I was Just your average sociopathic teenaged girl. My life was simple. I wen to school, did my homework, watched movies with my dad. But why am I haunted by these dreams each night? And why do they suddenly seem to become real when a giant metal being crash-lands in my backyard? What's this about a twin and who the hell are the Primes?
Someone help me before I loose my mind even more.
A.N. So yeah, I'm rewriting this bitch of a fic. I read through it and realized it kinda sucked. So I'm trying to fix it up a bit. Most of it will just be uber edited, but there will be quite a few completely rewritten things.
Anyway, some warnings for any newbies...
Warning: this will be a Bot/human fic as well as a human turned Allspark-ish... thing. I will have my own spin on it, so try not to worry about that. If I get too Mary sue or ooc, please tell me. Pairings; Optimus/Elita, Ironhide/Chromia, Will/Sarah, Sam/Mikaela, Sunstreaker/OC/Sideswipe, Firestar/Red Alert/Inferno, Ratchet/First Aid. There may be more later. Some are just mentioned. Also, there will be a great deal of language, violence, gore, gay-ish parings, threesome (sort of), mental/physical torture, implied rape, slavery, bullying, hints of self harm, depression, suicide, and genocide. This is a dark fic, so bring a flashlight.
I don't own Transformers. Anything you recognize is not mine.
Each chapter will have a 'theme song', which I will post a link to so you can listen to it while you read if you like. Also, whenever there are song lyrics, a link will be placed there too.
Ch 1
New Breath of New Worlds
"Standing on the rooftops
Everybody scream your heart out.
This is all we got now
Everybody scream your heart out."
-Lostprophets "Rooftops"
( watch?v=EWoh-BekPCY&list=PLkA9Yk9HdNYhORBMctucudmjGJ7IH2qSC)
I lay on my bed, face toward the ceiling, thinking about life. Or more accurately, death.
It was an odd fascination, but I was an odd person.
And not just the death think. First, I'm a sociopath. I'm not just saying that, I was diagnosed, along with Aspergers and depression. Great.
And thus, my contemplation on wether or not life was worth living. I flipped an army knife between my fingers, feeling the sharp edges.
I sighed deeply. There was once a time when I would have gladly used that knife on my own body. Now the most it would do was impale into a wooden target handing from my door.
Years of therapy and antidepressants had helped me through the worst of my emotions. Now, there wasn't much emotion left.
My door swung open, inturupting me from my musings.
"Dinner's ready." My dad said, a cheerful if tired smile on his face.
"Breakfast night?" I asked, a bit of excitment fluttering in my stomach. Breakfast night was my favorite.
Dad smiled. "Yup. Pancakes."
I laughed quietly and jumped off the bed. Shifting the grip on my knife I threw it with a practiced hand so that it impaled slightly crookedly next to its kin. 'Need to work on that...' I thought as I followed Dad out of my room.
I padded down the stairs next to my father. We entered our small kitchen, white tile floor and pale blue walls greeting my eyes.
"Class go well?" Dad asked me as I sat down.
"Pretty good, yah. Paul's been really pushing me." Dad walked over to the cooling stove and piled two plates with pancakes. He set one down in front of me and the other before him. Taking a knife, he scraped butter over mine, leaving his bare. I took the glass syrup bottle and smothered both our piles in the sweet liquid.
"That's good." He said, sitting back down. "It means you're getting better."
I nodded in agreement. While y muscles were still sore from my parkoure lessons, I knew that it only meant that I was getting stronger. I'd been practicing the French sport since I was twelve. Five years of training had me pretty muscular, though I certainly wasn't the best student that Paul thought. It was something I was working on.
We finished dinner quickly, making idle chit chat. How was your day? Good, yours? Good. Nice weather. Yah. How's school? One of the inner most ring of hell. Work? Same thing.
I tossed my plate in the sink and made my way into the living room. "Movie night!" I grinned. It was something I looked forward to. Movies let me dissapear into a fictional world where the pain of the real one couldn't touch me.
"I know!" Dad yelled back from where he was loading up the dirty dishes. "You pick one out after you change for bed, 'k?"
"Sure." I bound up the stairs, two at a time. My door was the first one straight across from the stair way.
My door was a vortex of black held against the soft cream of the rest of our house. The ebony pain touched all the wood save for a one-by-two foot square. On it in dripping red paint that looked too much like blood for the average person's comfort read; Warning: Death Awaits All Who Enter.
Past the door was a very different scene. Three of my four walls were painted like a night sky. Constellations and galaxies spread out across my ceiling. Behind my iron framed bed was a rising full moon.
My bed was rather plain, other than its unusual golden fabrics. It the middle of the ceiling was a gothic black chandelier flecked with silver.
The floor was white carpet.
My along the one empty black wall were a mixture of drawings and band posters. The Devil Wears Prada, AWOLNATION, Bring Me The Horizon, A Perfect Circle, Twenty One Pilots, Santagold, My Chemical Romance, and Switchfoot among others.
Tapped up were my sketches of vampires, zombies, and my favorite serial killers, both fictional and real. Most was charcoal with red ink. Others were pencil. Mixed in were sketches of random people I had draw and scenes from dreams I've had.
