Disclaimer: standard.

Author has a question: Already have another Transformer human character starring as a vampire here (feel free to guess who—if you get it right, I'll send you an e-cookie), but have reached the "fork-in-the-road" of storytelling in which I can choose one of two paths. I can either make Sam/Spike and the other character the only (predominant) vampires in this fiction, or I can turn other TF humans into vampires as well.

So here is the question: How much is too much?

Hunt

3: Mikaela's Car

Night had come quickly and quietly, and already Spike could make out some stars…though the sight of stars was a rare treat this close to the city.

City. City meant people. People meant blood. Blood meant…

Mikaela might have been right, he thought somewhat bitterly as he walked across the darkened suburban streets. The tip of his tongue ran over his teeth, the canines already slightly extended. Not enough to tip humans off to him right away, but a Masquerade violation was certain should he get too close to one. If he ever did get that close, he'd have to chow down or risk everything. But he couldn't just hop on the next train. He needed to do something first. He needed to find the old man, thirst be damned.

So immersed was he in driving back his thirst, that he didn't notice it at first when something started following him. An old, familiar feeling in his gut and the hairs that stood at his neck were his first warnings. He didn't need another.

Don't look back, don't look back. He'll know that you know. Walk casually, but purposefully. He can't know that you don't have a destination. He can't know that you're lost. Lost is wandering; wandering is vulnerable; vulnerable is prey. You can't be prey again. You can't. Just around this corner and—

Spike leaped over a fence, and started moving along the shadows, avoiding the person's flowers as he did so out of a long-engrained force of habit. He longed to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that was following him, but he couldn't go and just look at the damn thing—he'd be spotted. He could always use his familiars, but even calling on a single bat would fray the already thin rope of control that he was balancing on. He could always chance that there was only one of them and kill two birds with one stone by just feeding on the stalker…by the risks outweighed the benefits.

So ignoring the part of him that demanded that he identify and possibly eliminate the threat, he continued on his trek, finally deciding on his destination for the night. Shedding his human-shape, he turned into the form that was natural to vampires, the armoured Warshape, trusting that vampiric speed, moonlight and consumption of various intoxicants would cover him from any humans who might be looking in his direction.

Even though humans wouldn't know a caffeinated alien even if it danced right in front of them, that didn't mean that he should be careless.

He walked calmly pass the houses with their blinds drawn and the light inside muted, the soft scraping of his armour giving away his location only to wary nocturnal animals, the prey cowering at his approach and the predators steering away from him, respectful of a much more formidable hunter in their midst, even if that hunter wasn't considered much of a hunter in his own ranks.

The wolf inside him howled for a pack. But Spike knew he couldn't belong. Though he loved Miles and Mikaela and Carly as much as a vampire was able to love, he didn't belong to the humans, whose Sam died twenty-three years ago on a snowy winter night of fire, nor did he belong to the vampires, who had murdered him that day.

True, he owed much to the vampire world. The beastly Gangrel Embraced him, the violent Brujah named him, the horrific Nosferatu taught him, the beautiful Toreador laughed with him, the secretive Tremere shared the dark with him, and the manipulative Ventrue fed him and lead him. He owed much to the vampire world.

Except the insane Malkavians. No, he owed nothing to that particular Clan. The only thing he owed that Clan was a stake through the heart of one of their prominent members.

X x X

The human was almost impossible to track. Bumblebee scanned the area for any life-forms, but the only heartbeats he picked up were those of intoxicated humans wandering the streets. The only other heartbeat that he picked up was far too shallow to support human life, and the temperature being emitted was much cooler than normal human body temperature. Bumblebee had dismissed it as someone's pet that had gotten loose. Too bad his scanner couldn't tell him the size of the so-called pet, or else he would have picked up on the fact that it was as tall as most humans.

After five human years, Bumblebee had gotten so close to what he was searching for, and it slid right through his large metallic fingers. He could hear the twins laughing at him right now. And if the human had seen him following and was actively avoiding him…it would be near impossible to get close to him. Bumblebee had to curse his conspicuous yellow exterior. It made sneaking difficult sometimes. He'd have it repainted the next time they met up with the squad that had the misfortune of carrying the twins—Sunstreaker was certainly qualified enough—if only he wasn't afraid of what the twins would do to his paintjob.

