Author's Note -

1. I only discovered the story of Transistor five days ago, and I've been bawling on and off over various parts of the saga ever since. This is intended to be the first part of a series of fanfics, all of which are about me trying to work through the "so many feels" I've had ever since.

2. This fic is mostly canon and follows the same general storyline as the original version, but there are a couple important alterations which will quickly become apparent, and these changes will impact how Red's story unfolds. I've also tweaked the combat system, so that if Red were to lose all of her health, she wouldn't simply lose a Function and keep fighting. She'd just die.

3. If there's one thing I've learned in my research, it's that a lot of Transistor is open to interpretation, and many of the questions posed by the game lack a definitive answer. So if you disagree with any of my own personal interpretations of how the world of Cloudbank works, keep in mind that this is an AU, not a full-blown analysis on the canon storyline.

Chapter One

Red wouldn't have guessed that she might actually miss something about the repeated ambushes by Process units, but as she made her way through the Empty Set hallway, she realized for the first time that there was something she missed after all. At least their battles were noisy.

She hadn't really thought about it before. She'd had a lot on her mind initially, of course. And in her old life, before everything had changed so dramatically, Red had sometimes enjoyed walking the Cloudbank streets late at night, when there wasn't a soul around, and she could compose melodies in her head without it being drowned out by background noise. Tonight the silent, deserted city blocks hadn't been all that different.

But there had always been sounds inside the Empty Set. Even in the daylight hours when the theatre was closed, you could always find at least one person rehearsing the latest musical number selected by the public. Even in the hours right before dawn, when the ticketgoers had all gone home and most of the musicians had called it a night or relocated to a nearby bar, there was always someone still on that stage, taking advantage of the Set's excellent acoustics. Several times that one person had been her, although that wasn't counting . . .

Red closed her eyes and sighed mournfully. Best not to think of her savior until this whole bewildering nightmare was settled and she could honor his memory in peace. But it was hard not to, when he should have been walking one step behind her and two to the right, keeping up an easygoing monologue about the life he knew in Cloudbank. More – serious topics were saved for behind closed doors.

She had imagined that she might hear his voice coming from the weapon that had killed him. He had been such a big presence in life that he should have filled the device up to overflowing. Instead the murder weapon had mocked her silence with its own. And now Red couldn't help but notice that the Empty Set was deathly quiet as well.

She could really go for a song right about now. But her voice had abandoned her, as if the machine had somehow severed her vocal cords along with his mortal coil. The music was there, but the words defeated her.

Maybe she didn't need words though.

Experimentally Red tried humming the first few bars to one of her older songs, and was pleasantly surprised when they slipped right out through her lips in perfect pitch. So clearly whatever was blocking her from speaking, it wasn't a physical condition. Something mental or psychological, then.

It didn't come as a surprise, after the night she'd had. It wasn't every day that you found yourself attacked in your dressing room by three complete strangers wielding what had looked like a levitating surfboard, only to watch as your trusted friend appeared practically from nowhere and took the killing blow meant for you.

Don't think about it, remember? Save it for later, she thought to herself. Stick with the humming.

So Red did. She could only imagine the reasons why her subconscious had first chosen "In Circles", but it didn't matter. It was probably going to be a long night, and she'd probably end up humming her entire catalog by the -

"Red. Red. Red. Red. Red."

Lost in thought, Red froze as she passed through the double doors and found she wasn't alone. There was someone else there, and it wasn't human, even if it almost seemed to be dressed in a bizarre fascimilie of human clothing underneath that large red-and-white . . . striped . . . parasol.

No. Nonono.

"Red. Red. Red. Red. Red."

The humming died in her mouth as Red realized that she wasn't staring at a Process, not exactly. She was staring at a Processed Sybil. She spared a quick glance at her "sword", for lack of a better word.

S. Reisz, Processed: 98%, Disposition: Meticulous. The words flitted briefly across the surface of the sword in her hand.

As if the wordless melody of "In Circles" had been lulling her to sleep, Sybil looked up. Her young, lovely face was now blank and white, like a theatrical tragedy mask. A large red circle, not unlike the eye-like circle in the center of the "blade" of Red's sword, stared balefully at her.

