Hello! This is my first fanfic, so please review. This is my version of Transformers but with some changes. I'll post more chapters up if I get positive reviews to continue. Also NO flaming! You don't like it, keep it to yourselves but keep in mind that this IS my first ever fanfic. Anyways, enjoy!
Note: Sam is a brainiac for plot purposes. Like I said, this is my version of Transformers with some changes so DEAL with it. There is NO Mikaela, well actually she is in here but their relationship will be just old time friends. And this is a Mech/Sam so of course everything will be different.
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Prologue
No sacrifice, no victory. No sacrifice, no victory. No sacrifice, no victory.
He never ran so fast in his entire life until now. All that he could think was that he needed to get to the building with the Cube and fast before it's too late.
No sacrifice, no victory.
And away from the Decepticon warlord. He would not let that dirty warlord get his nasty claws on the Cube. He would rather give up his entire life to protect the Cube he was holding in his hands.
No sacrifice, no victory.
Even if it means. . .
No sacrifice, no victory.
Not getting the chance to tell the Autobots how much they mean to him. . .
Chapter 1
A week earlier
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Sam jolted awake, for a moment his vision was clouded by the abrupt depart from sleep. He blinked a couple of times as everything around him came into focus. What the hell is that noise? Sam mentally groan, looking around for that noise that woke him up.
Oh, my cell phone. In a zombie-like motion, he reached over to his cell phone and and grab it to turn the annoying cell phone off.
Sam may be in a good mood for a reason but he was not, repeat, not a morning person. If a person that was dumb enough to ask him the definition of morning, he would say it's a place called hell that parents forced their children to go to (known as a place called school.)
Sam had to drag himself out of bed with a loud groan. Only to begin his boring morning ritual to get ready for school. He went for a quick shower, brush his teeth and went into his messy walk-in closet to throw on some pair of clothes. A gray long sleeve shirt with a black short sleeve shirt over it and baggy jeans with a black belt.
Sam lost track what were clean clothes and what were dirty clothes, so he just throw on whatever he could get his hands on. Sam went to put his socks on and his tennis shoes before picking up his messanger bag and went downstairs.
He was about to make toast when his cheery mother, Judy, stopped him.
"Ah-ah, no time for breakfast," she pointed an accusing finger at him. "You'll be late."
Sam shrug his shoulders. "The teachers won't care."
"Sam," his father, Ron, voice came from the living room. "If you want to go to college you have to go to school. On an empty stomach or not."
Sam rolled his eyes as he put the soft bread into the toaster. "Dad, I've got scholarship invitations from Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, Yale, and MIT. Do I need to remind you?"
Sam may have been classified as a genius with an IQ over two hundred but he stayed a Junior in high school for tons of reasons and kept it hidden from his fellow peers at school. Even his only friend Miles didn't know about it. The teachers knew and always asked him the hard questions in front of the whole entire class just to prove his IQ.
Really, Sam thought. Couldn't those dumb teachers pick on someone else who actually needs to learn? Sam had always felt he was superior than most people because of how smart he is.
"I still don't see why you just won't except those invitations," Ron said as he came into the kitchen. "You could be in college by now. The very first Witwicky to go to college."
He still doesn't understand, Sam thought bitterly, taking a bite of his toast. "Because, dad, I'm not going to be one of those kids who skips grades just because I'm smart and rub it into those retards faces," he took another bite of his toast. "I'm going to go through all four years of high school. I want to graduate like a normal teenager. Is that so much to ask?"
"Sam, we love you but watch your language." Judy lightly scolded her son. "And sweetheart you have to know," Oh no, there was his mother's proud look. Sam instinctively too a step back. His mother always do this to remind him, it was annoying. "Everyday I look at you, I see a handsome, intelligent, kind young man who can do anything he wants to. I am so proud of Sammy."
"Moooom!" Sam whined loudly. "Don't call me Sammy," he said. "And I get it. You've been proud of me since the day that I was born. Now I really need to go."
As he walked out of the door, Sam heard his father yell behind him that he was picking him up after school to get his first car. Sam smiled widely.
Parents.
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Sam arrived a litttle late to his lower class of intelligence that was known as his classmates and history. His teacher scolded him lightly on being late but Sam shrug him off.
It's not like he ever gotten into trouble before and with an IQ like Sam's he was mostly the teachers pet. Sam loathe the idea of being the teachers pet but if he wanted to get through high school and graduate like a normal person he'll have to deal with it.
Sam watch the 'stupid' students go up in front of the class to tell about their genealogy report in a monotone voice. Sam pretended to yawn on some of them and look at the time.
When it was Trent's turn Sam pretended to be asleep which only add fuel to Trent's anger and hatred towards him. The whole time Trent has been glaring at Sam which went unnoticed by the teacher but not unnoticed by the students. Which made some of the students give a pity look at Sam who didn't notice.
"Mr. Witwicky, you're up!" The teacher yelled, actually thinking that Sam fell asleep during the students report.