This room was home, my comfort zone, away from all the stress of the real world.
I pulled open my closet door to grab myself some night cloths. Sweatpants and tank tops were stacked in a cubby in the back wall. I chose a grey of each, I went to the bathroom to change.
The bathroom was much like the main, but was a raising sun filled with reds and golds.
I took off my jeans, t-shirt and bra, tossing them into the hamper. The lack of bra didn't really bother Dad and I had very little sense of modesty.
Next I plucked my toothbrush from a glass cup, holding several paintbrushes and throwing knives along with the brush.
A squeeze of white paste and I quickly scrubbed my teeth clean. After spiting the white slush into the sink I gurgled some water to get the mint taste out.
Done with that, I looked over myself in the mirror. My grey blue eyes trailed over the face that stared back at me.
My skin was pale from lack of UVB. Other than training with Paul, I didn't go outside much. Over my nose and shoulders were flecks of freckles.
My face was average shaped, not narrow, but not quite round either. I had think lips and a short but angular nose. My eyelashes were long but thin. I usually wore mascara to make them a bit more appealing.
Compared to 'perfect' girls, my shoulders were a bit too wide, my chest too small, my thighs too thick. It didn't really bother me. Why should their opinions matter to me anyway?
My hair was choppy and short pixie cut, shorter in the back and bleached white. Once upon a time it have been rich brown and wavy. After mom I had cut it short and dyed it. The long brown reminded me too much of her.
Shaking the dark thoughts from my head, I gave my reflection a smirk. "Lookin' good there Katt." I hummed.
I quickly left my room and scampered down the stairs, leaping over the last six. A barrel roll broke my fall, using my chosen sport well. Still, I could get better. My endurance wasn't the best.
I stepped into the room opposite the kitchen and dinning. Clean halls opened into the living room. A comfy fabric couch stood six feet before the mighty flat-screened television.
My fingers brushed along the covers of my beloved films. I chose the Corpse Bride. Morbid Disney.
Pushing the DVD in I plopped down on the couch.
Dad came in less than a minute later and sat down in his chair. Pressing play, we started on the film.
~two-ish hours later~
I lay awake on my bed, staring up at my ceiling. I wouldn't tell this to anyone, but I was afraid to sleep. I was scared of the nightmares.
No, they weren't from the films I watched or the things I read. I had long gotten over fear of ghosts and dark places.
It was the dankest corners of my mind that terrified me. The things that slithered between waking and sleep, beasts only subconscious could conjure. That is what scared me.
Ever since I was little, it had always been the same. Huge monsters clothed in metal and gears. Clashing titans in a war lasting eons.
The dreams mixed together, details fading with the rising sun, but the story was always the same. Stark images branded behind my eyelids. Page after page of my sketchbooks were filled with the fleeting memories of my nighttime horrors.
My fists clutched tightly around my sheets, silent tears slipping down my cheeks. Panic was already swelling inside my chest. Exhaustion rolled through me, my breaths shallow and hard.
The dark vortex above me sucked away all thoughts. I felt my mind going blank, eyes sliding closed. Fear rolled in me. I don't want to sleep! I can't!
My body wouldn't obey. Soon I fell into the clutches of exhaustion.
The fist thing I felt was rage. It seems that's the only think I felt now. The dark around me slowly cleared to show barren metal. The ground was hot with explosions. The war had slowly grown through the vorns. It now reached every corner of the planet and beyond.
I growled, blue body shivering with energy. Twin energon blades snapped out of my wrists.
All around me mechs and femmes battled. Fires burned and explosions littered the sky. The air was alight with gun fire.
My bright optics scanned those battling around me. They landed on a massive mech. My lip plates lifted into a smirk. This would be fun.
Racing at the speed of a cyberwolf, I was on the 'bot before he realized he was under attack. My quick form darted around him, blades stabbing and slashing at his vulnerable points.
The mech roared and tried shooting at me. Not one blast hit my armor. Charge, stab, retreat, repeat.
Again and again I hit him. Jumping onto the mech's back, I clawed at the back of his helm, no longer bothering with my blades.
Claws raked over his chest and into the grooves of his side. He managed to get one good blast to my shoulder, but it was already too late. He collapsed, chest first, to the ground.
I walked around him and gazed into his optics. The moment I waited from. I watched with pleasure as the life drained from those blue lights. A wicked laugh left my vocalizer as his spark gave out.
I laughed at the instability of life.
I laughed at the ease in which things died.
I laughed at those left to rust and those still clinging to existence.
I laughed at the world. At the unfairness of it all.
I laughed just to laugh.
I laughed because it was better to laugh then to cry.
I jerked awake. Tears rolled down my face. A gaping hole rested between my lungs. A pain like nothing else burned through every nerve, every cell. It was the pain I felt every time I had those dreams. Each was the same, yet different. A world of metal giants, battling for a cause long gone.
Tears fell from my eyes. Every time I woke from it I left it. The longing. The feeling that something wasn't there. That something, or someone was missing.
As I grew more awake the tears and pain left, but the emptiness stayed.
It always stayed.
