Chapter: Chapter Three: Paranoia and Hysteria
Chapter Summary: It's normal to feel a little paranoid, right? The car can't really be… It can.
Word Count: 4, 074
Disclaimer:I do not own Transformers: The Movie (Either of them) or Transformers: The Animated Series (Any of them). They belong to Hasbro and what have you. I also don't own any franchises or songs or movie references you may notice. I just own an over-active imagination.
Rating: (T) - (PG-13).
Warnings: Disturbing content? (Light stalking) Bad Humor, Gender-bending. SPOILERS!
Author's Note: I always feel like, somebody's watching me! And I have no privacy! Wo-oah!


Chapter Three: Paranoia and Hysteria

She had left her homework for the last minute. She knew she shouldn't have, but she was just so busy! Busy taking drives in her newly repainted car.

She couldn't help it. Now that the car looked like it was worth the money it had taken to fix it up it practically screamed 'Drive me!'. It was very compelling, and she could not refuse.

And so, it was on a breezy Wednesday afternoon that Sam found herself in the attic looking for a specific box among the dust covered junk that littered the highest storey of her home. She had found that Family Genealogy Reports were long winded and harassing, but she was glad she had something to do the report on.

Her great-great-grandfather.

Captain Archibald Witwicky; grand explorer of the Arctic Circle and later a resident of an unnamed Mental Asylum, the man from whom the age old family motto came from: No Sacrifice, No Victory. She didn't know much about him, only what her father had told her (and that wasn't much), so she'd had to resort to ploughing through a dusty attic to dreg up the tools needed to scrape by the report with a B at least. Her father would expect no less, the report was on family after all and family was very important to the Witwickys (Except that one uncle of hers that lived in Kentucky, but to mention him in the house was practically sacrilege).

She was related to some peculiar characters to say the least. She would have snorted at that thought but making such a sharp movement would probably disrupt the dust that surrounded her and send her into a sneezing fit. This resolution quickly lost its sentiments however when she lost her grip on a box she was pulling towards her; sending her falling backwards, knocking down a few smaller objects that stood behind her on the way down. She was now sitting in a cloud of dust.

Pulling the neck of her t-shirt over her mouth and nose she attempted to pull out of the asthmatic cloud when her eyes landed on one of the boxes she'd knocked over. Its lid had popped open, spilling its contents all over the floor; some of which looked like the sailing equipment she'd Googled in pursuit of her much needed B.

'Talk about luck,' she thought as she quickly gathered the awry (and ancient) equipment, hastily putting them back into the box, trying hard not to breath in any of the dust that lingered in the air.

Completing her task she quickly headed for the attic access, dodging any stray junk that had taken residence on the floor, and down into the clean air of the second floor.

Setting the box down at her feet she took a moment to filter clean air in through her lungs while brushing off any dust that had stuck to her person. While she was distracted with the chore of cleaning herself off her little pet, Mojo, limped over to her, sniffing at the precious box.

"Oh, Mojo, don't do that, you'll-" Too late, the small Chihuahua had already inhaled some of the dust that hovered around the old box and had started sneezing, "Stupid dog."

Muttering to herself about simple logic she bent down and picked up her cinnamon colored pet, tucking him under one elbow before bending to pick up her great-great-grandfather's belongings, tucking a toe under the box so that she could establish a secure grip on the cardboard before picking it up.

"Come on Mo, you need fresh air." With that she easily skipped down the stairs to the ground floor, out of the house and into the back yard.

Setting her project down on the grass she sat on the veranda in a lotus position, dropping Mojo softly beside her, not caring when the little dog jumped into her lap and quickly made himself comfortable, resting his little head against her thigh.

"Okay, let's see… Captain Archibald Witwicky… So crazy he got himself into The New York Journal." She paused, contemplating that, "Wow, must have been really crazy…" She laid the aged articles to one side and reached into the box again.

"Compass… Huh, it still works," she commented as she put the item on top of the brown newspapers, reaching for another object, "I have no idea what this is…" She muttered, frowning as she moved the oblong, leather quiver-like object out of her way before her fingers brushed something smooth and leathery.