Sam pretended to yawn loudly and stretch before gathering his great-great grandfathers things, including an old leather journal and an old pair of broken round glasses.
Sam locked eyes with Mikaela for half a second. Trent, who saw Sam looking at his girlfriend, flicked a rubber-band at him, which Sam dodged with practiced ease, looking away from his former crush and friend.
"For my genealogy report, I decided on my great-great grandfather, Captain Acrhibald Witwicky." Sam began to tell his story about his grandfather and the whole class were forced to listen to his story but the teacher was listening to it in interest.
Sam may not be a jock or really hot, or any other things that a guy like him usually was, but he had a way to a person's attention whether he wanted it not. Which was questioned by the jocks and every other guy who sent envious glares at him when a hot girl talks to him.
The girls stared at him with interest but not listening to his story and whispering to one another on how cute he looked. Sam didn't pay attention to them but was well aware of the whispers and he hated it.
The bell ring and the class clapped, making Sam's hand twitched.
Seriously, Sam thought, Who the hell claps on a genealogy report? Either way he got an A and rushed outside to meet where his father would be waiting for him.
New car, Sam is coming for you!
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Sam was pissed. No, no, beyond pissed. He had never made anything below an A. He kept glaring at the sheet of paper that had his grade on it.
Sam had been saving up twenty thousand dollars for the past two years, and helped with both of his parents garden and Mikaela's dad, Colin, garage, but his father took him to a used car joint all because he had a B. It was a huge blow to Sam's ego. The joint they were going to was right next to a gorgeous place that sold Porsches.
"Dad, seriously," Sam started. "I made a special fertilizer for your and mom's plants without being watered for a whole month," he paused and looked away from the window to glare at Ron. "And you promised that you would pay half for my car but you still take me to a used car seller. I'm tempted to call the CPS for this cruel and unusual punishment all because I got a B."
"Well suck it up," Ron gave his son a grin. "Because it's your first car this will do. Whatever's left over can be put toward fixing up a car or saving it for an apartment for college."
Sam rolled eyes and let out a loud sigh as he went back to looking out the window. Sam briefly saw a classic yellow Camaro following behind them from the side view mirror out of the corner of his eye. When he turn to the side view mirror it was gone, like it never exsisted.
Sam mentally shook his head and continue to stare at the scenery as Ron pulled up into the the car joint and parked the car. Sam got out of the car with the thought of the classic yellow Camaro.
Sam stared at the cars in front of him after he walked towards to his choices of scrap metal.
"Dad, you got to be kidding me, right?" he asked.
"No, son, this is where you get your first car. Besides I remember when my father took me to get my first car. . ." Sam ignored his father who was too busy telling his story on the day he got his first car. He walked around with his father who kept on telling his story.
"—sure I was mad at him. I mean who wouldn't be mad at him, he took me to a junk yard and for what? To get a car? It was haorrible, I tell you, you can't imagine how horrible it was—"
"Dad." Sam said, trying to get his father's attention.
"—it could have been worst for you. I could have took you to a junk yard like my father did as a joke—"
"Dad," he tried again.
"—but it was really great, he taught me a lesson on what would happen if I got into an accident—"
"Dad!" Sam yelled, to get his attention. It worked.
"What!"
Sam pointed to a car. "You see that car over there?"
Ron looked over to where his son was pointing at. "Yeah. What about it?"
"That is a forty-year old virgin, the one to the right of is a fifty-year old virgin, and that rusty old blue one is I'm-going-to-die-a-virgin if you give me something that's not half a piece of crap!"
"Well, I now know which one to get you. . ."
"Dad!"
"Sorry, son, I don't want to be a grandpa at such a young age." Ron said. "Now come on, let's go see this Bolivia guy over here."
Sam sighed, but nonetheless followed her father over to a tall black man who came up to them. Ron and the guy exchange a few words before the Bolivia turn his attention to Sam.
"Hello, how can I help you Mr. . ."
"Witwicky. Sam Witwicky." he answered.
"Uncle Bobby B, baby. Uncle Bobby B."
Sam nodded with a frown on his face. I get that's your name, dumbass! And who calls someone uncle when they're not really your uncle? I say this guy is a pimp. . . Sam remembered his friend Miles and his uncle. Eh, Miles' uncle is different.
"Sam," Bobby started as he walked towards the lot. "There is a mystical bond between man and machine. The cars, here, pick their drivers. The drivers don't pick the car. You get what I'm saying?"
"I'm probably the smartest person in the Western Continental United States," he mumbled. "And all the nice cars rejects me, so you probably don't have to worry."
The man began rambling about something that Sam didn't even pay attention when he saw it. His only salvation in this junk heap. "Oh my god!" he gasped, rudely interrupting the black man who glared Sam for the interruption. "Look at this car!"
