Author's Note: First off, this is a different universe from my other story. In this one, the Transformers movie does not exist. Secondly, I know a certain human's name is really close to a certain robot's name. Though this was not done on purpose, I do plan on having fun with it. Thirdly, reviews are welcome, no matter in what form. Flames will be taken as compliments (why else would you take the time to send a review, even if you hate the story?), constructive criticism is welcome, as well as any review that is just encouraging.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformersor any of its characters. I only own Marcee, Stacey, and someone who you won't meet until the next chapter. ;-)
The Allspark was full of energy and power, more than anyone, human or not, can fully comprehend. It was thought that with the destruction of the Allspark, its energy was lost, destroyed, but as most of us humans know, energy cannot be destroyed, merely transferred. Perhaps the Autobots thought the energy, once its container had been destroyed, had dissolved into the far reaches of space, like a grain of salt when dropped into a fish tank full of water. Perhaps they truly thought it had been destroyed. Maybe they just chose not to think about it at all, too great was their feeling of loss. That's not what matters, though. What matters is what did happen.
Marcee woke up with light falling on her face and a jaw-cracking yawn. As she sat up in her bed and stretched her arms, she realized she hadn't woken to her alarm. With panic beginning to grow in her breast, she turned the clock by her bed toward her. Nothing. The digital clock face was blank, black, off. She quickly, and clumsily, grabbed for her watch on the nightstand. 8:15. She cursed under her breath and scrambled out of bed, peeling off her night clothes as she did so and pulling on the nearest clean clothes, resulting in a mismatched mess that would have been embarrassing any other time. She ran her fingers through her messy brown hair in a vain attempt to smooth it out while grabbing her purse off the floor and dashing out her bedroom door, into the living room, and scrambling out the front door and down the steps to her car. She fumbled with her keys as she pulled them out of her purse, and barely managed to force them into the slot in her rush. Marcee sat down in the driver's seat while starting the car and closing the door all at the same time, almost shutting the door on a brown cloth shoulder strap. She backed out of the driveway and floored it as she rushed into town, trying to get to school before missing her second class. It was already much too late for her first. She continued to curse under her breath as she pulled onto the college campus, and noticed, with another flare of panic, that the sidewalks were all most completely empty. She grabbed her books from her messy back seat before scrambling out of the car and rushing down the sidewalk, almost running into her friend Stacey as she did so.
"Woah! What's the rush, Marc'?"
"My alarm didn't go off, late for class, gotta go!" Marcee breathed out in one quick breath and before starting to shove around the red-haired girl in front of her.
"Marcee, didn't you hear? No classes! They were canceled, thanks to that weird attack on Mission City and the meteors and everything. Calm down!"
It took a moment before Stacey's words finally hit Marcee. Her shoulders sagged and she almost dropped her books as it hit her. All that rush for nothing!
"'Guess I missed it. My power's out, so…."
"Eh, don't worry about it, Marc'. Just go home, get ready for the day like you're not in a rush, and watch the news while you eat breakfast. Nothing's making much sense right now, from what I hear."
Marcee let out one last breath before her breathing returned to normal, but it sounded more like a sigh. Her pale green eyes looked up to meet with Stacey's chocolate brown ones, and Marcee asked curiously, "If there's no class, what are you doing out?"
Stacey shrugged, her braid bouncing as she did so. Stacey wasn't necessarily a pretty girl, but she was far from ugly. Her dark red hair was in a braid that went all the way down to her waist, and her skin was pale white with only the barest hint of a tan. She was skinny, but with just enough meat on her bones so that she was a breath away from bony. Her nose was a sharp point, and her lips were a thin, pink line. Her eyes, in contrast, were soft and carefree, though, and the clothes she wore were normally of bright colors in rich tones so that they didn't hurt the eye and managed to look good at the same time. "I got tired of watching the news, nothing new is coming up, after all, and decided to take a walk, see what all this damage talk is about. I heard one of the meteors slammed into the science lab, and I want to see if the rumor is true."
Marcee gave a short nod, barely paying attention anymore. She had heard about the meteors, they had landed on Saturday. She had been in school that Saturday, and that night they had landed. She hadn't heard much about it, but during Sunday there had been some attack on Mission City. The news reporters were probably just now getting enough information to make an intelligent report. Why Marcee's power was out, though, was something she didn't know. The meteors hadn't damaged her power lines, so why didn't anything work? With a quick wave to her friend, she headed back to her car and turned the key before driving, much slower, back to her house.