Taking the small object out of the cardboard box she read the words embossed on top of it; Archibald Witwicky, undoing the fastening and popping the case open she lifted the item up out of its case, and held it up toward the sun, smiling at the way the light refracted around her.

"His glasses… Huh, must've had a Harry Potter thing going on back then…" She joked to herself lightly as she examined the shape of the frames, "They're cracked tho-" Stopping mid-sentence she cocked her head to one side,

'What was that sound?' She found no amusement in the fact that Mojo had sat up as well and that he too had cocked his little head to one side, growling lightly in his throat.

"Shh, shh Mojo, let me listen!" She whispered, putting a calming hand on the Chihuahua's back.

There was silence for a while before she heard a faint hiss, it wasn't natural, but it was a familiar hiss. Narrowing her eyes as if it would help her discern the sound she leaned towards the noise as it sounded again.

… Hydraulics? That didn't make sense; she hadn't heard any sound that would suggest a car was being used nearby. There was no purr of an engine, no slamming of a car door, no faint smell of exhaust… only the very slight hiss of hydraulics.

Picking Mojo up off of her lap and transferring him to her elbow, still gripping her great-great-grandfather's glasses, Sam stood slowly, careful not to make too much noise so that she could still hear the hissing. Making her way around the house she slowed down in precaution as the sound grew louder.

She jumped slightly as Mojo suddenly barked and the sound of hydraulics reached its peak before disappearing completely. Frowning with alarm she hastily moved towards the front of the house, calmly twisting the eye glasses in her grip so that the lenses now lay atop her fingers as she lay her relatively free hand on Mojo's muzzle, quietening him again. Reaching the junction between the back yard and the drive Sam peeked cautiously around the corner.

Nothing; not a living soul. The only thing in front of her home was her car, sitting quietly and gleaming in the sun.

A gentle breeze caused goose-bumps to rise on her arms and she decided to play it safe and rushed back around the house, throwing her ancestor's belongings pell-mell into their box before heaving it up to her midsection and dashing into the house. Not pausing to look behind her once.

Shaking off her spooked feeling she deposited Mojo into his basket which rested in a corner of the living room where her mother was idly watching an old film from the 1950s. Adjusting her grip on her box and scratching Mojo behind the ears she ran up to her room, intent on getting her work done.


Sam sat at the kitchen table, numb. She had not slept the previous night, not after her little cycling escapade, and she had shallow rings under her eyes as proof of her deprivation. She was impossibly jittery, her mother commenting on it lightly when she nearly jumped a foot into the air when her father had slammed the bathroom door upstairs. She couldn't relax, her muscles tight and twitching at the slightest movement, the slightest noise. She knew her nervousness was going to carry on well into school hours until she finally had to concentrate and force herself to forget the happenings of the night before, if she ever could, that is.

Today was going to be hell.

The day before had started as normally as it was ever going to get; she'd woken up, given Mojo his food (and pain killers), washed up, gotten dressed and eaten a light breakfast before driving to school in her newly refurbished Camaro where she endured several hours of boring lessons, a Family Genealogy Report, jocks and Miles'… eccentricity before driving back home and finishing all her homework as her parents instructed, afterwards spending two hours totally annihilating Miles on a new interactive web game he'd found. Overall, it was a very normal day for Samantha Witwicky. It wasn't until the sun had gone down and she had only just slipped into a light sleep that it had happened.

It was quite simply, what she now dubbed, the Satan's Camaro.

She had no explanation for it, it had all happened so quickly. As she was still in the first stages of sleep she had heard the rumble of an engine. A very familiar engine. In a light panic she'd jumped up and run to look at the drive from the balcony to find her car driving away. Her car. The one she'd spent so many long days fixing up; cleaning and painting and waxing and buffing. Her car, the one with the racecar engine worth more than the rest of it put together.

She'd only had one option, really. Against her better judgement, or not, she'd run back to her room, immediately thrown on a pair of her many cargo Capri pants (right over her pajama shorts, no less) and dashed out of the house, toeing on a pair of flip-flops on the way as she grabbed her mother's pink bicycle and peddled her way after the distinctive yellow paintjob.

