Hi! This is my first attempt here onsite, and it's my first TF story ever. I hope I'm doing it justice, because this idea has been rattling around in my head for about a month now. The storyline for [I]Dark of the Moon[/I], in my opinion, could have been so much better...and could have actually made SENSE, too. So, in the slightly selfish way that ficwriters are known for, I'm changing some things here. Not too much, mainly the fact that Optimus SO would not have offlined any mech, even Megatron, after asking for a truce. Just wouldn't happen. So Megs is still alive...somewhere...and then a few elements from other continuities came to mind, and so this is born.
R&R honestly, folks. Constructive criticism is welcome; flames just piss me off and I'm good at channelling Starscream.
Rating: M (language, violence, disturbing imagery, slash in later chapters, dubious consent, allusions of a...weird nature, sparkstuff. Alternate universe and original character(but not one of those nice things)...if any of this isn't your thing, then do us both a favor and read another fic.)
Continuity: Movieverse with AU elements, and a touch from others
Characters: Starscream, mainly...others to be determined. Soundwave and Megatron definitely, some Autobrats, and probably Witwicky too.
Disclaimer: I didn't come up with Transformers. If I had, then the movies' ratings would have been R and Megatron would probably be a [I]whole[/I] lot happier. Original character belongs to me, though.
**1: Awakening**
The first thing he felt was blazing pain, as if twin hooks had burrowed into his optics and wrenched, tearing the delicate sensor net with a strength that was horrifying, considering its source.
Oh, wait.
Then came the explosion that sent him into this state of near oblivion, watching with detached interest as he was quite definitively offlined, and offlined messily, by a group of squishies led by that little brat Sam Witwicky (what the pit is a Witwicky, anyway?), a Primus-damned cretin who seemed to have a knack for this sort of thing. He had managed to offline Megatron himself with the folded up Allspark a few years back, not exactly an easy task...but to torment and rip out Star's optics?
I KNEW I should have flown off and dropped that little slagger at ten thousand feet. Starscream thought to himself with a growl at his own stupidity.
'THAT is going to hurt in the morning,' Starscream thought sourly.
How many times had it been now? Seven? Twelve? Two hundred? No matter -how- many times he had "died," it still sucked more than Devastator on a bender. Starscream went to drum his tapered fingers on his thigh, remembering then that not only did he not have fingers, the thigh was slagged as well.
'I bet Wheeljack had something to do with this,' he said to empty air, his Sparkform invisible and inaudible unless he willed it so.
'I de-SPISE that walking time bomb. Maybe I got lucky and Shockwave finally captured him, he always did like 'em explosive,' he thought nastily.
Shuddering mentally at the mere thought of the...odd... Autobot inventor, not to mention his sociopathic Decepticon counterpart, he used his senses to try and discover exactly where he was. Usually, when regaining awareness after offlining, he found himself in a disembodied state, alone, and with the universe's worst processor-ache.
Normally, his movement while in Sparkform was as unlimited as his imagination, seeing as nobody had ever gotten around to building a force screen that blocked astral travel. This fact was on Starscream's processor when he literally walked into an invisible wall.
"The frag?" he snarled, wondering if he'd finally lost what few bits of sanity that remained with him over the vorns.
A claw slid delicately forward, definitely hitting a barrier that was as solid to soul-stuff as cybertronium was to his original form.
Again: "The FRAG?" More emphasis this time, his scientific mind quite refusing to contemplate something that shouldn't exist.
' I offlined on that mudball Earth,' Starscream thought impatiently. 'Their level of technology was just about sufficient for them to kill themselves, not to contain a living Spark. Therefore, what in the Pit happened to me?'
Shana looked down at the desk and mumbled several choice phrases, most of which would get her fired if her hypocritical boss overheard her. She reflexively grasped the crescent-moon-and-star pendant she wore, waiting for her aforementioned supervisor to finally quit flirting with the waitstaff and talk to her already.
Her boss leaned toward Marcy, who quickly took a step back, and Shana grasped the oddly colored metal more firmly.
As usual, the simple act of stroking the metal was soothing, something like meditation as she ran her fingers along the slightly sharp edges of the star in a rhythmic pattern. Forward, backward, tips grazing over the points and around the back in a tactile dance. It began to gather the warmth from her fingertips as she continued to watch Jimmy sexually harass yet another employee.
'What, that's got to be four just this morning. Fucking pervert,' Shana snorted inwardly.
Warmth. THAT kind of warmth, and Star knew that he shouldn't be feeling this while disembodied, not when the stark whiteness surrounding him offered no clue as to exactly where he was, not when his form was little more than a glowing point of light, and definitely not while he was alone.
All Starscream knew was that he felt as though someone was diddling his wingtips, both at once even, no mean feat when you considered the Seeker's wingspan and oh, the fact that he no longer even HAD wings.
A particularly sensitive node was barely nudged and crimson optics flashed almost the color of blood, settling back to normal as Starscream balled up his right servo and cold cocked himself right between the optics in an attempt to wake his Spark from what was obviously some perverted flux. The sensation continued and he hit himself again, gasping in a bit more than just the pain from an intentional facepalm.
