This is a new story that came to me a while ago.

Title: Memories

Rating: M

Genre: Horror, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: After hundreds of centuries of fighting, the war is over. It may seem as though one side mustered up the courage to defeat the other, but I know that there was no true victor. The only victor was Death. Because everyone is dead and I am the only one left.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Sadism, Masochism, Pre- and Post-Apocalyptic Setting, Past Torture, Implied Cannibalism

Author Notes: I wrote this on a bus. You're welcome. Chapters will be relatively short. For the flashback, I intentionally switch tenses from the original feel of this introduction and in the flashback itself. Also, you won't be able to guess who the main character is for a while. Unless you really want to know—then you can PM me and maybe I will tell you. :)

Enjoy.

I stood at the top of the hill, the wind lapping at my body with a fatigued insistence. The sun had set long ago, having given into the moon after she had pestered him for quite some time to let her begin her reign of the mighty sky early. Darkness now reigned over the land, and the sky above me was pitch black, a blanket of deceitfully soft velvet. The stars had decided not to show.

Good. That meant that I wouldn't have to listen to their meaningless chatter.

The funeral had been hours ago, but I couldn't force myself to leave this place, no matter how hard I tried. They were all here. I couldn't leave them. I wouldn't. We were all attracted to each other, connected and bound by a single deity, and even if we tried we couldn't abandon each other.

We had been at war. The good guys and the bad. But for someone like me—and many others that shared my sense of the world in such a way—it had always been hard to tell who was who. We both had our moments where we would commit horrors that would shock or anger the other side, and those emotions were only strengthened when some would go to greater lengths than others.

I guess you could say that it was the cause of their deaths.

All of my family was here. Buried deep in the moist soul, resting in an eternal slumber that was softened by the soft velvet and rich mahogany wood that this planet had to offer; the only reason that we were burying them here was because our planet was dead and had been that way for a very long time.

According to tradition, the ones with the highest ranking or importance or influence would have the most elaborate caskets while the others had whatever they could afford to do. Having said that, my leader had a cream-colored casket embroidered with crimson and gold trimming and covered in the white roses he had favored during his time on this planet. The second and third in command had what they favored—things that ranged from a deep and shining obsidian casket adorned with the Latin phrases and Death and the Lady to a violent crimson coffin adorned with musical phrases and sayings that were once so well known back at home—and so on for the rest.

We had performed the traditional customs for when we lost our warriors—the prayer, the sacrifice, the thanks, and the sharing of memories both pleasant and ones that we would have rather kept in the dark. I believed it was pointless to do such a thing.

It was basically hypocrisy. The rituals were meant to be cleansing, and a time where there were enough peace and tranquility to make everyone forget about the gruesome war nipping at their heels. But since no one had ever seemed to care about it—even my leader, who had learned the hard way that not even tradition could reunite him with the demon his brother had become—they were meaningless. Everyone who had participated had said that they were forgiving and would follow the teachings of our creator, but then they turned and slaughtered comrades and butchered thousands under the influence of revenge and the assumption that it was the right thing to do.

I cannot really call them all idiots. After all, I had participated in such a thing.

But my mind could not help but lock in the fact that no matter how hard we tried, we were not human. We may look like it, but we were not. Not by a long shot. We had merely taken on their skins and had hoped to fit in. Sure, we had more similarities with them than we would care to elaborate on, but that did not make us human. We were ruthless killing machines, determined to wipe out any and all traces of the filth that was known as our enemies. Humans were another story. They had things that we had trained ourselves to abandon—hope, resolve, love, trust. It was what made up for their weak and pathetic race. They could not fight any invader physically, but if there was a mental fight, they would win, even if it did not seem so at first—of that there was no doubt.

I soon realized that I was grimacing, and my hand had risen to unintentionally brush against the thick and tender, still-healing scars that adorned the side of my neck and upper chest. They were grim reminders of the terrors that had occurred only a few days ago.

It was a normal start to our day. We were all gathered in the meeting room of the base the humans had provided for us. Our second in command, Prowl, who was an emotionless tactician and a feared warrior that terrified both factions, had called us there for a mandatory briefing. His mate—a dangerous assassin and saboteur by the name of Jazz who was rumored to be mentally ill—stood at his side with his signature deranged grin on his face as he clung to the larger male's arm with a deceptively powerful grasp.