He made his way slowly back in the direction he saw the child coming from, reviewing information on Samuel James Witwicky. Ignoring the fact that the information was at least twenty three years old and thus far outdated, Bumblebee carefully made out the human's connections.

Carly, a high school crush. Now Carly Banes, with husband Daniel Banes and daughter Mikaela Banes. The Banes family lived right up the street. Bumblebee concluded that that was who Samuel James Witwicky must have been visiting. Parking himself next to the Banes' relatively shabby residence, Bumblebee cast his scanners again, and overheard that the maternal unit would go with her youngling the next day to some "Bobby Bolivia's" lot to buy a car.

Searching the World Wide Web, Bumblebee knew where he had to go.

X x X

Parked in the Banes' residence three days after being purchased, Bumblebee was having serious doubts as to whether or not three days of excessive "pimping" at the hands of the juvenile human femme was worth it when the human that he had been searching for walked up the driveway. Though what he was doing there 11 o'clock at night was beyond Bumblebee's understanding. Come to think of it, what the human femme—Mikaela—was still doing tinkering with his exterior and interior at 11 o'clock at night was also beyond him. Humans were just so strange sometimes.

Bumblebee tensed at the boy's approach, all the while thinking to himself, You are an inanimate object. You are an inanimate object. "Nice car," the boy told Mikaela appreciatively, stroking Bumblebee's hood with his gloved hands. Gloved? Bumblebee thought. Odd, even though it's night-time, it's still so warm out…But then again, nothing about the human seemed normal. Bumblebee internally soothed his logic processors for the hundredth time that day, which were going: Isn't this human supposed to be an adult of his species? He still looks juvenile! Bumblebee would figure that out later. What was important was protecting this child from the Decepticons.

"Thanks," Mikaela responded, grinning as she wiped oil and gas and sweat off her brow. "It took me three days to get it to look like this."

The human boy—Sam—whistled his admiration. "Took you three days to make an '87 look like a '08? Nice work."

"Yep. Go in, try it," she said invitingly. Without further prompting, Sam went into Bumblebee's interior. Bumblebee tried not to squirm at the feeling of his warm body. Human females must have warmer internal temperatures than males he thought, comparing the warmth of Mikaela with Sam's. Nothing on the World Wide Web indicated such but…but perhaps it was just such common knowledge that no human thought of putting it down anywhere. After all, it didn't need to be written down in any encyclopaedia that humans needed to breath.

"Feels good," Sam said at length, running his gloved hand over Bumblebee's Autobot insignia. Both boy and Autobot were surprised as Mikaela presented keys to Sam through the window.

"Wanna take it for a spin?" she asked, grinning impishly.

Yes! Do it! Then I can properly protect you, contact Optimus and the others and we can—

"Nah, not today Mikaela. I'll take it for a drive after you've had a turn." Bumblebee shifted slightly on his tires, aggravated and disappointed. He missed the mystified look that briefly clouded Sam's face, as though he noticed that the car had shifted a little under its own power.

"What? You don't trust my workmanship? Come on, it's not gonna die on you halfway through the city," she said in a mock-insulted way.

"No, it's not that!" Sam answered somewhat awkwardly, not picking up on her teasing. "It's just that—well, you've done so much work on it, and I thought that you might want to drive it first and—" She gave a laugh.

"Relax, Spike. I was only kidding." So Mikaela knows Sam as Spike, Bumblebee mused. Just who was this boy anyhow? This child who wasn't supposed to be a child, this child who wore gloves in warm weather, this child who wandered places at night, this child who answered to a strange name? Bumblebee had to halt his musings as his logic processors started bothering him again.

Sam got out of the driver's seat, bade goodnight to Mikaela, and started walking down the street.

"Hey, Spike! Catch!" Mikaela tossed some keys in Sam's direction. Sam barely caught them. Bumblebee observed that, even for humans, Sam seemed a tad clumsy.

"What are these for?" Sam asked, confounded.

"If…If you need it, take it!" was Mikaela's only answer. Cryptic, as if she was afraid of someone overhearing. Someone was overhearing, and the cryptic message did its job: Bumblebee could not figure out why the human might need a car so badly that Mikaela would give him an extra set of keys.

The boy nodded in understanding, and Bumblebee could only watch unhappily as his supposed charge continued down the dark road.