It didn't stop the insane pressure that streaked points of charged energy straight down his backstruts all the way into his nonexistent interface array, which felt pretty damn existent at this point. Star had always been highly easy to arouse, especially in the face of the unknown or while in danger, so the slow burn was literally driving him to press against the invisible walls in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
Shana worked her fingers worriedly, scanning her boss as he stride toward her with mixed feelings of contempt and fear. Her movements became sharp, tugging on the chain, jabbing the point of the topmost star into her thumb as a distraction.
'I NEED this job, unfortunately, and damn it, that means kissing this dickhead's ass. I hate my life. Can it possibly get any worse?'
Of course, the gods laugh whenever any being states such…
Primus laughed.
A thin crack in the pure whiteness stood out because of its obvious difference, the fact of it being a feature in an otherwise completely blank canvas. Starscream moved his "hand" toward it, his innate curiosity overwhelming even the basic programming that told him to look, Primus damn you, before you lose a hand! His metaphysical wings still tingling from the unknown onslaught, he stretched toward the crack...and was abruptly pulled halfway through. The feeling was both intense pleasure and ice cold shock, leaving him briefly dazed.
Chaos.
"What is it now, girlie?" Shana's manager, Jimmy, was the epitome of male chauvinist pig, from the top of his greasy hair all the way down to his Walmart reject work boots. A stained toothpick jutted from between his full, almost pouty lips, highlighting the two-day growth on his rather weak chin. An aroma composed of equal parts onions, grease, and unwashed armpit surrounded him like a choking miasma.
Shana gritted her teeth and tried very hard not to breathe through her nose.
"Jimmy, I need Saturday off. My sister's kids-"
His expression grew dark and he leaned toward her, one hand on the desk and the other in his pocket. He glared at her and interrupted.
"No. I told ya when I hired ya that Saturday nights were mandatory. In case you don't know what mandatory means, I'll tell ya: means do it or get fired."
An idle thought from -somewhere- streaked through her mind:
::You fragging moron!::
Since a reaction very near this was straining to come forth from Shana's thin lips she took a deep breath instead.
"I know, Jimmy, thank you for explaining but I really need the time...I'll work extra for whoever covers me, I'll-"
Jimmy smiled then, removing his hand from his pocket and moving closer to the small woman. She looked up at him, quite nervous, and involuntarily took a step back. He grabbed her arm, hard, and panic flooded her mind...then something cracked. As his fingers ghosted up toward her elbow, near her rather flat chest, she felt something really odd...
Starscream was yanked through what felt like a conduit the size of an average straw and emerged on the other side with a slipping, sucking noise...and the sound of fleshling shrieks.
::..nonononono...::
::Shut UP.::
::...wha...::
Starscream sighed and shook his...their...head.
::Nevermind. What's this...oh PIT no!::
Jimmy had begun stroking Shana's arm in a definite invitation, suggestion, and demand. His other hand grabbed her shoulder as she stood unmoving, almost as if catatonic. When Starscream opened the girl's eyes and realized exactly what was going on, all hell broke loose. He had a lingering charge in his systems, which felt really weird in this fleshling body, but he hadn't lived for vorns on a Decepticon warship surrounded by horny mechs for nothing!
"What in the bloody FRAG do you think you're doing, you ridiculous bag of flesh? I'll kill you where you stand, revitalize your pitiful spark, then hurt you so bad you'll BEG me to let you die!" He combined this mini-tirade with a sweeping movement of his arms, breaking the hold...but not nearly as decisively as he'd liked. His form was decidedly not anywhere near what he was used to.
::Weak...: he thought bitterly.
Jimmy's mouth dropped open, revealing a cavern pitted with half-shattered teeth and the remnants of a meal at least twelve hours old.
"You little bitch..."
Starscream was very tired of that particular insult. It had been tossed at him no less than twice a cycle for the last thousand vorns, and it had gotten old BEFORE they'd even found Earth.
"Bitch? Maybe...but never yours, and I know that's just got to be killing you inside, you half-clocked miniglitch scraplet." Starscream was pissed, the form he seemed to be lodged in shaking both inside and out. He'd never liked those who intimidated him through sensual means, and in this pathetic form assault was something he had damn well better try and avoid. He reflexively looked to his arm, finding no null rays charged and ready to blast. An undersized fleshling arm wrapped with a thin metallic band was all that he had.
Scrap.
::What ARE you? What are you DOING? You're gonna get me fired, an' I NEED this job, even though Jimmy is crotch rot incarnate!:: The body's owner fought Star, ineffectively. His mind captured hers in a blanket of electrons, both terrifying and comforting all at once.
::SHUT UP.::
Star looked up again, through Shana's eyes and the thick lenses she wore to modulate or refine her vision, and assumed a pose that most Decepticons would find quite familiar: the "Screamer's on a rampage and get the slag out of his way" stance. One hand languidly ran down the front of Shana's form, in a definite display of: no way in Pit are you ever touching this, slagger.
Jimmy lost it.
"Get the fuck out of my restaurant, you psycho bitch!"
Shana's eyes nearly flashed Decepticon crimson as she slammed down her tiny fist on the table. "Frag off and die." With a graceful turn and an attempt to twitch nonexistent wings in a Vosian gesture of grave disrespect, Star left the place, talking to no one on the way.
Well, is it okay? I'm not going for a Mary Sue OC here; my plans aren't exactly nice regarding Shana.
Why Screamer's so complacent about possessing another: he's done it before, at least with another Cybertronian. Being pissed about the disrespect would stave off some of the rest of the disgust/apprehension.
Reviews are almost better than cheesecake. ;)