In my opinion, the meetings only held purpose if there was an attack that the high command believed was coming or if there was some sort of information that each and every soldier needed to know. I knew that I was not the only one who believed that as I took in the expressions of those around me.

To the eyes of the newcomers, or anyone who did not know him well, our second seemed to be in a rather foul mood, if the dark glint in his amber eyes said anything about that. There was a reason that he was the head of our tactical division; Prowl used crisp and clean logic to understand the world around him. His emotions played no part in his decision-making, but to this day, I was still attempting to figure out how in the world he had managed to acquire a mate.

The meeting was a means to inform everyone stationed in our primary base that the high council—the unofficial term for the heads of the divisions of our army—had come to a consensus that a new set of rules were to be immediately put into motion in order to contain the rambunctious newcomers.

I remember that Prowl's cold golden glare had locked onto a specific group of people, filling then with unease and tension—they had a right to be nervous; they were related to the front liner twins, the only two people that our second could not stand. His mate giggled by his side, flashing rows of sharp white teeth, and trailed his claws over the deceitfully powerful dark arm that he held on to.

It was then that our security director had rushed in, causing a fuss like he normally did. His bright crimson hair was styled in a way that was similar to the nest of an organic bird, and his bright cerulean eyes were full of the paranoia and dementia that was often associated with his varied disposition.

Only that time, his anxiety spread and was taken seriously as a torrent of blood poured from his mouth and he collapsed, a dagger buried deep in his back. Our chief doctor rushed over, pushing everyone in his way aside in his urgency, and knelt at the injured man's side. His white clothes were stained with the blood that was pooling around him and our security director. He checked the man's pulse and soon gave a horrified shake of his head. Red Alert was long dead—despite the fact that the dagger had pierced his heart mere moments ago, there had not been enough time to save him.

The room began to fill with panicked murmurs, but with a dark growl from our second, the room immediately silenced. Since our commander in chief was not present, Prowl was in charge—and he knew it. He turned and headed to the front of the room, unperturbed by the way his partner trailed him like the way those organic Earth animals followed their creators.

"It is essential that we remain calm," he stated coldly, his presence filling the room with a dangerous efficiency. "We cannot become frightened over a matter such as this if we wish to figure out what happened to Red."

At that statement, the new recruits burst into a crazed frenzy, demanding how in the world they were expected to remain calm after someone had just perished right in front of them.

I tried to suppress my laughter and failed rather miserably, no matter the strange looks I received. If they believed that this was anything to be afraid of, I would have loved to see how they would react to the horrors of the battlefield. I had lost countless allies there, and some enemies as well. But the deaths of the heroes always seemed to have a greater impact than if a maniacal and bloodthirsty general was blown to bits.

All the while Prowl was calling for order—much like those judges in the human television shows that scammed people for money—and was growing increasingly infuriated with the way that none of the new recruits were listening to him and how their anxiety was beginning to spread to the experienced soldiers. His partner shifted, seemingly restless, and whined softly, his shark teeth bared and eyes burning crimson in his rising agitation.

"Enough!" Prowl was finally irritated enough to raise his voice in a rare show of rising anger. He trailed a large and long-fingered hand over his mate's side, comforting him wordlessly as his menacing golden glare pierced all those before him.

"Lower your voices. Now." The Head of the Tactical Division was far from pleased, and his tawny glare burned dangerously bright.

The murmur that had overcome the room immediately died down. Prowl was not a nice being when he was irritated, and there was no doubt that the new recruits had heard the stories about the numerous times that our Second had shot those that had opposed him on the spot.

The SIC snarled, baring his teeth as he glared viciously. "If you believe that this is a matter of something troubling, it is not, of that I can assure you."

"How can you be so sure?" A new recruit—a male with striking crimson eyes and pitch black hair with a constantly disturbingly pleased expression—had the gall to speak against the Second, and it had seemed that his comrades were right behind him. "Why should we trust you?"