"You are here you are here you are here I knew you'd return I knew I knew"

Red hadn't even given a single thought to Sybil, not since the attack on her life happened. As she stared, horrified, at the thing Sybil Reisz had become, Red fervently wished she could go back to that place of blissful ignorance.

If asked a few minutes ago, Red would have said that Sybil was the only living thing left in Cloudbank who she could call a friend. The socialite event planner was a well-known patron of the arts, and having her in your corner could be marvelous for your career. When Sybil had become as passionate a fan of Red's music as any teenager hovering outside the Empty Set's stage door, Red had welcomed the attention.

It had certainly seemed to pay off, judging by her poll numbers, but at some point Red had realized she needed to put some distance between herself and Sybil. It was clear that Sybil was not only passionate about Red's music, but also had been ensnared by Red's celebrity. Red had seen that rapturous look in the eyes of many fans of hers, and she had grown worried that Sybil was making ever-increasing demands on her time. Her self-appointed bodyguard had predicted that Sybil would only try to leverage the contributions she'd made to Red's career into getting even closer to her, but Red had to make the effort anyway.

It wasn't that Red didn't like Sybil. In fact she felt that they could become great friends, given time. But not with Sybil worshipping the ground Red walked on, it wouldn't be healthy. By keeping Sybil at arms-length, Red could wait until Sybil's ardor inevitably cooled, and then let go and see what happened. Maybe she'd just move on to her next infatuation, or maybe Sybil would become more willing to take it slow, and they'd become friends like normal people.

And it had been working, Red thought as she watched the Processed monstrosity rise to its full height. Clearly frustrated by Red's inattention, Sybil had unhappily backed off. Red could see it in her eyes, Sybil had taken Red down from the pedestal she'd put the singer on. And then carefully, before Sybil could pull away completely and despite the reservations of her "security", Red put a feeler out, suggesting they have coffee sometime. Sybil rewarded her by responding hesitantly, her feelings still bruised, rather than rushing back to Red at full speed.

Coffee had been nice too. Red grieved that clearly it would never happen again.

"Sybil" closed her parasol with a loud snap. Red couldn't help but notice how it was even longer than her own sword, or how sharp and pointed the end of the umbrella looked. Or how Sybil's death-mask face didn't betray the slightest ounce of infatuation, affection, or even interest.

"Help us help us help us won't you we only wanted your help"

Red stepped backwards, shocked. Sybil's voice was so distorted that it was no longer recognizable, and her face never even twitched, but even that couldn't hide the anguish that colored every word she spoke. Maybe 98% of her had been Processed, but the other 2% was alive, and awake, and sounded just as horrified as Red felt.

Red tightened her grip on the sword and lifted it in the air defensively. The greatest tragedy was that the only way she knew how to "help" Sybil, was to put her out of her misery.

Sybil pointed the brightly colored parasol-turned-spear at the sky.

"The Process cannot be stopped, cannot be stopped, cannot be stopped . . ."

I'm going to try anyway, Sybil.

And then, moving so fast that Red could barely react in time, Sybil aimed the spear at Red's heart and launched herself forward. It was only because of the Jaunt function of her own weapon that Red was able to avoid it.

The next five minutes were an awful blur for Red. The Sybil-thing ("alone alone alone I told them I'd always be alone I told them") hadn't shown her any mercy, and Red could only return the favor. Careful use of the sword's Turn ability had enabled her to deal heavy damage to the beast, no matter how much it pained her to hear the tortured cries ("you knew I would wait I would wait I would wait for you") every attack wrung from the last of Sybil's soul. The monster summoned various nameless but familiar Process units in turn, forcing Red to waste valuable time destroying them while Sybil healed itself.

Still, Red thought as she stealthily slipped behind a row of pillars, she had destroyed them all. Sybil had showed no signs of summoning more, and now it was just a matter of wearing her defenses down, until Red –

She hadn't been as stealthy as she thought.

One moment after Red first lost sight of the Sybil-thing, it came barreling through them at top speed. The parasol lance shattered them all, and because her sword's Turn ability was still recharging, Red could only reflexively stumble backwards to escape being impaled.