The chase had been short and fast and the only reason she hadn't lost the Camaro was because of its bright paint. Only when the car finally stopped just inside an old junkyard had she suddenly realised that maybe following her stolen car wasn't the best idea in the world. Quite belatedly, she dived behind some of the trash that littered the area around the junkyard, sneaking peeks at the stationary car, her limbs shaking in the cold of the Californian night.

She remembered her mouth falling open as she watched her car do what she could only describe as transform. Transform into a giant robot. For a second her mind registered, fleetingly, that for the past few weeks she had, inadvertently, been poking around and getting downright intimate with the internal organs of a giant robot. If she had been in any state to make any sound she would have whimpered at the thought, however any sound that had any chance of attempting to be made by her vocal cords was promptly strangled as the robot (Her robot? Her car?) started walking.

She didn't know why this shocked her so much, of course it could, would, walk; it had a humanoid shape and she was pretty sure it (he?) hadn't driven all the way to the junkyard to admire the view, but nevertheless, the fact that the robot was walking made it seem all the more unbelievable, all the more surreal, if that was even possible, she had been expecting some greasy old man to get out of the car; not for it to just stand up!

It felt like her eyes were popping out of their sockets when she saw what it did next; the yellow robot shone a light from it's chest (Could she call that a chest? Chest area?) up into the sky. Realising that she was now shaking violently at the sight (because of the cold?) she had clumsily boarded her mother's bike and rode shakily home, all the while muttering the most ridiculous words.

"E.T. Phone home…"

She'd had the sense to sneak back into the house, God only knew what her parent's would do to her if they found out she had been out of the house at such an hour, and as a precaution she had locked herself in her room (even though locked doors weren't allowed in Ronald Witwicky's house, which defeated the purpose of having locks on the doors anyway… (And she wasn't sure what good a locked door would do against a giant, obviously alien, robot anyway.) and done something she hadn't done in years. She'd hidden under her duvet. Like a baby.

In the morning, earlier than she was usually considered a member of the living, she'd poked her head out from beneath the hot air-pocket she'd made with her blankets with a much clearer, and rational, mind. She'd spent the night reassuring herself that she was just imagining things, that she probably had too much candy before going to bed (even though she knew she hadn't had any that night) and that she was listening to Miles a bit too much (which wasn't true since she only ever listened to him with less than half an ear when he started on something crazy) and that, inadvertently, it was time to ditch the video games. Maybe.

With bright, positive thoughts she'd stood and walked calmly out of her room and to the balcony to reassure herself that last night her car had not gone anywhere and that it was sitting in the driveway, right where she'd left it after she'd come home from school. Only it wasn't there. In fact, it wasn't there for the whole ten minutes she spent staring at the empty driveway, jaw disengaged. It had been just before she'd decided that her car really must have been stolen and decided that her dad must be informed that the cheerful yellow demon had rolled up and parked itself in the driveway. On its own, as in; without a driver.

She had immediately ducked down; it (he?) could, most probably, see her. Peeking over the ledge of the balcony she'd snuck a glance at the Chevy. It had flashed its headlights at her. She had smacked her chin painfully in her rush to duck down again. That thing could definitely see her.

Deciding that hiding right above the car was not a good idea, she'd crawled backwards into her room, quickly grabbing some clean clothes from the piles that lay about her room that would, hopefully, make a semi-decent outfit. She'd almost reached her bathroom, still crawling backwards for some unknown reason, when her alarm clock started chirping happily, causing her to jerk and fling all the clothes in her lap around her room.

She'd rushed to slap it into silence before she'd gathered new items of clothing and darted into her bathroom all the while asking why everything good in her life was somehow distorted into something she definitely didn't want. There had been many instances in her life where she wished she had decided to elaborate a little more, like when she said she wanted a dog; she'd meant something like a Doberman; something that was liable to tear an annoying jock's leg off if she wanted it to, not an ankle biting Chihuahua; or when she had asked Miles to go to the Mall with her… but she wasn't going to go into that; or like when she'd asked her parents for a car, she should have specified that she wanted a nice, relatively-new model sports car, not a beaten up Camaro that took itself on drives around town! She had actually liked it, who wouldn't like a vintage racecar (albeit one that did need repairs)? But now it turned out to be a freaking giant alien robot. She had, quite possibly, the worst luck.

