Hey everyone! Jason here. Any of you remember Wrong Choice? I reread it a while back and realized "MAN! This is awful!" So, with the help of my dear Muse Zepphy, I rewrote it. This new version will be a lot longer, a lot more in-depth, and hopefully a lot easier to read. I'm kinda surprised this even managed to get out, the two of us kept getting distracted by future story arcs, not just in this fic, but for the sequels. Yes, plural 'sequels'. There will be at least three fics after this, if I can keep up this level of productivity after this fic is done.

Hope you enjoy

Oh, yeah, I don't own any of this fic... Except, of course, for the OCs that will be showing in the very near future.

Dedicated to Zephyrus Genesis, my muse. Thanks for everything.

Full Summary: Once, HE was the cataclyst for the World's End... Once, HE gave his trust to the wrong side... Once, He died. Now, from the ashes of Samuel Witwicky, I have risen. The fury of millions echos through my hollow being. Those who wrought the world's end shall soon meet their own beneath the cold kiss of the Reaper's Blade. As my oath proclaims. So shall it be done.

The yellow car jolted as it hit a few rocks, the speedometer showing speeds no normal car would ever reach without rockets on the back.

“Hey Mikeala... I’ve been wondering...”

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Bullets sprayed around him, the chaos almost silent against his heavy breathing and desperate heartbeat and hopeless footsteps. Faster... Faster!

---

Manicured fingernails, still oddly clean after all that had happened, dug into the upholstery, causing the car’s engine to rumble in mild discomfort. He automatically rubbed the side of the leather seat he was on, bringing a relieved purr that made him smile.

“What, Sam?” She was always the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on… No movie star could compare to her, or any summer blockbuster to this new adventure… Or any 3D IMAX movie to the real danger they were in…

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The building stunk of old shoes and scrap paper, something he hadn’t smelled since grade school gym class.

Stairs... Stairs! Where are the stairs?

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“What do you think about ghost stories?”

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The silver Satan-incarnation was still behind him... Roof, get to the roof, light the flare, get the damned box out of here before-!

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“Now’s really not the time Sam.”

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A twisted hunk of metal, smelling like burning steel and crispy flesh and ruined lives fell down to the ground. He still saw the startled face of the soldier who had reached for him, his blood staining his jacket front. He exhaled, staring down into the wreckage.

Into the abyss…

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“Well, if now’s not the time, when is? Mikeala, what if we...”

“Don’t say that Sam. We’ll get through this.”

Would they?

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“Give me the AllSpark boy, and maybe I’ll let you live. As my pet.“

Nothing he said mattered. This monster, this alien from another world, would never get this AllSpark, this object that pulsed with life in time with his heartbeat... Never.

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“Mikeala, just listen okay?”

A gentle sigh, a glance at the dashboard, and a final look at him. A gentle smile, an understanding.

“Go ahead.”

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“So unwise.”

A crack, a shifting. Falling down, down, down.

“Hang on Sam!”

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“I’ve always liked ghost stories... The ones about murder victims getting revenge on their killers always got to me. Some of them were pretty gory for a kid my age but-“

“Did you ever do the ‘Bloody Mary’ thing?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t pass that up for the world!”

---

Safe, safe. Never before had concrete and sickly black pavement seemed much like home. The spawn of Satan, no Satan himself was yelling at him, shouting at him to give him the AllSpark... And Optimus...

No, Megatron, you’ll never get this AllSpark.

---

“I thought little boys played the choking game.”

“Ehh...” The desert was so plain, no sign of life or sign of Prime or Autobots.

“I never cared about the other kids and their death games. I may like ghosts, but I didn’t want to become one, at least not so soon.”

“Sam...”

---

A face dripping with cruelty, a face once kind and gentle.

“I knew you were a fool Samuel.” Smug… Sick hatred…

“No! Prime DON’T!” Anger… Fear? Impossible!

A shockwave harder than any he could have dreamed, knocked off his feet, head smashing into the pavement. Cries of victory, louder gunshots, and groans and screams and a begging question that might just be in his own head.

“Why?”

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“My favorite one though wasn’t gory or dark or scary. It was the one that got me interested in ghost stories at all.”

“What was it about?” Why was Bee playing that song on the radio? It wasn’t a song he knew at all…

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A strange little robot like that silver one but worse, trying to claw his eyes out. He knocked it off, but it came back, giving him twin gashes right under his left eye. He was screaming, but what was he saying? His legs weren’t working, they were pointed so funny with blood seeping but he didn’t hurt anywhere was he dead?

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“It was about a little boy who helped a ghost move on and helped his family at the same time.”

“How did that work?”

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Inching, slowly inching, no pain, no pain, no pain. Red optics peering down at him.

“Hey... Mega...”

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“The little boy lived in a house that was once owned by a rich man. His family was very poor though. The ghost couldn’t move on until someone found his stash of treasure, so the little boy offered to help... When he found the money, the ghost moved on, and his family was able to keep the house.”

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”Sorry… bout all this…” What would he do over? Everything passed before him… Mom and Dad who were annoying but loving he never got to say goodbye, Miles, who never got to go to collage and get ‘laid’ teenagers who’d never drink alcohol legally, Mojo with the IQ of a bonobo monkey...

Mikeala…

“I screwed up, didn’t I?” Again… Screwed up again…

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“That little kid... I always...”

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Fade away... Fade away... Staring up, pleading softly, a nod...

Fading away... I’m so sorry Mikeala... that shadow over him, a foot right next to him, raising up.

“’ey…”

Pause. Silence. Red optics watching him, that face a mix of disgust and depression, the comforting smell of blood in his nose.

“Sorry… I trusted him…I…” A cough, more blood on his jacket. “Trust too easily…”

A shadow darkening, his body twitching, liquid copper in his mouth…

“I just wanted…”

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“I always wanted...”

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Fade away… Fade… away…

Forever… Forgive m

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“...To be that little kid."