turbulent inner despair and self-imposed feelings of blame and accountability to his subordinates. Instead, he pivoted heavily on a foot, turning slightly to look back at his men. "Shall we go take a look at the child, then?"
"Sir," Prowl murmured lightly, optics narrowing infinitely small, "Given the child's post traumatic condition, I don not believe it would be wise to send us all in at once." He paused, a sour, almost violent light coming over his facial features, "Truth be told, after what those Decepticons did to her," His words dripped with a venom he very rarely showed to anyone, and Wheeljack actually cast a nervous look at the tactician and stepped away discreetly, "I do not believe she will ever truly be able to feel comfortable around our kind."
Prime regarded his Second in Command with a deep, contemplative look. "Yes, of course. What do you suggest we do, then?" Optimus asked, ever open to the suggestions of the Datsun Police Car, who took a moment to process the number of alternative actions they could take. "Well," Next to him, their resident Saboteur piped up, blue visors catching the light, "We could always send someone closer to her size over." Prowl looked at the Martini Racing Porsche, the almost approving upward twitch of his lips not lost on the spy. "Now that's an ideah," The crew's Weapon Specialist agreed, heavy accent underlying his words. "We could send in one of the Minibots," Blaster suggested, flashing a grin at his fellow officers, "Someone nice, who gets along well with the humans." He nodded confidently at his words, golden optics sparkling merrily, "Bumblebee."
"…Nngh." Wheeljack piped in from the corner, his optics trailed on the small female in the next room, his grey servos resting jauntily against the one way glass mirror. His expression was a somewhat troubled one, and it was not missed by the white and cherry medic. "What is it, 'Jack?" The engineer took a moment more to stare at the child, before slowly (Reluctantly, even) pulling his face away from the glass and turning to his companions. "Ratch, take a look." He motioned for the CMO to come over and observe the child, and the rest of the occupants of the room came over as well, drawn to whatever it was Wheeljack had wanted them to take a look at.
Over on the other side of the tempered glass, the broken little girl Optimus Prime had rescued from the destruction had unraveled the bandages around her wrists, her broken arm draped loosely over her lap as she began to pick and pull and pinch and tear at her flesh, exerting just enough pressure to rupture the healing scars and open still-fresh wounds. She had a look of intense concentration and mildly diluted agony imprinted over her face, the tip of her tongue peaking out from between her lips as she continued to injure and mutilate herself, one of her eyes twitching violently at her ministrations. "Primus!" Ratchet swore under his breath, breaking away from the window and tearing out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the child's room.
Optimus made a sort of distressed half sound, quickly following the medic in an attempt to stop him before he kicked the door down and further scarred the poor thing. He was a little too late though, as he pushed out into the hallway just in time to see Ratchet punch the activation codes into the door's keypad, air hissing sharply as the hydraulic locks disengaged. "Ratchet –" Optimus called out, but the ambulance pointedly ignored him, sweeping into the room and coming up to the girl.
Over in the first room, the others stood there and watched, transfixed, as the medic got down on his knees and very slowly began to say something to the child, who had until then seemed oblivious to the mech.
"I wouldn't do that, little one," Ratchet spoke with a very unnatural gentleness, lowering his voice just enough to keep it from carrying across the room and out into the hall. Said little one made a small noise of acknowledgement, turning her head to face him so quickly he almost winced when her neck popped unpleasantly. She took a moment to look into his face, hand suspended in midair over her bleeding arm, a look of wide eyed surprise and mild curiosity shining through those strangely colored purple eyes. Her eyes moved over to the red crosses emblazoned proudly over his shoulders in a slow, almost lazy manner, before she let her hand fall to her waist as well, head cocked slightly to the side like some curious little bird.
She slinked onto her knees, never taking her eyes off the CMO, although he did not miss the way her shoulders stiffened forcefully as he reached a servo over, palm side up, fingers extended. "Would you mind coming here, little one," He spoke so very softly, his bright blue optics never leaving the girl's face, a very tangible warmth washing over her pale, battered frame. What she did next surprised him, because she had been incredibly docile only a moment before.
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He watched her, through paranoid-hazed optics; watched her grow while she watched him right back, through pain-clouded eyes. They didn't know that everyone was watching them both right back. RAxAS; Voicesverse. Starting a new storyline – This time, focusing solely on the good old days of Generation 01; specifically the episodes making up the first two seasons of the series, as well as snippets from a few Japan exclusive micro continuities. And even though it isn't immediately obvious in this chapter, I will be throwing in references to said episodes, alongside an original story concept I plotted out during my many late night DVD binges and internet raids. Will be working on this alongside a Beast Wars centered fanfiction piece and an AU Animated one as well; plus more chapters for "Seraphim" and "Nin!" because I can not seem to stop plotting lately. Damn it, and I need to draw more… Please read and review – I'd love to hear your suggestions and theories regarding this story – All flames will be directed to the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno. RAxAS; Voicesverse.