Sanguine

Disclaimer: Transformers characters are property of Hasbro/Takara, The World of Darkness setting is property of White Wolf Publishing. This work is fanfiction and is not intended for profit. This story is a cross-over between the Transformers and the World of Darkness. It contains some strong language, violence and the mention of social problems in the real world. If any of these things make you uncomfortable, please don't read.

"Run."

And she ran, boots clattering on the packed earth. They gave her a head start, eager for the chase, but not wishing it to be over too soon. The filthy Pack wanted her to provide them with sport equal to her defiance. She could not fight. She would not die. So she ran.

She was almost to the curve in the jogging trail when the Pack broke after her, remarkable restraint considering how badly they wanted her dead. She knew she would not lose them in the open, so she ran off of the path and through the darkness under the trees. With luck, she'd find a fence to put between them. None appeared right away, and she could hear the sounds of pursuit echoing loudly in the quiet, empty park. Ahead, the trees cleared out and the park ended in a dormant street of shops. She needed to get out of the neighborhoods. It was too dark and quiet here. If they caught her, she might have time to scream, but it was unlikely anyone would ever hear in time.

Two trashcans sat on the curb. She lashed out to flip them with a rattling crash. Unlikely to slow anyone for more than a second, but every second got her further away. And the noise might annoy someone enough to call the police.

No traffic here, so she ran across the street before turning right. This wasn't her neighborhood, but she knew the basic layout of the city well enough. Keep moving north and west and eventually she'd find the rail line and the more heavily traveled streets near Yankee Stadium.

Voices called behind her, street level and now higher. The more agile ones had taken to the flat roofs of the bodegas and squat apartment buildings. She spared a glance behind. The three closest were flagging, running short of breath. She grinned, if she could evade the meat puppets at street level, she might be able to get to ground somewhere and the rooftop watchers would lose her. She poured on a little extra burst of speed, feeling her blood hum as it burned to fire her flight.

"Mark her!"

"Don't lose her!"

"Grab those bikes, quick."

Bikes? What bikes? Her silent question was answered by the clank and sticky whir of bicycles being ridden hard on asphalt. Running footsteps faded behind as she turned down another street, but the bikes were coming up fast. She reached for more speed and felt the blood surge in response. She could outrun them for a while, but when they did finally catch up she'd be depleted and exhausted. She needed an escape.

Brighter lights ahead and the noise of traffic. Maybe she could make it across 161st Street and use the distraction and movement of the cars to cover her escape.

She felt the rough slap of a grasping hand on her back. She shook it off. Was it one of the bike riders? She glanced over her shoulder. No, it was that bastard Anton, leering at her as he reached out again. She couldn't let him slow her down. The intersection was a hundred yards away. She reached again; blood for speed was the bargain. She widened the gap between them, running full tilt down the center of the street.

As she lurched out into the flow of traffic at the intersection, she was illuminated by the brilliant headlights of the Corvette. Unable to react, she collided and slid up the brightly decorated sloping hood of the dark blue car. She looked into the horror-stricken eyes of the pretty boy in the passenger's seat for an instant before she smashed into the windshield and bounced away. Landing on the asphalt with a bone shaking crunch, she rolled to a stop in a heap by the curb. Closing her eyes against the pain and shock; she heard in quick succession the screech of brakes, the slam of a car door and a strange mechanical noise. She faded into insensibility with a faint smile, imagining the Pack's frustration at the loss of their prey.

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Raoul was kneeling next to the girl's still body. The boy held her wrist between his fingers and thumb, feeling for a pulse. The large blue robot stood, looking down intently at the humans as he absently rubbed the place on his abdominal armor the girl had hit in his car form. There were some minor scratches in the paint of the brilliant red flame-design, and the windshield glass was cracked a few inches above the hood. It was cosmetic damage that would have ordinarily irritated him, but he barely noticed it.

"Well?" he asked the boy, trying to hide his concern in impatience.