She didn't know how she'd managed to get through her daily routine but somehow she'd managed to pack all her school things and get ready to face the day. Almost. Getting down the stairs and on the same level as the car had been agony; backing up and sprinting down the steps several times before she could solidly stand at the foot of the staircase. After she was well fed she'd simply sat at the table, her bag next to her and ready to go. Only she couldn't quite get herself to move.

"Sam, sweetie? Are you okay? You look a little pale." Her mother commented again as she came out of her zoned-out state, "You're going to be late to school you know, you should head on out."

Her mother's words were always compelling, no matter what she said. Sam thought it was the tone in her voice, or maybe it was the knowledge that in the seventeen years that Judy Witwicky had been her mother, she'd never been wrong. So it was this simple little comment that got her onto her feet and out of the house. And right in front of the Satan's Camaro.

She froze, as she'd known she would, and she became breathless, almost as if she was suffocating, as she knew she would, and she found herself, for the first time ever, wondering if her mother had been wrong. Staring unblinkingly at the car, for almost a minute, as she fingered the keys in her pocket she quickly ran through her options before making a decision.

Shuffling sideways she quickly manoeuvred herself so that she was no longer in front of the car and slowly backed down the drive until the grass under her sneakers was replaced by concrete. Turning so that the car was no longer in her sight she started walking at a snail slow pace and set out towards the direction of her school, all the while willing herself not to look behind her. Only when she'd reached the corner had she allowed herself to look back to her house and at that car. Only she found that, for the second time that day, it wasn't there. No, it wasn't in the drive. It was right behind her.

Right behind her.

Uttering a quick shriek she spun on one heel and took off in a sprint towards her school.


By the time she arrived at the gates of Tranquillity High she was sure she'd set some kind of record but she didn't stop to check her watch or to catch her breath. Instead, she ran to the regular place she met up with Miles.

She was ruthless in her journey to the Girls' Locker Room, not apologising or looking back at anyone she pushed out of her way or accidentally knocked to the ground. Upon seeing Miles her speed spontaneously increased and she quickly wiped the smile off his face as she grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed him back into the girls' locker room.

"My-car's-an-alien-robot-and-it's-stalking-me!" The words just tumbled out, quick and incoherent.

"What?"

She should have thought to look around the locker room before she spoke; because that was not Miles' voice. It was decidedly female and familiar.

Mikaela Banes.

Sam stamped down the urge to scream in frustration. 'Of all the people- what is she even doing in here?'

"What, what?" She answered quickly, and rather stupidly.

The other girl stared at her evenly for a few seconds with a raised eyebrow.

"Why did you bring him in here?" The girl, apparently, hadn't understood what she said as she gestured to Miles.

"What are you doing here? You do know where you are right?" Girls like Mikaela Banes had long abandoned the practice of entering the Girls' Locker Room.

"Your car's an-" Miles started in a whisper, obviously working out what she'd said while he was silent.

"Shut up, Miles," Sam quickly cut him off through grit teeth.

The other girl looked disturbed, obviously getting the wrong idea.

"Huh… Okay, whatever." Without another word the taller girl briskly moved around them and exited the locker room.

"Your car's a what?" Miles asked, half a minute of silence later, "And could you let go of my shoulders now? I think they're gonna bruise."

Letting go and muttering a quick apology she stared at Miles' uncertain face. She was suddenly filled with doubt, having second thoughts about telling Miles. She wasn't sure he'd even believe her! She knew that no matter how weird Miles was, he was smarter than anyone thought, smarter than even she was willing to give him credit for. And while he was a good friend, her oldest friend, her best friend, her story was just not believable; even now, if she hadn't known that she wasn't delusional last night, she wouldn't have believed herself!

"I-" This was impossible, she needed to tell someone, tell him, but it wouldn't come out; the adrenaline was gone from her veins and all that remained was fear and doubt, "It's nothing…"

"No, it's not nothing; you said something about your car," Miles was frowning at her now- should she have told him anything at all?

