Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, I merely borrow the characters to weave my own tales and do not make any profit from this. Yes, I know, this chapter sucks. Do you know that writers block also sucks? You would not believe the difficulty I had with this chapter.
Three months later:
Pain. That was the extent of her of her entire world. That was all she could feel, all she could think of, all that she could understand. Somehow, through the mind numbing haze, she crawled to a broken, two-way radio that was in the alleyway she'd taken refuge in. She didn't know why she needed to reach the radio, but it felt right.
As her skin contacted the broken machine, blue sparks shot from her fingers, and an instant later the shattered metal began repairing itself. When the blue glow died, the radio transformed. It was a robot, like the ones from her not-memories.
"Call . . . William . . . Lennox . . . Scooter-cat need . . . for call Soldier . . . help." She managed to gasp out. Why was she in so much pain? What happened?
The robot made an electronic noise, grabbing her face with spindly fingers as it clicked in a reassuring manner. Alleycat closed her eyes, unable to do anything else. Eventually, even the pain began fading as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
The last thing she was aware of were strong arms lifting her up and indistinguishable, concerned voices.
Will was sitting at the table with Carol, Dustin, Sarah, and Annabelle, enjoying a homecooked meal-his first in nearly two months-when the radio suddenly blasted out static and then a frantic, high pitched electronic pattern that nearly shattered their eardrums and made the little ones start crying.
Then, a voice became recognizable in the noise coming from the radio. "Call . . . William . . . Lennox . . . Scooter-cat . . . need . . . for call Soldier . . . help."
As the message repeated, Carol stopped her frantic attempts to hush the children and stared at the radio. "Scooter-cat? But that's . . . that's the name of the homeless girl who helped me!"
"Help . . . help . . . Scooter-cat . . . need . . . help." The radio suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks, causing the women to scream in alarm and Sarah to grab a wet dishrag to beat the small fire that had started out.
Will was already out the door, racing over to the black Topkick sitting on the driveway. "Ironhide, can you track that-?"
"There are coordinates embedded in the radio signal." Ironhide said tersely. "I've already tracked it."
"Do you think it's a Decepticon?" Will asked, scrambling into the seat. He doubted it himself, but he wanted to hear Ironhide's opinion.
". . . No. I've never heard anything like it before-the frequency was entirely new, almost a mix of Cybertronian and your human frequencies."
"Well, we won't know for sure until we get there."
Ironhide took off down the drive, racing toward Mission City.
Will had been prepared for a lot of things. He wasn't prepared to find a ragged looking black girl with a large metal pipe in her stomach, lying in a pool of blood in an alleyway, with a small black robot sitting beside her, clicking in distress.