"Tracks, man," Raoul began gently, "she doesn't have a pulse that I can feel. And she's not breathing. I think she's…"

A wailing siren tore through the faint noise of the traffic and the murmuring voices of the small crowd of late night onlookers behind the Autobot. The flashing, screaming ambulance bustled briskly through the sparse traffic and stopped, turning off the siren, but leaving the lights to flash and dance over the stark scene. Two husky paramedics one tan, the other dark, jumped out of the vehicle. The tan one slid a long, flat board out of the back while the other knelt next to the girl's body and reached for her wrist.

"You the first responder?" the man asked Raoul as his partner laid the board on the ground next to the girl.

"Uh, no, I was, I mean we're the ones who, uh, hit her," the boy said, indicating the towering blue figure.

The paramedic looked up at the robot. "You're an Autobot, right?" he asked in a businesslike tone as his dark fingers rested lightly on the girl's pale wrist. "What's your name?"

"Yes, I'm Tracks," the Autobot replied. New Yorkers were never surprised by anything.

"Ok, Tracks, I'm Marty. If we can get your help here we can get this young lady to the hospital sooner," the man said briskly. "Tony, I want to board her before we defib, OK?"

The man's partner, obviously Tony, nodded and began to straighten out the girl's sprawled limbs, tucking her legs together and her arms against her sides.

Marty spoke again, "Tracks, can you move her smoothly and quickly onto the board? Make sure to move with me to keep her head and back straight."

"I certainly can do that," Tracks said as he knelt and reached down over the humans' heads. He gently lifted the girl under her shoulders and hips as the paramedics cradled her head and legs. "One, two, three," he called and they lifted her onto the back board. She was so light in his hands. By Primus, these humans were easy to break. Why had she run out into traffic like that? It was as if she appeared from nowhere, but he didn't have time to think about that right now.

"Good job," the paramedic said, sliding a bulky bag from his shoulder and unzipping the top. His partner, Tony, was strapping the girl down to the board, starting at her feet. She lay pale and motionless. Her skin looked even paler compared to her crop of short red hair and grungy dark clothing. "You're going to want to get your hand out of there, Tracks," Marty said as he held up two smooth paddles attached with curling wires to the device at his side. "I don't know what this defibrillator would do to you."

Tracks took back his hand, but stayed kneeling next to the paramedics. Raoul stood and moved over to lean against his friend. "I don't want to get in the way," he said, shrugging.

"Clear!" Marty called loudly. He applied the paddles to the girl's chest. There was a high electric whine and she jerked in a sudden spasm. The paramedics watched tensely for a moment, and then visibly relaxed as the girl's chest began to rise and fall gently.

"She's breathing." He turned to the boy and the robot. "We're in luck, but she's very shocky. She's too cold, must be bleeding inside somewhere. We're going to radio ahead to the hospital. We'll have the police meet us there as well. Can I trust you to follow us?"

"Yes," Tracks said in a flood of relief. He hadn't killed the girl, but he would still need to report the accident to the Autobot base. "I'll radio my command on the way there." He stepped back from the paramedics and transformed back into his sleek automobile form. He swung a door open for Raoul and the boy climbed into the passenger's seat.

They both watched intently as the paramedics loaded the girl onto a gurney and slid it smoothly into the ambulance. Tony climbed inside the back of the vehicle with the patient while the Marty closed and secured the doors. He then walked briskly around to the front of the boxy vehicle. He opened the door to get in and stumbled backwards as the vehicle shuddered and the door clouted him in the chest. The ambulance rocked violently, swaying on its heavy suspension.

Tracks had just swung his door open again for Raoul to get out when the back doors of the ambulance flew open. The girl stood, framed in the bright clinical light of the interior. The remains of the sturdy backboard hung in splintered fragments from her arms and back. She clutched a bulky red bundle to her chest as she jumped down. She looked quickly up and down the street and then ran off, dodging through the slow moving cars before vanishing behind a street cleaner.