Prowl's mate bared his teeth, eyes burning crimson as he stepped forward. Almost immediately, the room tensed. Jazz was almost as ruthless as Prowl, most likely the reason why they were mates, but he was known for having the tendency to snap and brutally tear into the ones that irritated him. I guess he hadn't liked the new recruits.

"What, you're going to sic your pet dog on us?" The crimson-eyed male continued to talk as if he did not notice the rising, thick tension forming in the air around him. I moved back and watched with morbid interest, even though my defenses were raised—even if Prowl decided to let Jazz have his way with the idiotic new recruit, I knew that at least someone with experience in hand-to-hand combat would have to be there to break up the fight. Since no one else seemed able to do such a thing at the moment, I was the only reasonable choice.

Prowl's icy golden glare narrowed to dangerous beacons of light, and a faint snarl appeared to curl his upper lip back and expose long and sharpened teeth. "Stand down, soldier."

"Or what? You'll let your pet tear me to pieces?"

Jazz snarled at the unwanted nickname, eyes burning a brief but vicious scarlet.

The action caused Prowl to whip around, eyes burning dangerously bright. "Either you collect yourself right now or I will personally drag you out of this room and do things that even you would disapprove of."

Jazz snarled, rolling his eyes at his mate, before turning and stalking away. He took to fuming in the shadows, bathed in his dark musings and manic hunger.

"And you." Prowl whipped around with a dangerous accuracy, his violent and manic glare fixed on the young soldier who had had the nerve to speak out against him. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

The soldier seemed unnerved at the sudden change in the Commander's calm and collected nature—I knew he was overwhelmingly nervous; the scent of his agitation radiated off of him in thick waves—but he put on a show for his watching and wary comrades. "You won't do anything. You told your pet to sit. You have no power without—"

He cut off suddenly, choking on his last word. A massive blade was sticking out of through his back, and he gasped and swayed, a trickle of blood exiting the corner of his mouth. He gave a horrific but surprisingly pleasant scream as the sword was pulled from his body, and with one last and futile breath he collapsed.

Prowl sniffed, staring down at the former soldier with a clear and heavy air of distaste. He sensed the stares on him and then his dark glare was fixed on the crowd of new recruits, who visibly recoiled and shuddered in fear. I gave a hoarse cough of a laugh, ignoring the glanced I received, and took to sitting on the cold metal floor, bracing my head on the flat of my palm.

"The same fate will come to you if you follow the idiotic words of your former comrade." Prowl's mood had darkened; it had changed from a brewing storm to a devastating tempest. "I suggest that you heed my advice wisely."

"Are you finished with your nonsensical rambling?" Ratchet had risen and was approaching the silently fuming Second. He looked like something out of those human horror films—his once pure white clothing was drenched and splattered in crimson, the evidence of the terrors that had occurred earlier. He and his partner had taken to moving Red's corpse out of the way, and the doctor even had someone working on scrubbing the bloodstains out of the floor. It was known by a rather startling amount of people that the doctor bordered on being obsessively compulsive about many, many things, and it had all started with the humans we had known inquiring if Ratchet was obsessively compulsive. After that, it had given everyone who was subject to the doctor's rages a reason to brush them off and blame them for a medical condition our kind was not known for having.

Prowl gave a deep sigh—the noise was dark and heavy, a sign of his rising bellicose nature and irritation. "Medic, I am not in the mood to be toyed with right now."

"Pardon." I unfolded my legs and stood with a silent grace, aware of the gazes fixed on me and the displeased rumbling of some of the senior soldiers. Disregarding them—honestly, they were not really all that important—I smiled softly and shook my head.

"We should take into consideration the fact that this endless disputing is will get us nowhere." My voice was soft and hoarse, most likely from my muted laughter that had a considerably negative impact on my throat, which had been injured in a battle long ago. "We clearly are all negatively affected by Red's death. If we want to find out what happened and who murdered him, we must put our differences aside and work together."

"That's easy for you to say. I haven't seen you so much as lift a finger or say a word until now." One of the recently disposed of recruit's comrades stepped up, fixing a bright blue gaze on me in a poor attempt to intimidate me. "Who are you to speak to us?"

