Five
Reverberations wriggled themselves rather violently up through the rickety wooden legs of the bed, through that almost questionably damp mattress right into his bones. He was bolt upright in the thing as quickly as his aching muscles would allow. Daniel found himself gasping in fright, trying to slow his breathing, trying to give his brain a moment, or six, to figure out what was happening, trying to inwardly tell himself it wasn't what he thought it was.
Deep down he knew.
Wasn't an earthquake.
Wasn't some old codger hadn't just driven his car into the lobby.
Was a gestalt.
The noise they made when they took a step, when one of those massive feet struck the earth regardless of what was on said earth, to claim it as disquieting would be a gross understatement. Friends had once asked him if it was like that scene in Jurassic Park, the one with the T-Rex, the water glass...
Not even close.
Always was it fear elicited. Sure, he was a child, and children got scared, but this sensation dug straight into the heart, into the soul. An adult fear was far more reaching, and had a much less ideal impact on the mental stability of the individual. As a child, it was black and white, good and evil, adult sensitivities threw in all those shades of grey – that's where the real trauma lay in wait. When he was with the Autobots, there was always safety, always an assurance that they'd protect him, he never thought they'd fail. Yes, he recalled being afraid many times, and those nightmares were so frequent, the horrors he'd seen and how they oftentimes so replayed them through his mind in quieter moments; but children could be distracted, their fears allayed by a bright lolly pop or a happier tale, even being allowed to drive a massive sentient truck. As an adult, he realised how naïve that was, if Optimus Prime could fall, then who could offer protection? If Metroplex could be devastated, then what town walls could give solace? Of course, Prime came back. Metroplex was rebuilt. And he spent the defining years of his youth in a foreign country.
But here, now, he was alone, he had no Autobot body guard, for whatever that was worth. All he had at this moment, was the shoddy walls of an aged apartment building, well passed its expiry date.
Sirens alarmed next. He found it difficult to determine if the noise was coming from somewhere in the building, or outside as a city-wide alert.
A single bead of sweat ran down his spine.
Still frozen in the bed.
His breaths, short, sharp, uncomfortable.
Muscles tensed.
A thought passed through his head, he entertained it slightly. Perhaps a nightmare. Perhaps imagination. Perhaps….
Foot-step two.
No.
Sweet Jesus.
Definitely a Combiner.
Which one?
That's when fear started to grip at his heart. It was physically noticeable. A crushing sensation. As if something reached into his chest, wrapped it's cold, metal hand around his organic pump, and began to squeeze, slowly, with malicious aforethought.
This building wouldn't stand a chance.
Some of those abominations were more orderly in their purpose, more likely to stick to a military plan, more likely to follow orders. Deep within their united core, in that always simplistic mind, where the dominant personality of their leader would take higher step, always answering to the dread driven by Megatron's fusion cannon. However, some were barbarous, simplistic, animalistic, and would seek destruction as all in combination demanded energon to be spilt, demanded blood, for that caused fear. And fear was their currency.
His second thought was quickly interrupted by an alarm most definitely originating from inside the building. Someone banged on his door, or maybe the neighbours? Screams started to become audible. Yelling. Get out! GET OUT! Hurry! No! For Fuck's Sake, LEAVE IT! GET OUT!
The flight response was triggered.
He was up on the side of the bed, the blankets wrapped around his ankles, he tripped, but grabbed the chest of drawers rammed up against his wall. It gave him enough leverage to avoid hitting the rough and scraggly carpet. Full of fleas, by the way.
Shoes. He grabbed them, pulling them on quickly, the dim light from outside was now flickering. Power grid dying, or inferno beginning?
Wrong feet. Didn't matter. They were on. Laces up.
Reaching the door, unlatching the chain.
Naked. You're naked.
Do you care?
Well, not for modesty's sake…. Need cover, protection. It's going to be hot. There'll be debris. Flame. Glass.
He grabbed his coat, it was only hip length, a pair of track suit pants he'd taken a run in before bed.
They were on, didn't matter which way was front. His coat, the inner seams scratchy against his bare skin.
By the table, next to the door, grabbed passport.
Into the corridor. The whole building shook at that point. Dust and bits of dry wall shaken free of unsteady panelling. The lighting had never been regular in this building, in most actually, but it flickered one final time before it failed three steps from his door. Screams rung up from the group in the hall, his neighbours, most of whom he hadn't yet been formally introduced. Took a moment to realise his voice was amongst the choir. Something deep in the building chugged to life, an emergency generator kicked in, the lighting was worse in its intensity, but it's flickers were orderly. It wouldn't last long, just enough for him to get to the stairs.
Not a wise decision going for the 8th floor of a twenty-story building. Finances of course proving what they were, prevented better options.
He reached for the wall and guided himself along, he knew the generator's fate was coming. No building manager would spring for that kind of luxury, this was probably an oversight in switch activation from when a landlord cared, or feared being sued.
The footsteps.
Louder this time, the vibrations more violent, the entire building shaking in protest. It was getting closer.
No hope that it was a friendly.
Just Defensor out for a pleasant constitutional?