"Dios mio, what was that?" breathed Raoul, scrambling out of the vehicle and running to the stricken paramedic who was just clambering to his feet.

Tracks transformed and looked in the direction the girl had gone. A few of the people from the crowd of onlookers were moving rapidly that way as well.

Raoul emerged from the back of the ambulance where he was helping the other paramedic to help Tony to his feet. The hefty paramedic was wide-eyed and almost as pale as the girl had been. He ran his hand nervously through his hair and sat down heavily on the back bumper of the ambulance. Tracks stepped closer to hear the humans' conversation.

"Never seen anyone so high," Tony was saying.

"Are you sure?" the other paramedic asked, pulling his walky-talky out of its hip holster.

"Damn sure. That girl is going to come down hard. She's a danger to herself and anyone she's around right now," Tony smoothed down his rumpled hair. "Look at what she did," he pointed to the interior of the ambulance.

White packages of bandages and pastel colored forms littered the floor along with the broken straps and splinters of the back board. Cabinet doors and drawers hung open, the mute evidence of a hasty, violent search. The red marked door of the empty narcotics cabinet hung twisted from one hinge near the front of the compact bay. Tracks noted that a small inset refrigerator at floor level had also been emptied. The yellow and black symbol on the door looked similar, but not exactly the same, to those which decorated some labs and power plants the Autobots had visited and protected in the past.

"You say this girl is dangerous. Why? Isn't she hurt?" Tracks asked. Even Decepticons knew enough not to keep fighting while injured. It was one of the only reliable ways of ending a fight. Hurt them enough and they'd give up or run.

"She's high, Tracks, on drugs," Raoul explained. "She doesn't feel the pain and she's not thinking right. That's probably why she ran out in front of you."

Ah, chemical mind and emotion control, there was just no accounting for the things humans did. "So what will she do now?" he asked.

"No one can say for sure. She might find a place to get out of sight or she might get in another accident. She's likely to be really volatile right now and that's dangerous to other people. Eventually the high is going to wear off and then she's going to go into shock. She needs medical attention. I'm going to put out an APB to have the police bring her in." Marty said, raising the radio.

"Wait!" Raoul exclaimed. "I bet she grabbed those things and ran because she though you'd turn her in to the cops for using. I've lived on the streets and I know what it's like. Let me and Tracks look for her. He's good at finding people and he's strong enough to bring her in for help without hurting her."

Tracks looked skeptically down at his friend, but he had to admit that he did feel responsible for the girl even if she did run out into traffic. It was very late, so there wouldn't be many other people on the streets to confuse the search. If they went now, they might find her before sunrise.

"We'll find her," Tracks said confidently, stepping back from the humans and transforming into his sleek Corvette alt. mode. "C'mon Raoul!"

Raoul pelted over to the car and jumped into the passenger's seat. Tracks slammed the door and wheeled around, hurtling down the empty street before popping out his wings and taking to the air. The flying car circled to gain altitude as the two friends searched the streets for the running girl.

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She awoke to the searing pain of the electrical charge attempting to restart her long silent heart. Merde, that hurt! Right, remember to move the chest up and down. Someone is watching.

"She's breathing. We're in luck, but she's very shocky. She's too cold, must be bleeding inside somewhere. We're going to radio ahead to the hospital. We'll have the police meet us there as well. Can I trust you to follow us?" a New York voice, probably a paramedic from the borough.

She risked peering out from between her lashes. A dark figure, close, she could smell the astringent scent of disinfectant and beneath that the warm, living smell of his skin. She felt the hunger gnaw at her, but she forced it down. Another figure, slender and farther away; this one leaning up against something large and blurry blue, was it the boy from the car? That would make the blue blur the car. A voice came from that direction.

"Yes. I'll radio my command on the way there," that was no boy. It was a strange voice with a familiar East Coast accent, but still somehow mechanical. She hadn't much experience of machines. A radio perhaps?