"Me?" My eyes narrowed as my grin widened unnaturally. "Never mind who I am. You will know eventually." I turned back to the Second, boldly meeting his molten stare. "Sir, I mean no disrespect to you or your decisions, but I believe that it is best if we decide not to resort to extreme violence—however necessary it may seem at the time—to solve our problems. It will no doubt make the children uneasy."

Prowl stared at me for a long moment before stalking towards me. We were close to the same height, but his anger and sense of authority made him give the impression of towering over me.

"Assassin, I have warned you about speaking in public." His voice was dark but held an unusual but necessary warmth. It was only crucial because he did not want me snapping in public. "Your words will not mean a thing to the others."

"That will not stop me from speaking, and you know that." My grin faltered, darkening into a smirk. "I do not care what they think of me. I will voice my opinions, and I could care less if I make them irritated or concerned for my mental health."

The Second narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. "What do you know, assassin?"

I shrugged, giving a hoarse laugh. "Who ever said that I knew anything? I was only implying—"

"Do not speak lies, murderer." He was uncomfortably close, fanged teeth bared and eyes burning bright. When he realized that I was going to be as painfully stubborn as him, he sighed softly and shook his head.

"I will be waiting when you decide to speak." His eyes narrowed as the new recruits began to bicker loudly among themselves. Turning to face them, he gave them a look that stopped them cold in their tracks.

His molten glare pierced me, and it would have frightened me had I known him less. "What did you sense?"

My smirk disappeared, and my face settled into a mask of eerie indifference. "There was a presence here earlier, but I disregarded it without a second thought. It held no importance to me or to any of the Commanders, but now I realize that it was most likely the person or thing that killed Red."

"You did not think to notify the Supreme Commander, myself, or my mate?" Prowl stared at me with the same cold impassiveness that he gave the other soldiers. "We could have stopped such a disturbance from happening."

I stared up at him, eyes boring into his. "We could have. But it is too late now."

"Your unconcern for the life of your comrades is increasingly tiresome." The Second regarded me with a look of distaste before he realized who he was confronting. His stance remained as rigid as it usually was, but there was an almost imperceptible sense of relaxation and consolation that eased his powerful and lithe form.

"Well, what do you think made me this way?" I scowled and shook my head, a shudder passing through my body as my hands clenched into tight, painful fists. "Not everyone is what others think they are."

Before Prowl could respond, the gruff voice of the doctor interjected. "Are you finished? If you cannot see, I have urgent matters to discuss with our Commander."

I noticed the dark glance that Prowl sent me, but I disregarded it as I fixed a poisonous smile on the doctor. "Very well. I will hold this against you."

Ratchet rolled his eyes before taking the Lieutenant to a secluded corner of the room. I watched them for a moment before turning and sitting with my back against the wall adjacent to the bloodstained floor, resting my head against the cold metal and closing my eyes.

"What's going on?" A murmur of voices floated towards me, and my senses flared as I realized the crowd of new recruits had sent a few brave souls out to confront one of the older soldiers. It honestly amused me how wary they were of the older, more experienced soldiers. I would have taken to watching them and their movements and listening to their conversations had I the time.

Sighing heavily, I turned my head in the direction of the two that had approached me, fixing a cool and steady gaze on them. "Prowl and Ratchet are discussing what we should do until the Commander in Chief returns. Until then, calm down and stay out of their way."

"We can't." At the narrow of my eyes, the recruit speaking to me cringed and raised his hands as if surrendering. "I mean no disrespect, but we're restless, and are more likely to cause more trouble."

I yawned and closed my eyes again. "Are you speaking for yourself or the majority?"

"Enough with the riddles!" Another recruit—one I recognized as one of the two that had backed up the recently terminated soldier—stepped forward. "What in the world is going on? Why are you all just sitting here after one of your comrades was murdered?"

"Don't assume that you know us." A faint but powerful voice sounded, and I pursed my lips as I picked up the barely noticeable presence of one of my partners. He stepped forward out of the shadows with his trademark haunted grace, with his tawny eyes burning bright.

He surveyed the young man standing before him with a curious, intelligent glance. "You have only just arrived here. You do not follow the rules and procedures that we constantly put out for you. You have no right to criticize us when you can barely follow the most basic of requests."

