Living in south Alabama was hot, especially when you were living in trailer without AC in the middle of the woods in a very rural community.

Margery reclined back on a dirty lounge chair letting a small white fan sitting on a cluttered table. Her usual black sweat jacket was open revealing the white t-shirt underneath. Her long black sweat pants waved loosely around thin legs. Her dark hair clung about her pale face, from lack of sun, and several strands blew loosely about her face.

Why was she wearing long sleeves and long pants in this heat? Because she hated touching things, goddammit.

She curled her toes inside her thick wooly socks, socks that no one would wear in this heat if they could help it.

She lifted her head when she heard the familiar sound of tires crunching soil and dry grass outside. Damn, fucking kids. They were always coming to spray paint the words: witch, freak, psycho, trailer trash, and sometimes bitch on her trailer. There should be a time in kids' lives that they should have their knee caps removed so they couldn't get around much. Last time they threw rocks through her windows, which were now covered with duct tape and newspapers . . . and the damn trailer was still hot.

This time she was ready.

Her hands were already covered in lightly powered latex gloves, but she pulled on woolen gloves over them anyway. She reached over and grabbed a metal bat with duct tape wrapped heavily around the handle. She slipped her wool covered feet into almost too big work boots.

She waded through the piles of trash that accumulated on the floor: pizza boxes, paper plates, cups, plastic eating utensils, newspapers, rolls of duct tape, and used gloves. She leaned against the door where there was a small peephole she had made in the newspaper covering of the small window beside the door.

She waited listening for any hushed laughter or feet crunching in the dry dirt. She concluded they that must have quickly gotten out when they parked. She took a chance and peeked through the hole.

It was hard to see at first, but she could faintly make out a car several yards away. She didn't have any outside lights around the outside for that the bulbs had long gone out and she saw no use in buying more. She couldn't see any movement outside. They must be out in the woods getting rocks to throw.

She stepped out into the humid night air, pulling her sweat jacket's hood up and over her head, not to block out any chill that was not there at all, but to keep a barrier between her bare face and the outside word. She hated touching things with a passion . . . it was only when she was high that she didn't mind too much.

She stepped uneasily across the dry grass. It had been almost three weeks since she set foot outside her trailer. The crickets singing sounded strange outside her trailer walls. As she came closer to the car, she noticed its coloring. It had the most awful colors she had ever seen.

It consisted of two colors. A lime green mixed with a color she couldn't decide whether it was brown, orange, or dark red. It made her think of dog shit. They twisted with each other in whorls as if it was some sort of hippie's peace van. It would really look the part if it had a peace sign painted on the side.

She stared at it and decided that she would be doing whoever owned this car a favor.

She raised the metal bat and brought it crashing down on the windshield. A webbing of cracks bloomed from the impact with a cracking smack. She raised the bat again and slammed it down on the hood leaving a long and shallow dent. She lifted it for a third bash, waiting to hear angry yells or the car's alarm to start blaring.

None of these things happen.

As the shaft of the bat banged on the hood again, the car shifted and seemed to leap away from her. It unfolded, metal moving against metal, arms, legs unfolding and stretching out. And then a head with glaring blue-green orbs glowed at her from a dark face far above her.

"What in the Pit was THAT for?" The metallic giant yelled at her with a voice that sounded as if it was coming from speakers. "You BETTER run!" It called after her as she dashed for the trailer, her jacket flapping behind her.

She nearly tripped on the black metal steps, but recovered by hauling herself up by the door wrench. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard loud booming footsteps of doom behind her. She wrenched the door and dashed inside before it was completely opened, banging her shoulder hard. She didn't notice the pain until after she slammed the door shut and locked it.

Fuck it all too fucking hell. If the trailer couldn't handle tornado, it sure as hell wasn't going to stand up against Mt. Pissed Off outside. There was only one thing to so.

It was stupid; she realized later when she thought about this later. She blamed the fear clouding her head and that she was hoping that this was all a drug dream.

"Hey! Get back out here! Hey, I know you're in there! Turning off the lights and lying on the floor doesn't mean I forget seeing you run in there!"

The trailer shook as it was tapped by the metal monster looming over it. Margery, stretched out on the floor, held her breath fearing that the ceiling would collapse on her and the pizza boxes.

A large black finger poked through the newspaper covering ripping through the paper.

Thankfully the window was too small for his hand to reach through for her. Glowing twin shades of aqua glared at her through the torn hole, bathing the inside of the trailer with aqua green.