She shut her eyes tightly as the blue blur moved. The strange noise sounded again and then she heard the growling of a car engine. She felt herself rocking and swaying as the paramedic came close to her head and lifted the board underneath her. There was a rattling movement and a sliding metallic noise. Then the street sounds vanished with a muffled clunk. She was inside a vehicle; an ambulance. She could hear and smell a man, only one, so they were alone. Good.

She opened her eyes fully. He was big, but he was only human.

"Hey," she said softly. He whirled to look at her. She called on the blood once more and fixed him with her glare. He gasped and lurched backwards, rocking the vehicle in his haste to get away from her blazing eyes. She flexed her arms, snapping the backboard, and sat up. Then she ripped the straps from her torso and legs. The man cowered, watching her intently as she freed herself. She didn't have long. She couldn't let them take her to the hospital. The Pack would follow her there and she'd be trapped in the tall building while they isolated her and finished her off. She had to keep moving in the open.

The first requirement was blood. She didn't have time to feed from the paramedic without killing him. But maybe there was some whole blood here. She jumped from the gurney, shaking the vehicle and absently breaking off more of the straps from her chest and arms as she moved. There it was; an inset cooler with the yellow biohazard warning sticker. She opened the cooler. Ten units of cold blood would be enough to keep her going until she could feed. She dumped a red first aid bag and loaded the blood sacks inside. She was vaguely aware of the paramedic's cautious scrambling as he moved to stay away from her gaze. Ah, but she needed to give the poor things an excuse, didn't she? The contents of the narcotics supply went into the bag as well along with a rolled up body bag. Now, time to leave.

She threw open the doors and tensed to run. The boy was sitting in his car again facing the back of the ambulance, the other paramedic was nowhere in sight. There was a little crowd of stopped drivers and street people standing together behind the Corvette. One of the people in the crowd caught her gaze. Anton, that blonde bastard, grinned hungrily at her; time to make her move. She jumped out of the ambulance and danced off between the oncoming cars.

She had to get to a quiet place where she could take in the blood. Now that she was moving she realized that she had several broken ribs and she thought her right shoulder might be out of joint. If the pain continued, it would override her tight control over the hunger. She ran around a slow moving street sweeper onto the sidewalk. She scanned up and down the street again. There was a Metro station near the stadium to the west. If she could get there, she could hop a train to get away from the Pack.

She moved towards the lights, looking behind to locate her pursuers. Anton and three of his followers were making their way down the sidewalk towards her. She trotted along, staying close to the buildings instead of moving through the pedestrians. She could smell them well enough from here and knew that she was dangerously close to frenzy. Her pace was hampered by the pain in her arm and side, but she pushed on regardless.

She reached the elevated rail platform before they caught up with her. A few late night commuters and street people were at the station, but there was no train in sight. Anton emerged from the stairwell, flanked by three cronies and grinned again when he caught sight of her standing near the tracks.

"Found you!" he cried heartily. "I thought we had lost our chance to dance, Cassie, but it appears there is one more song to play," he smiled as he held out his hand to her.

Anton's meat puppets moved to be ready to intercept her if she ran up or down the platform. The humans, sensing a confrontation and not wishing to be drawn into it, retreated down the stairs in a shameful trickle. She really could not blame them, however. Whatever happened here went beyond anything human.

"I'm really not in the mood for dancing tonight," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "And you are a clumsy partner."

"Perhaps," he said evenly, taking a step closer, "But I've been down for this dance for a very long time, Cassie. In fact, I would say that you owe me this last dance."

She put the bag down, carefully, at her feet and straightened to fix him with the full force of her presence. "You DARE to presume that I owe you anything. You betray me. You squander the gift I gave you. You force me to play your asinine game. I owe you nothing. If you want anything of me come and TAKE it!"

He paused, not cowed (although the meat puppets were) but considering. "I agree to your terms," he said and launched himself at her.