"And that would be?" the brazen recruit demanded, crossing his arms.

Orange eyes burned as my partner frowned deeply. "Shut your mouths and stay out of our way."

"That is enough." Prowl's rumbling baritone cut through the tense air as he faced us again, the faint etchings of a snarl appearing on the edges of his full, scarred lips. "The remaining unit commanders have come to a consensus."

The murmured chatter almost immediately died down as everyone turned to face the commanders—people that included Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet, as well as some others that had not been present before.

"Red Alert's murder will be investigated with larger attention to detail in the following hours." Prowl radiated a calm sense of serious authority and impassiveness, and his golden stare was dark and endless. "Until further notice, all scheduled meetings, such as training and work shifts, will continue with no interruptions." His stare burned almost hellishly to curb the need to react or respond as he crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest. "There will be increased security. Curfews will be set. Other than that, there is no other need for alarm or panic. You are dismissed."

"Sir!" The recruit with the fiery temper yelled over the restless crowd, almost bouncing on his feet in his effort to be seen. "Sir! A question!"

Prowl's lips curled back in a feral snarl, but he did not acknowledge the younger male's presence.

Fire—as I deemed to call him—was not having it, and suddenly he was behind the Lieutenant, glaring ferociously. "I want to ask you a question."

Then, as if he had not seen or heard any of the warnings, Fire placed a hand on Prowl's arm.

Ratchet glared darkly, temper rising as he made to interfere should anything occur.

"Soldier." Prowl was glaring almost insanely at the wall before him, muscles tensed but trembling with his effort not to tear into Fire. "Unhand me."

"Then answer my question." The recruit was almost as stubborn as Jazz was on a good day, unrelenting even though his grasp on the Second's arm wavered.

Ratchet interjected, cerulean eyes bright. "Speak now, soldier, before your life is ended."

Fire hesitated—the first real wariness I had seen him display as of now—before releasing the Second's arm and stepping back hastily. After a moment of tense, stretched-thin silence, he spoke with a softer, gentler voice.

"What will you do with Fusion's corpse?"

I stared at Fire with narrow eyes. Had he dared to ask such a bold question? Even while Prowl was clearly attempting not to decapitate him?

But Prowl seemed to be calmer now, having regained some sense of control over his dark urges. "He will be disposed of properly."

"How?" The younger male was unrelenting, eyes burning bright. "Through the proper burial methods or through your own sadistic desires?"

Ratchet muttered something about working with a base full of idiots before he turned and headed away, seemingly disinterested.

"Soldier." Prowl stared intently down at the recruit, his age beginning to show through his threatening stance. "What has possessed you to inquire such a thing of me?"

"You left him." Fire was trembling, nearly violently, as he stared back. Tears began to show in the corners of his eyes. "You left him to rot."

"He did have other things on his mind," I murmured, shivering as voiced muttered in the back of my mind.

Fire ignored me, tears brimming now. "You impaled him on the spot and left him there as if he were nothing but a nuisance." He was barely holding back his sobbing, hands shaking violently. "Fusion was going to be my mate. We had everything planned, and yet you killed him without a second thought. So I will ask of you again." He glared through streaming eyes, determination and anguish written across his face. "How will you take care of Fusion?"

Prowl stared for a long, long moment, and I came to believe that he was going to murder Fire right there on the spot. But after that deep, heavy silence, he spoke.

"My actions are irreparable. I hold complete responsibility, and I have acquiesced with the fact that I will be punished someday for my inhumane and revolting acts." He placed a large hand on his chest, in the traditional sign of remorse and regret. "You have my absolute word that your mate will be taken care of properly. Of that—if not anything else—I can assure you."

The young recruit glared, eyes unnaturally bright as he remained still for a moment. "I will hold you to your promise. Of that, I can assure you." And then he was gone as if he had never been there in the first place.

Ratchet reappeared, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Are we going to do something about him?"

Prowl was silent for a moment, but when he pulled himself from his wandering thoughts he shook his head. Long and dark strands of his hair fell into his amber gaze. "For the time being, we will leave him be. He will make a fine example for the rest of the recruits."