"Go away!" She yelled from the floor. "I thought you belong . . . I thought ya were someone else."

"You attack me and then run away! How are you going to fix this? Huh? My front is SMASHED!" On his chest were the dented hood and a smashed windshield.

"Shit." She hissed and crawled through the piles of trash on the floor toward the small kitchen area of the trailer. She sat up against the counter cabinets and yanked open a drawer and took out a battered envelope full of money. She pulled out two fifties and put the rest back in the drawer.

"What are you doing?" The metal giant demanded watching her through another window he tore open to keep an 'eye' on her.

Margery shoved herself to her feet and walked to the opening. She noticed he stepped back away as if to give her room to speak and she tossed the two bills out the window. "Here! Just take it and leave, dammit!"

The transformer watched the two green slips of paper float to the ground. "What is this?"

"Money! Okay, money! One hundred and that's all yer gettin'. You were trespassin'!" Her voice was shrill. Was this one of those Autobots? Fuck, was she going back to jail? Fuck that, if she was going, this metal sonuvbitch was going down for trespassing too.

"I didn't see a SIGN!"

"BULLSHIT! Margery screech thrusting open palmed hands at the window getting frustrated along with scared shitless and pissed off. "There are signs down the damn road!"

"They say beware of dog! Where's the dog? You deactivate it with your weapon?" The metal thing spat.

"There isn't any dog, you stupid fuck!" She screeched and backed up toward the kitchen.

"So you're a liar also!"

"Get off my property!" She yelled bumping into the stove. If this was a drug dream, then she wasn't taking this shit no more.

"Make me!"

A skillet, with molding food clinging to its surface, sailed through the window and smashed into the windshield on his chest, shattering it. Shining glass clattered down his chest and rained on the grass below. The transformers stared in horror at his chest and yelled, "You just deactivated yourself!"

He reached out to grab the trailer. To flip it over, shake it, or just throw across the clearing, he didn't know, because he never had a chance to do anything to it.

"Touch my trailer, motherfucker. I'll call the damn cops and they'll call the government, and they'll call the Autobots."

He froze in mid grab. He looked as if he was weighing what she said and then relaxed his arms from a position of "smashing the trailer to bits" to "hey now, let's be friends". He relaxed the angry glare from his faceplate and grinned in a mock way of friendliness. He stepped back away from the trailer with hands up showing he no longer meant any harm. "Now, let's not do this. You don't want to call. . ."

"Hello, police . . . this is Margery Kayla I have this trespasser on my property taller than my trailer and made of metal and he needs his metal ass kicked. Send the Autobots to . . ."

"I'm going! Okay, look transforming. . ." He transformed, folding down to his alt-mode. ". . . and leaving." The car wheeled around and started to roll away from the trailer. It halted, paused for a few seconds, and the car said, "I'm Crash."

Margery, who had pretended to be on the phone, hung it up. She crept to the window. "Are you one of those . . . Decepticons?"

"Naw, those guys scare the oil outta me."

"You're scared of the Autobots." She pointed out.

"I don't want those guys mad at me either."

There were more seconds of silence. Then Margery broke it and said, "I thought you were leaving."

"I'm waiting for you to tell me your name. That is if you flesh creatures identify each other by name. Or do you go by scent?"

"You don't need to know my name to leave..."

There was another moment of silence. Before Margery could go to the phone and either pretend to call the police or really call them, he spoke.

"Just don't tell anyone I was here, okay?" Crash pleaded. "It's really important that neither the Autobots nor Decepticons know I'm here."

"I won't if you just go away."

"Fine." The car rolled away from the trailer and then vanished through the darkness lining the trees. She watched where it disappeared and held her breath. The sound of the tires crushing the dry grass and the engine running gently touched her ears. Then it faded away and the throb of silence and the steady pulse of crickets replaced it.

She released her breath and wondered if all of that had really happened.

She didn't sleep. She sat on the floor and breathed through her mouth. Did that happen? She looked up and would see the torn newspaper coverings on the windows from where Crash . . . no . . . the robot had poked his finger through.

She didn't bother turning on the lights. It was better in the dark anyway, if she wasn't moving around much and trip and break her neck over a goddamn pile of trash. She turned the lights back on.

Had it all been a hallucination from shooting up?

No, she didn't shoot up last night. Though she had smoked a joint earlier, it wasn't enough to make her see a giant pissed off robot. Was it?

