Darkstar: Chapter 1
A/N: Hey everybot-i mean one, semperfi97 reporting in for my first fic. This is going to be a good sized fic and i do plan on seeing this through though, maybe a multi-chapter fic isn't the best idea for my first published item on here, but im gonna try. This is a Prime/Authors universe, its just moded so i can make it work.
Any way this is a very military rooted fic, as they will probably be the types of stories i write: my bio will explain that. Another thing is that in the next chapters i will have a lot of military terminology, and since not everyone one knows it, ill post info on terms at the bottom. So enjoy this first chapter, though i gotta say, there wont be a Cybertronian until a few chapters in, so stay with me
I dont own anything with Transformers
Semperfi97-Out
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It was all over.
He...he was dead; offline. And we... we were alone. That's it, the cold, hard truth: we were completely and utterly all by ourselves. Just sitting here, backed into this fatal funnel, waiting for our end to come. They'd catch us at some point, and I shuddered to think about what would happen. I mean, we were still only 16. But they, they didn't care. And rightly so because we'd caused them enough pain and annoyance over the years. How so much had happened in these last 3 years. Even I still can't believe it.
As we were just sitting there watching the perimeter, a thought seeped its way into my brain. I brushed it aside, discarded it. It wasn't the time to think about it, but when it came back, it turned and worked in my mind, causing me to lose my focus. Millions of memories followed in a overloading surge, my life in these last three years and what had happened within them all came flooding back like a sudden dam being torn down. And I couldn't leave this simple thought alone; How did this, this madness... This madness that I love, all begin?
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***FLASH BACK***
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The wind moved the plants ever so slightly on a warm and sunny summer day, and I welcomed its mercy from the heat.
Tall stalks of grass scraped and tore at Jake's and my sides as we wandered in the tilting wilderness, climbing up the hill towards our getaway, our 'home' away from home. We moved quickly, but we didn't have to worry about anyone seeing us, cause it was Sunday morning: who's out then? We reached the top completely covered in burs, but that was a small price to pay for this awesome place. As we rounded the crest of the hill, our eyes greeted the great expanse of run-down, overgrown, failing concrete and warehouses.
We moved fast, brushing past our memories back in here: the river that we crossed on more than one occasion, the big hill we had climbed, the pond we had swam in, the buildings we had busted into, the walls we had tagged, the buckets of valuable rocks we had stolen, the empty fire extinguishers we had used, and the main office we had run from so many times when the cops had showed up.
This was our criminal 'gang land'. Just for us.
But as we moved past the creaking warehouses toward the highway, Jake and I rounded a corner, and quickly had to dive back behind the wall of a nearby warehouse. We saw a big white bulk that was barely recognizable as a car, but it was not the usual car.
Jake groaned."What are *they* doing here? I thought we made it *very* clear."
I looked again and saw the car and four recognizable Latino guys surrounding it, smoking something that wasn't making the normal smoke of a cig as it swirled and dissipated into the sky. Most importantly, the car was severely tagged with a gang symbols.
It's what the gang, called... Um, I don't know, did. They would spray their cars so when they drove up to you they would strike fear because you knew who they were.
They continued standing there, smoking away, until they reached the end of their blunts, and they thankfully decided to pack up and go. The car pulled away onto the road and screeched off, leaving only dust and acrid smoke in its wake.
Then breaking our comfortable silence, Jake asked, "Why were they here?"
I paused cause I didn't really know the answer.
"I have no idea... Let's just be careful cause I don't want a run in with that gang again when we don't have any weapons besides knives and bodies. Though, we still got those firecracker bombs if they get too close." We both looked at each other at the same time when I finished, and cracked up. Last time we had used those was when we had set them off in the girls locker-room at school. Good times, good times...
So each recovering from our memories and slowly returning our large grins to our normal expression's, we grabbed a lighter and a couple of firecrackers each, and searched around the buildings for any sign of gang members or what they had been up to.
After 15 minutes of a non-productive search, we found a total of 5 blunts, 6 cigarette butts, 4 beer cans, a bag of white powder which I don't even need to explain, a bag of green plants that I don't even need to explain, and 3 .45 caliber shell casings.
Being the technically somewhat morally correct teens that we were, we took a small walk down to the river, dumped the crack and weed, chucked the bottles, ditched the blunts, and ripped up the cigarette butts, releasing them into the rapid little river.
But what got us excited weren't any of those, it was the shell casings. As weird as it sounds for Juvie delinquents, we both were crazy about joining the military, namely the Marine Corp, and naturally we loved everything associated with it. We researched a ton and actually most of our lives were not us being criminals, but doing combat simulation called MILSIM. We knew all the basics of U.S. military tactics and knew all of our high-end airsoft weaponry. And so we loved any firearm, especially real-steal firearms. Don't get me wrong, we were definitely still the usual fun loving teens, but with a militaristic twist, all the time.
And so as we sat on a rock by the river studying those .45 shells, each wondering 'Could any .45s be around here?'
We were about to get a big surprise.
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Terms: So for you who dont know weapon and tactical terms, heres the section for you. There are only two in this chapter:
.45: a caliber of bullet that is .45 of an inch in diameter. When it is said .45, it doesnt always mean the actual cartridge though, lots of times its reffering to the Colt 1911 .45 caliber, semi-automatic pistol. The Colt, or .45, or 1911, as it is sometimes called, was a revolutionary design because it was one of the first, most rugged, and most powerful semi-automatic pistols. Instead of loading a revolvers cylinder, you could just insert mag that held more than the 6 shooters, cause it had seven. And so, this pistol was adopted into the United States military, and it became legendary. So far it has been in service until the late 20th centery by regular US military branches such as the Army, Navy, Air force, and last but very, very far from least, the Marine Corp. But it is still in ise by spec ops and other militaries around the world. You know you made a good pistol when it lasts a century and is still being used. (i normally wont go this long, butthe 1911 deserves it)
Fatal Funnel: This is a physical place where there are only two points of exit or entry, and may or may not be any cover in between. Fatal funnels are generally what their name says, fatal, because of some major key principals being violated. One of the 9 basic principals of warefare, according to the highly succesful US Marine Corp, is the principal of manuver. In a fatal funnel you lose all freedom of manuverability, crucial to you victory and survival. And the eney gets to impose his will on you, keep you in a very small field of fire and, almost definitely, slaughter you through there manuverability. So if youre caught in a hallway, corridor, tight valley, etc., get out or youre screwed.