People were panicking, screams continued, a desperate child squawking somewhere in all the mix, an old man crying out in confusion, left to die in this shit box. No time to be a hero. He wasn't one. Never been one. He'd always been the victim. Always been the little kid. Always it was him who needed protection.
Sorry gramps, I'm no hero.
The stairwell door opened without much protest, the generator failed as he entered.
Shit.
It was pitch, there was now not a hint of light from anywhere.
People recognised the mess they were now in. Screams intensified. The majority were starting to succumb to fear. Some stopped in the stairs, dropping to the steps and grabbing the railing, refusing to move or be moved, some would be crushed, others would cause obstruction, falls.
Daniel grabbed at the side of the wall, probably the safer side to be. He tried to hurry as much as congestion would allow, a few bodies to climb over, didn't care if they were living or dead.
The whole building shunted viciously to the left. Up above, above their heads, high up on the top floors came the sounds of twisting metal, a huge crash, debris rained down, not enough to knock one out, but noticeable. The sounds of screeching steel as it was mangled by some external force. A hand? An explosion? A large bit of some other building picked up and thrown, landing roughly on the roof? It didn't bare thinking about.
Whatever it was, they didn't have much time left to get out, he knew that.
He picked up his pace. The rest of them be damned. What did he owe them anyway? It wasn't right for him, Daniel Witwicky, to die like this. In this crap shack of a place surrounded by these dirty plebs. He was from better stock. He deserved better. Better than his parents, at least. General manners and common decency were pushed aside, much like the probably pregnant feeling woman to his right, or she was just fat. He shoved himself from the wall and pushed between a man in his late teens and a young girl, maybe nine. She squealed, the male just let loose with a torrent of profanities, the Witwicky returned fire.
The building shook again, this time it was the sound of breaking masonry that motivated people to quicken their pace. Twisting metal was one thing; it could be easily brushed off for the sake of one's sanity as simply the beast outside gaining better traction on a bus. Cracking concrete, that meant the building was now in more danger than it had been three flights before. The former friend to the Autobots gave up his final ebbs of dignity and decorum and climbed up over the head of a woman in her 40s who was gripping the hand rail as she slowly took one foot on one step at a time, she lost her balance and tumbled, taking out those in front of her in the stair well. It gave the young man a clear exit route – even if he couldn't see it in the darkness.
The final floor, the dust was replaced more with ash, the stink of it stuck itself to the insides of his nostrils, he gave one final shove of both persons and doors and found himself free into the lobby.
Fires burned without control in the building across the street, an overturned laundry truck lay on the pavement out the front. Broken glass lay everywhere. Wise decision putting on shoes. The heavy and foul smelling curtains were starting to catch the embers that were rammed across the gusting winds. The next shudder the building gave seemed more pronounced on the ground floor, he watched as a portion of the façade buckled and the left archway of three crumbled, crushing a woman and two young toddlers.
Daniel couldn't just stand here and wait for the building to come down, and that's what it sounded as if it was trying to do. He pushed his way through the grimy light, the mass of panicked people, far too fearful to venture outside and too concerned to stay put, so they mingled, their nervousness cutting that same foul air.
He didn't care about them; he'd made that thought known to himself multiple times as he scurried down the stairs. He plotted a course and ran it until he found himself out in the ruins of the street. The burning building across the road, that he'd could only glance portions of within the lobby, held a raging inferno on its top levels. Shattered bodies lay amongst the soot covered rubble in the street, not wanting to burn alive, not sure of the smoke's mercy, they jumped.
Huge trenches lay crushed into the road, revealing pipes, wires and whatever else the local council deemed appropriate to burry underneath. The whole ground shuddered again, a quick look back towards his apartment and he noticed the penthouse was starting to crumble. He couldn't stand here. Couldn't wait. Death would only greet him here. He started running.
Weaving through the equally mobile crowds proved irritating if not more concerning. People didn't seem to have any direction and so ran in whatever way they thought might yield survival. People were clambering down manholes into the sewers, they'd only find Grim there, stupid idiots, he thought. Others took their luck running into other structures, maybe looking for an old fallout shelter or basement. Daniel had learnt many years ago from many Autobots that such places provided only tombs. Others tried starting cars, he saw one man stab a pregnant woman in the neck for the crocked bicycle she thought would carry her and her unborn to safety.
The shudder again.
Louder outside.
He couldn't see anything, so that was probably good luck on his part, or lack of good sight.
A massive crash pulled his attention behind him, a building at the end of the street had finally given way, pancaking, thankfully, into the ground below. Anyone in its basements were now dead. The huge column of dust tore up into the early morning sky blotting out any final hints of blue and sun. It was spilling towards him like a tsunami, this was not something he could gawk at like a bloody tourist. He pulled his jacket up over his head, allowing a tiny gap between the buttons for a peep hole, and he started sprinting, using his other arm to shove whoever was in his way to the side.
Wasn't like anyone was going to know about his lack of chivalry. And he didn't believe in an afterlife, so wasn't like his parents were watching.
Suddenly he was in the air, heat prickling burns into his exposed skin, he was flying, fast, then blackness.