Marcee's house was small, with only four rooms, not counting closets or the single hallway. She had her room with a window facing her driveway, and connected to her room opposite of the window was a closet with sliding doors. A small hallway, barely large enough to able to be called anything at all, connected the bedroom to a bathroom on the other side of the closet. Then, connected by an open doorway, there was the living room, the largest room in the house. It was connected to the kitchen by two open doorways and a half-wall separating them with small, wooden beams connecting the half-wall to the ceiling. The kitchen was only slightly smaller than the living room.
Marcee's first stop as she entered her house through the front door in the living room was the bathroom. She took a nice, long shower before dawning some decent looking clothes and brushing her hair. As she peered at herself in the bathroom mirror, she saw someone whom she never would have considered pretty, but many boys would have argued otherwise. She had wavy, dark brown hair with slightly darker streaks running through it that fell to about her mid-back. Her skin was lightly tanned, more so than Stacey's but still only a golden dusting. Her features were smoother and she had more flesh on her than her skinny friend. Her face was round and her nose was, seemingly, perfectly formed. She had strong hands, arms, and legs.
Marcee's next stop was the phone. She wanted her electricity working again before night fell and she no longer had light to see by. Unfortunately, the line was dead, and she had to use her, luckily, charged, cell phone. The operator for the power company said that they hadn't received any calls for over in her area, though they had had many wherever the meteors had landed. It wasn't long before a truck showed up and men inspected her wires. She walked out into her treeless front yard to watch them.
One of the men walked up to her. He was exactly the sort of man Marcee would peg for doing hard manual labor, though not necessarily in the electrical area. "Ma'am?" he asked as he walked up, putting out a large hand that shook Marcee's smaller one firmly. "Your power is definitely out, but we can't figure out what put it out. Do you have any idea?"
Marcee shook her head. "No, none. I just woke up this morning and it was out."
The man scratched his head and looked back at the two other men behind him that were already climbing back into their truck. "We've fixed it, but all we had to do was shut off the power flow and start it up again. Don't know what's wrong. S'pose it's not my job to really care, though. Bye, miss."
As the truck pulled away, Marcee couldn't help but feel that was an odd meeting. She shrugged it off, though, and re-entered her house. She scooped up her remote control, turned the TV to the news like Stacey had said, and headed to the kitchen to fix herself some toast, bacon, and eggs. She felt like indulging in something other than Pop Tarts after her hectic morning.
Marcee had a desk pushed against the half-wall on the living room side of the barrier with a monitor, mouse and mouse pas, and keyboard as well as the clutter of much of her junk. Underneath the table sat the CPU, though it wasn't on. Marcee was sitting in the wheeled chair in front of the desk and had idly picked up an object out of the pile of junk. It was something she had made in high school for art. Their assignment had been to make a creative are project using a box shape out of any material you chose. She had chosen metal, and had decorated the exterior of it with odd shapes and symbols she had found on the Internet years earlier. A man called Archibald Witwicky had made them, and as soon as she had seen them, she had become amazed by their intricate designs and shapes. She tossed the cube up and down her hand, occasionally even tossing it to her other hand. She watched the news with fading interest as each news report brought less and less new information.
"Some witnesses claim to have seen giant robots brawling with each other in a destructive fight that destroyed most of Mission City. Others claim…."
"Yeah right. Giant robots my foot," Marcee muttered at the newswoman, standing up and heading over to the TV, box still in hand. She had left the remote in the kitchen after eating her breakfast there at the small square table. It had been a couple hours since then, but she was too lazy to go in there after it. She continued to toss the box about, and as she pressed the button on her small TV, she dropped it onto her Gamecube still plugged in, its controllers strewn about the room after having been kicked about. She felt before she saw the change in the small, silver game console.
A yellow Camaro, sitting peacefully in a driveway like a normal car, shuddered, its pieces rattling together as it did so. Two robots, one with flames, the other, a bright neon yellow, lurched suddenly during their inspection of a concrete room within Hoover Dam. A black robot, sitting with his arms crossed in a room full of humans, one leaning against his knee, jerked in his position, jarring the man slightly. Something had happened. Something had changed.