"Now that that is out of the way, should we actually get started on what we were called here for?" My irritation was beginning to show now, and I did not bother to restrain it.

Prowl fixed his amber gaze on me, briefly baring his sharpened teeth in a snarl of agitation and loathing. But before he could speak, a shrill siren exploded, declaring its presence to the world. I watched as the Lieutenant muttered a few choice words and moved to shut off the alarm before the masses could swarm in.

"What is the meaning of this disturbance? Who has set off the alarm?" He growled in a dangerously emotion-stained voice, a thunderous rumble that was so different from his normal cold and logical demeanor.

"—pain...agony—"

Static crackled throughout the room and the speakers, sending a brief but bright stab of pain through my head. I cringed slightly, and the action did not go unnoticed by the doctor, who scowled at me and glared as if he were daring me to flinch again.

Prowl's face had returned to its normal emotionless state as he attempted to pinpoint the message's location. Jazz had wandered over noiselessly and clung to his mate's arm, eyes a clear blue as he growled something unintelligible and glared at the computer screen as if it were to blame for whatever he was irritated about.

"Be prepared."

The Lieutenant stiffened as the grave bass rumble of our Commander in Chief resonated throughout the room. Had the new recruits and our comrades that were more susceptible to emotion were with us, those two simple words would have pierced their frightened and agitated little hearts with unrelenting and heavy emotions.

"Prowl." Ratchet was tense as well as if he were preparing for an onslaught of some sort. "What are you doing?"

The larger male shook his head, sending cascades of crimson-black hair over his long and lean face. He said nothing, no doubt wishing to listen to the rest of the message.

"The end is nigh." Optimus continued on in a voice that was heavily stained with the burden of pain and agony. He was more than likely stranded somewhere in the hellish world outside of our base, and by the somewhat uncharacteristic emotion I could sense in his thunderous voice, he was gravely injured and slowly dying.

"The world will go up in a hail of burning ice. Death will—s-send a festering blemish in its wake—all will perish...none will survive—"

Before the transmission could finish, a deafening explosion shook the base, and my vision whited out as fire exploded around us. Prowl gave a barbaric roar, his mate snarling like a feral organic, and Ratchet was cursing in a seemingly endless stream as my legs gave out and I collapsed.

"—what in the—?"

"No!"

A dark and feral snarl sounded, sending unwanted pain throughout my mind and body. No, no, no. Leave me alone.

"Sir!"

Whooshing in the air. Getting nearer and nearer.

"Incoming!"

Gunfire and smaller explosions bashed my bleeding ears, and I moaned and shuddered in agony.

There was a chorus of terrified and enraged screaming, but it was muffled by my damaged hearing.

What in the world was going on?

"—get him out of here!"

"Sir, I'm not able to—!"

"Now!"

Through my fading vision, I could see Prowl unsheathe his sword and vanish into the hellish fire and smoke that devastated our base.

No—

—he couldn't leave—

Wouldn't...leave me...

Pain.

So much pain.

Leave me alone.

Won't leave me—

—can't leave—

Oh, Primus—

I moaned, pacing back and forth on the weary, time-worn land. My hands were trembling, and I was fighting the need to purge my systems. Black was darting in and out of my vision, and I knew that intense heat was radiating around my body.

You sick, manipulative little bastard...

I choked, falling to my knees as bile rose in the back of my throat. My body was telling me to purge whatever I had eaten before, but there was nothing to get rid of except bile and water.

I grimaced, baring my teeth as I shuddered violently. I was being overwhelmed by a dark sense of morbidity and abandonment.

I had no one left.

There was no one left.

You have yourself. Is that not enough? Stop acting like a child and get control of yourself.

I was not fine. I would not be in control. I was too broken to do something like that.

My head was beginning to pound, and I realized that I was shivering. My hands, in my uncharacteristic rage, had clawed at the flesh of my arms, and dark blue-red blood was beginning to trickle from the fresh wounds.

Pathetic.

With a huff, I sat on the charred and bloody ground and leaned back against a sun-beaten rock.

I needed rest before I continued on.

It came faster than I anticipated.