The two men watch Sam ran over to a black and yellow 1970 Camaro. He circled around it, a big grin on his face. It was the same car he had seen in his side view mirror. Sam wonder how it got here but he didn't care. It was a nice car, better looking than any other car in this scrapheap. "Dad, what about this one?
Sam needed to know if the car was for sale or not. He saw it in his side view mirror out of the corner of his eye and he wanted it. He didn't know why he wanted the car so badly but there was something about it that drawn Sam in.
"Hm," Ron looked closely at the car. He had to admit for an old car it does look good. "That's a great choice, Sam." Bobby and Ron came up to him. "It even got racing strips."
Bobby, smelling a sale, patted the hood of the yellow and black Camaro and for some reason it made Sam's hand twitch, having a sudden urge to protect the car from the man. "Yeah, it's got racing. . ." Bobby looked the car. "Wait, I never seen this car before."
Sam barely listened to the man, looking inside before opening the door and climbing in. Oh yeah, this was freedom in its best form. Nice leather seats, funny accessories. He might need to take it to Colin's garage for a nice touch up, but he would do all of the work himself. After all, it would be his car, or at least it would be soon. He ran his thumb over the dirt covered horn.
"What the hell is that?" he tilted his head at the symbol on his Camaro, he was so fascinated by the symbol that he ran his thumb over it again. I never seen this before, Sam thought, but I guess that's why it makes it so unique. One of a kind this is. . .
Ron saw that his son liked the car and he turned to Bobby. "How much?"
"Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, the slick wheels, custom paint job—"
"The paints faded," Sam interrupted.
"But it's custom," Bobby frowned.
"Custom faded?" The teen gave the man a disbelieving look.
"And you're a teenage boy," he tried writing him off. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
Yeah, and I wouldn't expect you to understand that I have an IQ over two hundred, mother fucker. Sam thought with a frown.
"Five grand." Bobby decided, turning to Ron.
Ron shook his head. "Nope, I'm not paying over four."
Sam's jaw dropped. What the hell? He had twenty thousand dollars of his own money! He'll, his father should be ecstatic that wouldn't pay for anything!
Bobby turn to Sam. "Get out of the car, boy."
"You said that cars pick the drivers." No! He would not lose his beautiful Camaro. He wouldn't.
"Well, sometimes they pick ones with a cheap-ass driver. Now get out of the car."
Sam flared his nostrils in anger. Damnit, Ronald Witwicky! Don't be a cheapskate for once. Sam reached for the door handle and got out, though it took a lot of pushing on his part.
"See, another reason it should be cheaper," he mumbled. "The doors need oiled."
Bobby began trying to sell them another car next to his Camaro, Ron trying to cheer his son up. As Sam shut the driver's door, the passenger door swung open and knocked into the car Bobby was sitting in.
Ron hurried over to make sure the man was okay while Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck raise. Bobby laughed nervously and started walking to another car when a high pitched frequency went throughout the lot, making glass shatter. Everything except the yellow and black Camaro.
Sam grinned, happy that his prize was safe.
"Four thousand!" Bobby yelled, holding up four fingers when he saw that every car window was shattered except the Camaro. He was a bit shaken up and shock on what had happened.
Sam wanted to laugh at the man. I guess cars do pick their drivers, Sam thought with a huge smile when his father handed the man the money. He walked over to the car and to give it a test drive.
I can't wait to take you home, he thought as he was handed the keys.
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"So, what do you think?" Sam asked, looking at Miles.
Miles was inspecting the yellow and black Camaro, circling around it like Sam did when he first saw it. Miles rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Looks pretty good, for a rust bucket."
Sam sighed. "What can I say? My dad is a cheapskate."
Miles agreed. "While I agree, what are you going to do to fix it up?"
Sam raise an eyebrow at Miles in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what are you going to do to make it look better?" Miles asked.
It clicked in Sam's head. Miles was talking about on how exactly was he doing to fix the car up. "Oh well, I was thinking on taking him to Mikaela's dad shop and see if I can work on him myself."
"Him?" Miles asked.
Sam realized his mistake with wide eyes and acted quickly. "Eh! Well. . . um. . . you know that men are attached to their cars. You just. . . have to pick the right one, like how Trent is attached to his."
Miles seemed to except that. "Are you going to lake like the rest of the students are?"
Sam rub his neck in thought. "Maybe. . . are you sure we're invited?"
Mikes waved his arms out. "Hello! Public property, everyone is invited!" he answered "Besides, the only one who will probably try and shoo us away will probably be Trent."
"Okay, okay, I get it. What time?" Sam asked.
"Around six o'clock." Miles answered.
"Alright, I'll pick you up probably around five thirty. Is that alright?" Sam ask his best friend to see if he approved.
Mikes smiled widely at him. "Of course!"
Sam smile. "Come on, let's go inside to play some video games."
"Okay, what game do you want to play?" Miles asked walking inside the Witwicky household.
"How about Supreme Commander?" Sam suggested with a shrug of his shoulders
"That would be great!"