She rubbed her face. Only one way to find out. Go outside and see if the bat, the broken glass, and the money were outside. But first she needed something to help her calm down.

She scooted over to the tattered couch against the wall in front of a small television. She slipped a hand underneath it, brushing aside an empty coke can and pulled out a small bag. Inside was a small casing of heroin and a syringe.

Stupid slagging fleshie.

He trundled through the darkness, the trees appearing as specters in his headlights. Cool air touched his interior and made his coolant crawl. He couldn't repair himself. One, he knew scrap about anatomy. Two, he didn't have any parts.

Stupid, stupid, slaggity slagging fleshie glitch.

He had only wanted to get his first glimpse of a human . . . in fact, his first glimpse of an organic. He had expected fear, curiosity, maybe, hopefully, worship, but not an outright attack. He should have picked up the dwelling and chucked it over the trees with it inside.

He arrived at his skiff which had been tucked within a particular thick area of vines beside a small pond. He had made sure to spread the organic green clingy stuff all over his skiff for camouflage before exploring. The skiff had seen better days. It was dented and scratched, but it still flew and got him from place to place when he needed.

He transformed and winced as he lightly traced the edge of the window on his chest. At least the damage wasn't severe or kept him from transforming. That was a scary thought right there, not being able to transform into robot mode and no medic around to help. The main concern was that if it rain, the water would definitely get into his interior and inside him when he transformed. He wasn't sure whether the liquid would damage his insides, but he wasn't willing to find out. What he could so was put some covering over the glass.

He's worry about that later, right now he needed to recharge. He slipped inside and switched on the security lock behind him. The skiff was small, but there was space enough for him alone. He went to the back where he recharged and just relaxed when he had nothing to do.

He dimmed the lights, switched on a radio accepter on a shelf at his elbow, and half listened to the local news of the area. His receptors were alert for any mention of Autobots and/or Decepticons. Robots, giant mechs, and other variations would have caught his attention as well. He tossed himself backwards onto the recharge table. He stared up at the ceiling; if he was human he would have taken a deep breath.

Crash wasn't exactly the most attractive looking Transformer. It wasn't that his creator created him unattractive, but it was from lack of care. He had, in a human sense of the phrase, let himself go. His paintjob was scratched and chipped along his arms and legs. On his left arm, from his elbow to his wrist, there was no paint at all in a long line. His metal 'skin' was scuffed and dull from lack of polish and care.

He had chosen very dull colors for his paint job, brown and dull green which meshed against each other in whorls. Only attraction that could be found was his optics. They were aqua green, a very pale and soothing color which did not match his paintjob at all. They seemed very out of place and they remained after having his paintjob redesigned so long ago.

He thought back to his first encounter of the organic kind and couldn't help but feel a thread of hurt and anger with the human. It had hurt when it had whapped his hood. Maybe he will go back there tomorrow and stomp the dwelling into satisfying pieces. No, if he did that then it would be on the local news and the other Transformers will know that there was a new one on the planet.

He rolled onto his side and reached down the side of the table. He pressed a switch and a panel flipped open revealing a small compartment. He reached in and withdrew a small energon cube and a small device.

He nursed from the cube carefully. He had to hold himself back from gulping it completely. It's been a while since he had been fully energized and it was taking a toll on him. He took one last sip before setting the half empty cube back into its compartment under the table. He turned his attention to the device.

It resembled a human syringe except it was created from metal and long tube like end was round. It held a blue like substance inside that almost glowed in the dimmed room. He sat up and held the rounded end against his left optic. He slipped a finger into the round trigger on the other end. The round end pressed against his optic and pulled the trigger. There was a small hiss as air was released and the fluid was force along causing small electrical surges rushed into the small edges around his optic. The fluid streamed through the tiny gap between his optic glass and the edges of his faceplate.

He set the device down on the berth near his hip and lolled his head back as the liquid did its work. It rushed through the insides of his cranium causing pleasurable pulses and his aqua eyes glowed icy blue for several seconds, before darkening to a dull green and then lighting back up to aqua. The juice glided down downwards through his body sending shocking sparks of euphoria through him.

He had taken the equivalent of human heroin.

He shifted back onto the recharge table and let the pleasant shocks glide along his inner workings.

Fifteen miles away, a human was lying on the floor enjoying the warmth flushing her across her skin.

Both took long sighs of pleasure as their sweet poison spread through the web of fuel lines and blood veins. It was macabre of pink energon and red blood flowing, no longer the purpose of life, but of delivering death.