Sybil pursued her though, and almost before she knew what had happened, Red found herself cornered. The tip of the Processed spear hovered a mere inch from her neck, so close that Red's chin hid the point from view. She couldn't move left or right, only forward, and even Turn couldn't help her when moving in the only direction left open to her would lead to her trachea being pierced.

Red had failed herself, and the man who saved her, and the friend who seemed to weep with every strike aimed at Red. She'd failed them all.

The parasol didn't move though. What was it waiting for?

A song maybe?

It was true that Sybil had only become aggressive after Red had stopped humming. Maybe a melody would tame the savage beast?

Worth a shot. At the very least she'd die making music.

Very carefully, fearing that even a swallow could get her killed, Red picked up where she had left off earlier, humming more of "In Circles".

There was no sign of a response at first, but then the parasol trembled. It didn't retract at all, so that Red was still effectively pinned to the wall, but something was clearly happening.

"Your voice it is gone it is gone it is gone"

Maybe I'm onto something here, she thought to herself, even as she noticed that the small part of Sybil that was still human sounded even more distressed by this latest discovery, than she had when Red's sword was ripping her body apart with mini-explosions. So she started humming louder.

The parasol's tremors now seemed to run all the way up the monster's arm. From the way it twisted its body, it looked almost as if it was trying with all its might to push the spear through an invisible wall.

Come on, come on, Sybil, she thought. Just pull it an inch back and I can slide past it and Jaunt away.

As if Sybil could hear her thoughts, a maddened cry of pure despair rose up from her body.

"I won't save you I won't save you I won't save you"

That doesn't sound good.

Suddenly the tremors ceased, leaving the deadly umbrella right where it had always been. The creature brought itself to its full height once more, and Red felt like the red orb in its midsection was directing only hatred toward her.

Ironically, that was when Sybil made its mistake. It swiftly brought the arm back, clearly preparing for a brutal strike at full power.

But no matter how swift it was, there was no way it could be swifter than Turn, not when it had just given her a yard, not when all she needed was an inch.

Turn! Jaunt!

In the blink of an eye, Red turned the tables on Sybil, placing herself directly behind it. Then she stacked every Crash and Spark she could, aiming it all directly at its unprotected back, before Jaunting once more and putting some separation between herself and the coming explosion.

Goodbye, Sybil.

The resulting explosion of light was very bright, but not enough to prevent Red from witnessing her attack tear Sybil into shreds. What had once been her skirt fell about the room in pieces. It was over.

Or so Red thought, before she realized something was still moving on the ground. Are you fucking KIDDING me?!

Hurrying towards it, Red lifted up her sword so she could Crash whatever it was and destroy it once and for all. Her hand was stayed, though, by the sounds it was making.

Red watched, transfixed, as something that looked slightly more like the Sybil she'd known crawled across the floor. Crawled, because it was missing its legs. Even worse, she was sobbing.

"I saved you I saved you I saved you I always I always wanted to"

The sword descended slowly, forgotten, as Red could only watch, almost overcome with sorrow. Through the agony and the madness, the note of pure relief in Sybil's "voice" was impossible for Red to miss. We would have been the best of friends, wouldn't we? If we'd had the time?

"Finally finally finally we can be"

This is for all the times we would've had, Sybil.

Then she quickly brought the sword back up, hilt in the air, pointed it at poor, broken Sybil, and drove it down with all her might.

The computerized scream was loud but mercifully brief, as the thing that used to be Sybil disappeared. All that was left was a familiar dark blue cube, and that too vanished quickly as it practically pounced on Red's sword and melted away.

Red sagged, suddenly exhausted. But she was satisfied, because the blue cube had been Sybil's Trace. There had been something left of her, and now it would live on, even if that was only another Function in her sword.

She could rest for a minute. She'd earned it, hadn't she?

Staring down at the spot where what was left of Sybil used to be, Red would spend that minute remembering her as she was, by humming "In Circles" in its entirety. She wasn't exactly sure what Sybil had done when she'd been cornered, but Red felt certain that it really had saved –

"Oh God, I love that song," Sybil said, her voice coming directly from the sword.

If she could have, Red would have screamed.

To be continued . . .