I'm actually basing this story on the Skinned trilogy, by Robin Wasserman. If you've read those books, you may recognize a few lines from the series pop up. I don't own those. I don't own the Skinned trilogy, nor do I own transformers.

Anywho, onward! Reveiw, tell me if you love it, or hate it.

Blink.

Check.

Blink.

She looked down, looked back up, looked down again, and tried to tell herself that under no circumstance would she let herself believe that this was happening.

First step: Denial. Check.

"Mikaela? Oh, God, Mikaela! You're alright! You're alright!"

The more he said it, the more Mikaela wished she would just fall over and die again.

Move hands: Check. Stare at Sam…erm…down at Sam: Check.

Sam waved his arms, and Mikaela wasn't sure if he was trying to get her attention, or trying to get someone else's attention. Nevertheless, it was annoying, and Mikaela found herself shifting, joints creaking, as she stared at him.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Sam, sensing her discomfort, stopped flailing around and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Your vocal cords…they're…um, sort of like Bee's. Just not as bad. Ratchet should get you fixed up in no, time, Mikaela."

She wanted to scream. To curse. To smash everything but Sam. How? Why? But mostly, how?

"I bet you're wondering how this all happened."

No shit, Sherlock.

"It was Barricade. He attacked us from behind," Sam shuddered at the memory. "Bee, um, he tried to grab you, and, like….well…"

He missed. Mikaela could only lay there, fingers twitching, mouth open in a silent cry. No sound came out. She felt weak, vulnerable. Angry. Angry at everyone and everything that made the world full of pain and loss and suffering.

"Ratchet was able to somehow transport your brain into the corpse of a dead female Decepticon…."

Dead? Female? Decepticon? Above everything else, she was a Decepticon. One of the ones who had caused the accident in the first place?

"Your body is….um….well, I'll let Ratchet explain it too you."

Her body? Mikaela shifted her large hand, the gesture feeling alien and familiar at the same time. She rested it against her stomach, feeling the metal, the wires, and the heat vibrating off the protoform. Her protoform.

She wanted to vomit, but there was a an emptiness inside her, and it was then that she realized Cybertronians didn't puke. Or eat. Or breathe. It wasn't her, it wasn't her, it wasn't her. Her humanity was gone, stripped away. No chance of getting it back.

"You're going to be fine."

Those five words were lies, Mikaela knew. She wasn't going to be okay. She would never be okay.

Oh, God, her dad. Her relatives…what would…what would they think?

"Optimus wants to see you after Ratchet runs some scans and stuff," Sam said casually, shoving his hands into his pocket, face red. He was trying to act cool and smart. Cool, smart, handsome Sam. But he was losing it. Mikaela could tell by the way he was rocking back and forth. Like he wanted to wrap his arms around himself, go into a corner, sit down, and take a nice, long, cry.

She needed a mirror. If they made Cybertronian sized mirrors. It didn't matter. All she wanted was to see herself, see what she looked like.

A monstrosity, probably.

She shifted again. Her eyes….or optics…or whatever they were called, felt heavier and heavier, like if she tilted her head, they would roll out her ears. Wait? Did Cybertronians's really have ears like humans did? She couldn't remember.

For the first time, she actually observed her surroundings. White room, back pressed against a hard, metal surface. The medical bay, no doubt, with Sam standing what looked like miles down.

"Don't worry, Mikaela, don't worry. You're gonna be fine. I…I love you…"

The way his words came out hesitant made Mikaela snort. He was just saying that. He would never be able to love her again, now that she was….now….

"Can you try to speak?"

Mikaela just shook her head. Sam's eyes lit up, and she realized it was the first time she had directly responded to one of his questions.

"Speaking is not advised."

Mikaela hadn't even noticed Ratchet entering the med bay, data pad in hand. It amazed her, really, how he was now the same size as herself. But still, that didn't prove a thing. It didn't change a thing. In fact, she would give anything to be that small fleshling again that looked up at Ratchet in awe. Anything.