"Y-yeah, my car… I just… I had the craziest dream last night about my car!" She finished lamely, forcing an unconvincing smile onto her face.

"Really? What happened?" This was the Miles everybody else saw, the one that would let other people do what they wanted and take interest in the strangest things, but she knew he was listening and she was glad for it.

So she told him all about her dream.


She crouched, sinking into a familiar position, waiting for the signal. Her muscles tensed in preparation, ready to jerk forward in a smooth and fast movement. It came and she flew off; feet scarcely touching the ground they pounded against as they moved in a rapid sequence.

Left, right, left, right, left, right.

It was a comforting pattern, one she knew well and could adapt to. One so facile it was like she was putting herself on auto-pilot, letting her legs move her as she drifted off into a place of inner sanctity.

She needed to think, so she ran.

She'd told Miles all about her 'dream' and he'd taken it all in stride, laughing and snorting in disbelief in all the right places. But he'd stayed with her during track practice; he wouldn't let her out of his sight. She knew he was worried. He had every reason to be.

She knew it was strange and unnerving for him. He'd only had to listen to her talking about how her great-great-grandfather had gone insane, spouting off nonsense about a giant iceman, just yesterday, and today she was spouting off nonsense about having a 'dream' about her car turning into a giant robot. She could only hope that he didn't tell anyone, especially not her parents.

Stopping a little way after the finish line of the 100 metre school track she breathed a deep sigh. She didn't need to worry about Miles too much, he was a firm believer in letting problems sort themselves out in their own time; he was patient like that. She just wished she was the same; she preferred to jump into situations and worry about everything else later, but she knew that she couldn't do that in this particular situation. She'd need to be subtle and unassuming and she needed to stay away from that car but there was nothing she could do short of completely ignoring it- which she knew was going to be impossible and altogether much too noticeable; she had been too excited about the car to suddenly lose interest overnight.

The only other solution would be a confrontation. While she wasn't completely abject to this idea, it had one small flaw.

The Camaro seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Granted, she hadn't exactly searched for it but she figured a yellow paintjob would be pretty noticeable on the streets surrounding her high school. However, after being chased to school by it she hadn't seen it at all during the day; it wasn't lurking about in the street, teasing her in her peripheral vision, while she was in lesson and it wasn't in the parking lot during lunch break and it wasn't waiting for her in front of the school at the end of the day. It was like it had never existed in the first place.

She supposed it was a good thing that the Camaro was keeping out of sight; she didn't think she was ready to face it just yet.


End of Chapter Three: Paranoia and Hysteria


Next Chapter: Chapter Four: Upside-Down

Author's Notes:

(EDIT) I made a very minor change. I got my places mixed up. (EDITEND)

I was tempted to name this chapter 'Revenge of the Bee'. Also…

This chapter was the devil; the devil I say! I have edited this so much. I still don't like it… It's icky. I think I changed 1, 300 words (That's 4-freaking-pages). In the original draft Miles was supposed to find out about Sam's car being a giant alien robot, yanno really find out, but now he's not. Because when I was reading it, it sounded fan-girl-y and stupid. Sam was also supposed to get chased by Barricade, but that would have made it too long. c:

And people are mentioning that I have no Spelling or Grammar mistakes… Well, I'm studying English Literature. I'd just about have a stroke if I had bad Spelling or Grammar. (EDIT2) And actually I did have LOTS of mistakes, but I've fixed them. (EDIT2END)

Also, short chapters are short because they're supposed to be short. As you can see this chapter accounts for two days while the last one was a week and the one before only a few minutes. Pay attention to the passage of time and highlighting of events and such, blah, blah, blah…

Thank you to Crimson Starlight, flamingmarsh, Cman710, SomReallyRandomPerson, Fk306 animallover, Niteskye, theundefeatableMJ, CheshireMax, Garnet Princess (x2), Sagibanu, Elita One (ILUxInfinity), SevenStar, insanechildfanfic, Hikari Kaiya, TJ7, Of-Light-and-Shadow, Cereal-Rapist-Spencer, Acid (No, he wasn't… Where'd you get that?), Narnian Sprite and Gooey Puddle!

-bot

P.S. I actually love Dobermans.