She anticipated the rush and stepped aside as he lunged forward. As he passed, she jumped on his back and clung on with her strong left arm. He staggered, off balance, then regaining his equilibrium. Her injured right shoulder grated as she raised her hand to force his head aside, exposing his neck. She could feel the frenzy rising at the scent of his blood, so close to her hungry mouth.

Panicked, he whirled to throw his back against the concrete wall of the shelter to dislodge her. Her ribs and shoulder flared with pain as she was crushed, but she clung on, hissing and snapping at his neck. She felt the skin part as her fangs pressed down and his rich potent blood filled her mouth. She sucked and swallowed, drawing strength from her enemy.

He cried out, ordering the meat puppets to come. But they would not lay hands on her. Her show of defiance had done that much. He clawed at her, trying to drag her from his neck. She felt her mouth slip, her grip breaking as he flung her to the floor.

She licked her lips and crouched. He put his hand to the bleeding wound at the side of his neck. "You bitch!" he shouted, his own fangs lengthening. "I'll kill you!"

Lost to the blood frenzy she could only hiss in reply as she licked his blood from her lips. She bared her fangs and leaped for him again. Now he was the cooler combatant and he caught her with a hammer-like blow to the gut as she came at him. Her ribs cracked and slid agonizingly, but she ignored the pain, scrambling at his arm to grab him again. He seized her by the arm and thigh and threw her away. She rolled on the concrete and stopped abruptly against a warm, solid, metal pillar.

From above her head a clear voice called out, "Stop right there!"

Ignoring the voice, she scrambled to her feet again. Anton was staring dumbstruck over her head at something. If the fool was going to give her an opening, she would gladly take it. She leaped up again, but was halted in mid-jump as a dark metal hand caught her gently but firmly around the midsection.

"I've got her, sir," the voice said from behind her. "She is sick and does not know what she is doing. We are taking her for medical treatment."

She writhed in the inexorable steel grip, lashing out with fists and feet as she was held suspended above her enemy's head. He shook his head as if to clear it and pasted a worried expression on his face.

"Oh dear," he lied, "is that what is going on? My friends and I were waiting for the train when this crazy girl ran up the stairs and jumped me. I was fighting for my life. See, she bit me." He pointed to the bloody wound on his neck.

"That looks bad," said another voice below her. As she watched, a dark haired boy with a long ponytail examined the mark and then turned to face her. It was the pretty boy from the car. Why was he here? She could smell his living flesh. He wasn't Kindred. She fought the frenzy to regain control and her struggling slowed.

"I think you should come with us to the hospital, sir," said the voice from behind. "You can have your wound examined and give your report to the police."

Anton blanched. "Uh, well, you see, I'm not sure how you're getting to the hospital, and I'm here with my friends. I don't want to leave them behind," he gestured to the motionless meat puppets who had withdrawn to the safety of the stairwell behind Anton.

"I can summon an ambulance, if you wish," the voice said. As she forced herself to regain control she realized it was the same East Coast accent she had heard before. She twisted to try and see who or what was behind her, but the pain in her shoulder and side forced her to remain facing front.

"No, really, that's OK. We'll just head back home first and then go to the hospital later. Look, here's the train."

With a squealing of brakes and a sweep of bright light, the Metro train pulled into the station. She felt the platform rumbling faintly through the hand wrapped around her body. Below her, Anton and the three meat puppets walked quickly into an empty coach. The doors closed and the train pulled away, leaving the pretty boy standing alone.

"Scum," the boy spat. "If he was telling the truth, I'm Michael Jackson."

"They were fighting when we arrived," the other voice said reasonably.

"They probably jumped her, they look like the types," the boy said dismissively. "Anyway, four against one is unfair."

"That's true," the other voice mused. "Well, our young lady seems to have calmed down. Are you all right, miss?"