"The damage was horrendous, but I'm glad to see that you're doing alright."

Doing alright? Doing alright? What the hell was he saying?

Mikaela opened her mouth, despite Sam's sudden warning.

"Put me back."

Mikaela's mouth snapped shut when she heard the sound of her own voice.

Metallic. Mechanic. No longer human.

She wanted to cry, but whatever part, whatever joint or wire or tube that controlled her eyes, wouldn't come up with the tears.

"Ugh, Mikaela, please. Let me fix your-"

"Put me back."

Three simple words and Ratchet was reeling back in alarm.

"Mikaela, we can't put you back in your original body," then, looking down at his feet for a moment, he mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"The wounds you sustained should have offlined you permanently. Your old body…Mikaela, its…"

"It's what?" Again, she was astounded at the sound of her own voice. It sounded way to loud to be her.

"Your left leg had to be amputated. The majority of your skin was burned, while your right arm had been blown off completely."

No. No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening to her.

"I don't care," she said, cursing the way her new voice made her sound so strong. She didn't want to be strong. No now. She wanted Ratchet to hear the pain in her voice, hear the despair.

"I care, Mikaela. We all care."

"Put me back," she sobbed. Then, "you turned me into some type of freak."

Sam made a noise in the back of his throat. Ratchet actually cringed, gripping the data pad so tight that, Mikaela thought it might snap in half. He sighed and tossed it down onto the table, and Mikaela heard it clatter, her new ears picking up the echo.

"You are not a freak," Ratchet assured her. "You're lucky. Lucky that Optimus and I got to you in time."

"Whatever," Mikaela said. "Just…just put me back…please."

"We can't."

And then, Mikaela's head fell back down against the berth.

This wasn't happening.

"You are still Mikaela. Every memory, every experience you've had as a human is stored in your processors. We just have to get them stabilized before you can start to feel or thing like an average Cybertronian."

No. She wasn't Mikaela. The real Mikaela was gone. A charred, broken piece of flesh probably buried under pounds of dirt right now. That broken, charred Mikaela was the one she wanted to be right now. The one that Sam was still in love with.

Convincing herself was harder than she thought. She did still remember some memories from her seemingly distant past – her twelfth birthday, how her dog somehow got up onto the counter and ate half her cake. The next year, when she watched her cousin got married. Prom. Sam, going to college.

Sam, being killed and the brought back to life. Brought back to life, but still the same, old Sam Witwicky she loved and cherished.

"Tell me how you did it."

Ratchet stared at her blankly.

"You don't want to know the technical details."

"Try me."

He did. He told her how the brain – her brain – was removed.

Frozen. Sliced into razor thin sections.

Scanned.

Functionally mapped out onto a three dimensional model, axons replaced by the vector space of a quantum computer, woven through wires that crisscrossed and formed the equivalent of a Cybertronian brain. In human terms, of course.

How they had desperately used the Matrix of Leadership to bring her Decepticon body back to life. The whole thing had been a download, really, and Ratchet's words hardly made sense as he rambled on and on about the human brain and nerves systems and….

She couldn't feel a thing.

She didn't mean on the outside, like the feel of the smooth metal under her that dug into her protoform, or Ratchet's strong hand on her shoulder, or the sound of Sam's reassuring words. No. It was that, but it wasn't just that. She should be feeling nauseated. About to puke. But she wasn't because she didn't have anything to puke up. She didn't have a stomach to hold the stuff she puked up. There was no hollowness in the base of her throat, telling her, warning her that she was about to burst into tears.

The only thing that felt relatively normal, relatively human, was the silent thrum of her spark. Like a violent heartbeat. Her brain – or whatever was up there – told her that she was horrified and disgusted. But they were just words. Adjectives pertaining to an emotional effect that modifies nouns relating to organic creatures. Humans, in particular.

Mikaela no longer qualified.