Problem with unconsciousness is for most, there's no awareness of time passed. Such as it was for the young Witwicky. He slowly pushed himself up from the shattered and glass covered ground. Exhaled heavily, pain in his side indicated he had to have had at least three broken ribs, or a decent bruise. A sudden coughing fit didn't help, he wiped the bloody phlegm from his hand and stood, unsteady. The ringing in his ears was annoying, but he could stand, nothing else seemed broken, and if he had any kind of significant internal bleeding he didn't exactly know about it now. He wasn't able to locate the source of the explosion, didn't even think he could guess. The building, now multiple piles of rubble, lay haphazardly about the once busy road. There were people of course, some very dead, others just pieces, others missing pieces, and a few living souls, like him, trying to pull themselves up. He ignored them. No time for them. Only time for him. He noted the man lying next to him, face up, contorted in agony.
"My... legs".
"Both still there, bro. You're fine".
He sounded like a douche, didn't care. What was with the apathy? A small voice asked as he stepped over the newly paralysed chap.
What did it matter, if you couldn't get yourself out of here on your own steam, if you didn't have a friend or family member to haul you along, you died here. Wouldn't be the first, wouldn't be the last.
Devastator.
Shit.
Bad memories of that combiner.
He was certainly having a delightful time. The behemoth balled a fist and smashed it through one of the few towers in the city that wasn't exactly a dog's box. It didn't stand a chance, of course, the layers above where his massive arm made contact were thrust outwards into its neighbours, raining all manner of debris down onto the street and whomever was unfortunate not to have escaped yet.
Daniel needed to continue his way out. He couldn't go back the way he came, sure, the smoke was thick and dark, but amongst it he could see the flickers of what was bound to be a very uncontrolled and hot blaze the noise of which was doing a fine job over powering the screams and sobs of those around him.
The thump upon the ground this time took his balance from him. He fell face forward into a pile of splintered wood, charred and still glowing in parts. Craning his head up, he saw something that gave him more fear than he'd ever known, not to mention a warm sensation in his pants.
The back tread of Devastator's left foot. It had impacted the earth a mere twenty-six centimetres from his head.
His breath escaped him in a shuddered splutter. The rate of his heart became uncomfortable as it pounded in his chest, pain tore through every nerve in his body, an emotional reality hit him hard. He was far too close. Life could end today.
What happened next took him quite a few minutes to process, Superion tackled the green beast. The impressive force creating a deafening soundwave and propelling both giants a ten kilometres from where the young man now began to stagger upright.
The damage such an act left in its wake was unsettling to behold, and would be even worse when the dust had settled and the smoke had dissipated upwards to share itself across the globe. Buildings, that had thus far maintained enough structural integrity to stay upright now surrendered to gravity and began to collapse in on themselves, whilst others toppled messily in various angles towards the ground below.
Just run.
He listened to the voice. Ignored the pain. Ignored the bodies, both living and dead. Ignored the instability in his right ankle as he tried to gain footing on the massive catastrophe that lay around him. Huge bangs crippled the air around him as the two monsters tore into each other. At his current vantage, his eyes red and weeping from both grit and fear prevented any real understanding of the battle, no prediction as to the outcome was even hinted at. Not from down here.
So, this was what it was like.
To be one of them.
To be just another statistic on Prowl's datapads, solemnly and without emotion handed across a large desk into the hand of a melancholic Prime.
Just run.
Daniel noticed a small service way between two large, but well engulfed buildings, but it provided a better exit, he thought. He couldn't afford to give too much consideration to exit strategies, just had to run.
Just run.
He leapt over a crack in the pavement, zig-zagged around six burnt out cars, skimmed an upended hunk of roofing and made it into the passage way. The heat there was less than ideal, it was stealing the air straight from his lungs, leaving pain and exhaustion as a farewell. Perhaps the ultimate farewell.
Run, Daniel, just fucking run.
What else was there to do, anyhow? He ran. It was hard. Hot. Every part of him ached. He was scared. Between the buildings, cracking with flame way above him, he could still make out the sparring titans. Each blow was so massively loud, the resulting shockwaves tore whatever shards of glass remained in window panes and sent them hurtling in every direction, shredding whatever unfortunate happened to be passing by. Running, walking, laying there in tears or in death, the glass gave no concern.
He felt a few of them slice him, but not enough to slow him down. He didn't have the time to whinge about it. Least of his worries, a few dirty cuts, worry about antibiotics later, worry about sutures later. Worry later. Live now.
Just run.
It felt like the clichéd eternity, but he suddenly found himself on the other side of the service lane. The building to the left of his escape started to cave in, the heat and the flame finally claiming its inner spine. A small explosion ripped from somewhere on the fifth floor of the building to the right, the expected spread of rubble tore through, but at least it was high enough up that it got some good distance before it'd start the descent to the terra firma.
The road here was equally cluttered as his previous location, but the thoroughfare away from the two fighting hulks was looking a little more favourable to his weak organic form. He slowed his sprint to a more manageable jog, only picking up pace when another massive thump reverberated through the area.
Just. Run.