The platform swung beneath her boots as the metal hand turned and she looked up into the dark red face and bright blue glowing eyes of a giant metal man. Its body was the same blue color as the car that had hit her and there was a red flame design on its chest that looked familiar as well. An arched cowling over its head sported matching missile weapons that looked capable of doing a substantial amount of damage. It was a formidable looking machine, but it held her gently and spoke politely. Did it belong to the boy? She decided that if it was going to harm her, it would have already done so, and so an introduction was in order

"Cassie," she said.

"I beg your pardon," the metal man said in the now familiar cultured East Coast accent.

"M'name 's Cassie," she felt stupid, knew it was the aftermath of the frenzy and lack of blood. She wondered idly if the bag with the units of blood was still intact. Maybe the metal man stepped on it. "'d you see a bag?" she asked.

"A what?" it was very slow on the uptake.

"Bag, on the ground by the tracks. Is it still there? I need it," she was snappish, feeling the heat of the frenzy coiling idly under her tongue. She needed to feed soon. If the bag was gone, she would be forced to go for the boy. The thought of doing that made her uneasy, though. What would the metal man do if she hurt the human?

"This one?" the boy asked, holding up the red bag by the straps.

"Yes!" she cried in relief. It hadn't been stolen or destroyed. "Give it to me."

The boy responded automatically to the command in her tone, stepping briskly forward and holding up the bag. The metal man interposed his hand, snatching the bag away as she was reaching for it. Interfering machine.

"This is from the ambulance?" it asked.

"Yes," she wasn't going to lie.

"Then it should go back to the hospital, which is also where we are taking you, Cassie," it replied smugly.

"You can't do that," she wailed. Was nothing going to go right tonight? She had to get out of New York while Anton was off licking his wounds. She didn't have time for metal men.

"You see, Tracks," the boy unexpectedly came to her defense. "People like us, we don't do real well doing things the "official" way. She doesn't want to go to the hospital and I would feel terrible if we took her and she ran away and got hurt worse. Isn't there something you can do?"

The machine considered the boy's request for a moment and then shrugged. "I'm not sure what I can do, Raoul, but let's find a more private place to talk about it."

"Bag," Cassie said abruptly, sensing that the trip to the hospital had been at least postponed.

The metal man, Tracks, handed her the bag. She unzipped the top and felt inside. There were the worthless vials of drugs, the body bag, and, Remerciez Jésus, the un-ruptured blood bags. She almost snatched one out and pressed it to her hungry mouth, but restrained herself. No sense in revealing too much. A woman was wise to maintain some mystery.

"I need to use the bathroom before we go anywhere," she said as sweetly as she could manage. The boy, Raoul, shot her a significant look. He suspected something. "I'll be quick. There's one right over there. You can watch the door."

"I don't know…" Raoul began doubtfully.

"I promise not to run away on you, but if you don't have your machine put me down we're all going to be very embarrassed in a few minutes," she wheedled, squirming significantly.

"Pfft, his machine," the metal man said as he lowered her gently to the platform. "If you're not out in five minutes, I'm sending him in after you," it warned with an admonishing shake of its huge finger.

Rolling her eyes at the obstinate machine, Cassie fled for the privacy of the grimy station women's room. Once inside, she crouched in the first stall and lifted a bag of cold blood to her mouth. As she greedily drank the reviving fluid she wondered if she could persuade her unlikely rescuers to help her get out of New York.

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Author's note: If there are any WoD fans reading this the characters are based on Vampire the Masquerade. Cassie is Cassandra Devereaux a 10th generation Brujah anarch. Anton is her 11th generation Childe, recently gone over to the Sabbat. This is not important to know to understand the story, but might be of interest to anyone keeping score. There is a second chapter in the works, but I wanted to get this part published before Halloween 2007.

I honestly don't know if ambulances keep whole blood on hand, but it worked for the story. I didn't want Cassie to eat poor Raoul (yet).

Please read, review and let me know if you'd like to see part two. It will involve a road trip and more undead action.