I just went to a local talent show and saw BATMAN THE MUSICAL! It was stinking HILARIOUS! I wish you all could have seen it. It didn't even make fun of the show/comic. There were people recording it, so maybe someone will put it on YouTube. Here's hoping!

"Moviespeak"

"Songspeak"

"Cybertronian"

Disclaimer (for last chapter, too): I do not own Transformers. I never will. Any original characters/ideas are mine. Ask before you use them, please.

"Step away from the phone, and no one gets hurt!" A line from a long forgotten B movie blares from the speakers of the Camaro in the front drive as I stealthily (or so I think) reach for the phone ringing its antenna off on top of my desk.

I freeze for a moment, then inch my hand ever so slowly toward the insistently ringing device. Maybe I can get help from whoever's calling.

"Trust me, babe, it's for your own good."

"Give me one good reason why I should trust a freak car that's basically stalking me," I mutter. I'm not expecting a reply, so I jump when one comes, hitting my head on the top of my desk and dropping the cell, which I had picked up.

"The fate of the world is a stake here!"

"Psh." Great. A deluded, talking car. That's the exact last thing I need right now. Somehow, though, I don't think the Camaro will hurt me. Maybe it's less scary now that I know I can communicate with it.

I look at the caller ID on the phone, which has started ringing for the third time since I started arguing with my car. It's my friend Stephanie's number. I stand up and stick my head out of my screenless window.

"Relax, Camaro-man. I don't think my best friend has it in for the entire planet."

"Don't do it, Juliet!" I chuckle as I answer my phone. That line was from a B movie my aunt starred in, in which a modern-day guy goes back in time and ends up in the Shakespearean play. He ends up falling in love with Juliet . . .

A click on the other end of the line jerks me from my thoughts and alerts me to my mistake. Stephanie never does crank calls, and she never just randomly hangs up without at least saying "Hi-MomsaysIhavetogetbacktowork-bye!" or something like that. Never.

Okay, now I'm seriously freaked out.

"Get you behiney down those staihs before they get you!"

I'd already questioned my Camaro's wisdom once tonight, and I don't like where the results are going. I rip open my door and pelt down the stairs, not worrying about my parents or anything else. I only stop twice—once to get my emergency bag (that has about everything I'd ever need for any situation in it) and once to get my keys from the hook.

I slam open the front door, hoping my parents will think we're being robbed and make a mad dash across the street to call the police from there. They're to smart to stay and fight when it's just a couple of knickknacks at stake.

I tear down the driveway like a bat out of hell. My Camaro already has its driver's side door popped open and honks its horn insistently as it sees me coming. I dive in, dumping my bag on the other seat as my seatbelt takes care of itself.

We squeal out of that driveway like the devil himself is after us, the Camaro burning rubber as he speeds down the street.

We're out in the middle of the country when my Camaro suddenly hits the brakes, throwing me forward into the steering wheel in spite of my belt. The window shoots down, and the horn honks frantically. As I try to figure out my Camaro's signals, I look down at my hands. I'm still carrying my cell phone. It has GPS. Oh. Crud.

I chuck that thing out the window and into the field like I've just figured out I have a bomb in my hands. The Camaro peels out on the pavement, trying to put as much distance between us and that phone as possible.

Just as I'm about to let out a sigh of relief, we pass a police car. It, naturally, starts shrieking its sirens and takes off after us. My Camaro speeds up, and just as I'm about to yell at him to pull over so I can talk to the cop and sort this out, you stupid car, I turn around to look at the cop car. There's no one inside. "Go, go, GO!"

We lead the cop car on a merry chase through the countryside, taking every back road and random gravel path known to man, and then some. The cop car is obviously starting to tire of our little cat and mouse game, because panels in its sides open, and it starts shooting missiles at us. Yes, missiles. We are so dead.

My Camaro starts to slow, sputtering, like he can't figure out whether to speed up or slow down. I turn around and see exactly why he's having a fit: we're heading back towards town. He doesn't want to involve anyone else in this, and in the city were a whole lot more likely to cause injuries. A nasty thought hits me. What if the cop car decides to use the people in town as hostages or something, to lure us out?

We don't really have much of a choice, though, because there are no more roads around and the ditches on either side of us are too deep to risk escaping through a cornfield. We'd get stuck, and end up sitting ducks for the bloodthirsty pseudocop. (Insert whatever cussword you'd like here.) So we plow on.

It turns out we're back in the slum side of town, near the place where this whole mess had really started.

"Don't worry, babe. I'll get us out of this."

