Chapter 1

The bell rang, a single long note that echoed through the three-story high school. It met many things to the number of kids crammed inside, such as death in the morning and life in the afternoon...

He stood back, taking time to wipe a damp paper towel over his desk to clear the smudges of pastels and chalks. He watched with a sense of amusement as the other kids shot up out of their seats and exploded out the door like the devil himself was on their ass.

Tensing slightly, he cast a quick glance at his tiny art teacher when she put a hand on his back. She would've aimed for his shoulder if he hadn't been so tall. She smiled up at him, "well mister James, it looks as though you have a blossoming talent on your hands."

He sent her a small smile as she lowered her gaze to look at the work he'd turned in today. It was a soft piece, in different shades of reds. Abstract in a way, it portrayed spread angel wings. They were tattered and torn, but still held high and proud. Strength radiated form their posture. Imperfect, but still beautiful.

"Thank you," he told her, getting her attention again, "I learn a lot in here...at home, my mom helps me."

She blinked, now curious, "oh? Is she an artist?"

"she builds things," he answered, throwing the dirty paper towel away, "like inventions and working statues out of metals."

"How interesting..."

She moved away when another senior poked his head in and snapped impatiently, "get your Picasso-loving butt out here, Pockets!"

"I'm coming," he promised. He slung his pack over his shoulder and stepped out, brushing past his friend. He raised a scarred hand to push through his thick red hair, green eyes scanning the halls. His gaze fell upon a group of awkward freshmen who froze and gaped when he faced them. Why are they STILL staring?

Ever annoyingly loyal, the other senior stomped his foot down and raised claw-shaped hands in the air, "scram you little meatless snacks! Don't make me start up a barbeque in the middle of the hall!"

With a yelp, the kids scrambled like headless chickens. Ignoring the weird looks they got from everyone, the smaller of the two relaxed and shot him a scowl, "damn, Pockets, you're like a friggin god here."

Pockets shrugged, answering without a thought, "it's the scars."

When the scowl didn't disappear, he raised a brow, "What, Rex?"

Rex lifted his hands to straighten up his blond faux-hawk, crazy chocolate-brown eyes narrowing to slits at him, "nah, man, the scars attract chicks, which is good. really good, in fact you're a lucky bastard because of that. It's the fact you're a fucking ginger Sasquatch runnin' around that's got the locals scared out of their frigging minds."

Pockets snorted.

In truth, he was a big guy. He was hitting six-foot-two and two hundred pounds sophomore year, and he hadn't stopped growing since. He was a senior now, and as his mom put it, a 'fragging identical clone of his father'. He was easily the biggest human in school, aside the varsity foot ball coach-who was still trying to bribe him onto the team-and was pushing it at six-foot-five this year.

So, naturally, he was the image of every freshman's nightmare. Really, everyone kept their distance, like he was some wild animal.

And the long, jagged scars on his face from a fight he'd gotten into at a park two years ago didn't help. Neither did the wide scars on his knuckles, which he'd earned in the same scuffle. It was worth it...those bastards deserved the beating they got for threatening my brother like that...

The only one who had gotten around his size and appearance was the skinny little twit walking beside him.

If Pockets was the giant warrior, Rex was the crazy little fan-like-follower.

He was about as tall as Pockets' chest, thinner than a whip with wild brown eyes and blond hair that was always carefully styled in a faux-hawk, and was almost permanently stuck to his side. Like a bad stink. He had his own scars, like the one at his hairline where he'd cracked his head open where he'd fallen face first on the asphalt as a kid. He had been trying to jump from roof to roof like some stupid super hero. Personally, Pockets wondered if the landing had scrambled his head or something, because the guy was freaking psycho.

For example, he'd gotten the name 'Rex' because he was constantly eating. He'd gotten it at Pockets' house after eating two entire cheese pizzas before anyone else could even get a plate out of the dishwasher. Pockets had wondered then if his mom would have hurt him or something, but she only gave him this amused look, and said, 'damn, kid, you eat like a freaking T-Rex'.

The name stuck, following him to school where he stomped around and started snapping his teeth and threatening to eat any freshman that dared to look in his direction. Weird ass dude...

"...hey! Hey Home Fry!"

Pockets shot a glare down at his friend when a thin pale arm flew up and whacked him across the chest, "I'm talkin' to you, Big Foot!"

Do you ever stop talking? But Pockets didn't really mind. He actually enjoyed the company, however twisted it may be, since he started losing his friends when he refused to join the football team and grew a couple of feet above the norm.

"I says," Rex motioned wildly with his arms, "that if you don't get me a date with that smokin' fine-as-hell sister of yours, I'm gonna cook your ass next!"

Pockets blinked, actually stopping in the hall-way. What the hell? He sent Rex a crazy look, "why do you want to go out with her?"

"Because she's HOT! Dumb moron," he argued, "I mean, come on, she's got the finest legs I've ever seen! And those black leather boots she always wears and that long dark, shiny, soft hair...and oh my damn, her hands when she's working through the gears..."

He seemed to melt there in the hallway. Pockets looked around the hall, seeing a number of freaked out stares fixing on them. He rolled his eyes when Rex finished, "...and she drives that Charger like a friggin pro...do you have any idea how hot it is to see a girl work a car like that?"

You are so clueless...

"She's my sister," Pockets reminded, reaching down to haul his friend back to his feet, "and besides, Rex, she'd eat your skinny butt alive, claws and bad personality and everything."

"Rawr," he purred in a manner that almost had Pockets gagging, "you promise?"

Pockets laughed. He pushed his friend lightly towards the exit, "C'mon, man-eater, lets get out of here."

Rex grinned.

:3 Yay! Sequels up! I know I said late tonight...but, as usual, everythings rolling nice and smooth, so...

Anyway...it bugs me that Pockets only has one friend, but thats ok...the one he does have is a handful. And he's a big guy that doesn't do sports! He likes art! *hugs him* I LOVE guys that are like that!

Tell me what you guys think about Rex! :D I really like his character so far...crazy-ass...

Anyway...I hope you like it.

Demona, Gears and her family and friends, and the story belongs to me. Transformers does not.