I can't help but quirk a small smile at the cockiness in the voice of the actor he chose to quote. "I hope so."

We zip around a corner, only to find ourselves face to face with a brick wall. My door pops open, and he dumps me and my bag on the floor of the alleyway. Before I can protest, our antagonist charges around the corner, in a much changed form from the one I first saw him in. This one is bipedal, slightly humanoid, and uglier than a shark's behind. My Camaro wastes no time in meeting the onslaught, turning sideways at the last moment and effectively tripping the ugly bot. He lands smack on his face (if you can call it that).

I see my friend shift for a second time, only this time I get a very clear view. The Camaro has the same basic form as the other bot, but he's a good bit smaller (and much better looking). I pray (not for the first time that night—not by a long shot) that his size gives him an agility edge instead of hindering him

The pseudocop gets to his feet and instantly charges the Camaro again. My friend is apparently not hindered by his size in the strength department, because he meets the pseudocop head on, and manages to hold him off. As the two wrestle, I stash my bag and look for a place to hide. As much as I want to help, I know the best I could manage would be a couple of badly timed insults before I got squashed.

I hear something odd from the direction of the fight, but I ignore it. This turns out to be even more stupid than answering my phone. Out of nowhere, something heavy and metal with several sharp ends lands on my back and starts clawing. I pull off my jacket as fast as I can and sling it, new attachment and all, by the sleeves into the wall opposite the door I found. I dash inside and slam the door shut.

I can hear whatever it was clawing at the door, and I pray for a weapon. Backing up, I trip over something. Upon closer examination, it turns out to be a sledgehammer, and a big one at that. I really shouldn't have been able to lift it, but I leave the pondering for another time. The little nasty that ripped up my back has busted through the door.

I swing my hammer up and around, catching the spazoid little bot on the shoulder. It hesitates, clearly shocked, then lunges at me. I swing my hammer again, this time sending the creepy little skeletal thing flying across the warehouse room and into a stack of crates. It gets up, but it's more cautious this time. It sends a barrage of shuriken-like disks at me, tearing up my jeans and my already bloody T-shirt.

Fine. If it can play the distance game, so can I. I throw my hammer like a shot put, praying that it hits something vital. My prayers are answered as the hammer slams into the thing's head, pounding it into the wall of the warehouse. Not waiting for it to recover and straighten out its flattened head like some demented cartoon (which, after tonight, I wouldn't have been surprised if it did), I dash over and pick up the hammer, bashing the thing until I'm pretty sure it won't get up any time soon.

My adrenalin spent, I drop the hammer—now to heavy for me—and sink to my knees. Silence registers where there had once been battle sounds, and I start to worry. Cautiously, I get up and make my way over the tools and crate parts littering the floor of the warehouse to the door. I peek outside, and let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding.

I bound down the single step and over to my Camaro friend, who's standing in front of a cop car that has had a wrecking ball slammed on its roof, effectively squashing it. I hug his leg, and he look down at me.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe it! I'm so glad you're okay! That guy's like twice your size!"

He does a cocky little dance, blaring out a line of music. "Check the rep, yep! Second to none!"

I laugh. "You're full of it." My mood sobers as I remember earlier in the night. "Hey, um, I think I owe you an apology." I reach my hand behind my head in a pretty universal gesture of chagrin. "I should have listened to you earlier. We probably wouldn't have had to deal with all this if I had."

"It's okay, Julie-babe. You just gotta do the best you can with what you know, and you're not always going to know the right thing." It's my aunt's movie again. I give a half-smile.

"You're right. I still feel bad, though."

"Say that you're not afraid, you're just fine

Got it all figured out this time

And all of the plans you made will work out

Deep inside you have your doubts

But you're clinging to your pride

And you just don't know you're free to let it go

'Cause even when it rains outside there is light

Even when you cry all night, you're alright

Even when you lose your way you'll get through

There is someone watching over you"

His eyes twinkle, and the only reply that's needed is the tear running down my cheek.

There are two someones watching over me, both of whom most people wouldn't believe existed.

I'm particularly proud this chapter, because I stink at writing action scenes.

I love the ending.

R&R, s'il vous plait! Constructive criticism is much welcomed, but no flamers. Either your entry will be deleted, or I will gladly send my flaming team after you.

Oh, yeah. The Juliet movie I made up, but I do not own "Someone Watching Over You" (the song Bee played for Sam). If you can't find any of the movie lines on the 'Net, I probably made those up, too.

Random fact: grammar check doesn't know jack squat about grammar. Just thought you might want to know.