a/n: yes. I OBVIOUSLY a multimillion dollar entertainment source. right. just like i'm currently the queen of england.
Disclaimer: like all the rest of you, i own dirty socks and a few nickels not Transformers.
set in 2007 movieverse & AU
W. r. a. i. t. h
A Saleen Mustang coasted at an easy pace past an old warehouse. People avoided the police cruiser even with its lights off – the police were not known for their kindness.
The Mustang's windows were tinted almost to the point of illegality, and with it being so dark, no one, if there had been anyone who cared enough to look, would see a driver; or anyone in the car for that matter.
Barricade's systems were not running at their full capacity, but they were giving warning signals, unnatural heat signals coming from within his cab – something that he was warned of every night. He rounded a corner away from eyes. His systems were still erratic.
Movement – a detection of movement that had him stiffen on his shocks and do something so disgustingly human – pray to the Matrix that it wasn't –
From the backseat, he felt the leather interior being touched, gently so and something clambered to the passenger seat to sink down in a comfortable position. Breath fogged his window. It smelled clean; toothpaste and sweet gum.
Something warm touched his dash and groped for the radio, like someone without eyes. The dial to the volume was turned up moderately and he felt small warmth push the seek button several times before settling on a station. The sound of harp strings filled Barricade's cab.
Bright blue eyes looked into his rear view mirror, all long lashes, bronze skin and dark wavy hair. It – whatever it was – offered no facial expression, but the organic – was it an organic still? – drummed little fleshy fingers on the leather panel of his door. Barricade let himself sink on his shocks just an inch or so, still alert and cautious around the once-perhaps-still-is organic.
He recognized it, without vagueness and with utmost clarity in his memory banks, as Megatron's killer's companion. He remembered the femme as the one who had sawed off Frenzy's head, and the one who helped the destruction of the All Spark –
I slept all day
I awoke with distaste
The radio kept playing and the woman's vocals fragged with his concentration. The Decepticon didn't dare to shut the radio off or turn the sound down despite this.
And I railed
And I raved
The fingers kept drumming on the door, and the female started to hum with the tune. Head of wavy hair bobbed, fake gold hooped ear-jewelry glittering. Barricade backed into another alley, hiding him-self from others; not wishing to be seen even in the dark of the night and under dim, flickering yellow streetlights.
That the difference between
The sprout and the bean
He tried not listening to the song, or the humming or the drumming of fingers. He saw her see something on his dashboard. He waited for the inevitable. She reached across and grasped the yellow and black cardboard trinket. The smirking bee that had the print spelling out Bee-otch was turned over in her fingers.
It is a golden ring
It is a twisted string
Barricade watched, in dread and morbid wonder alike, as her nicely fit, pretty bronze skin curled back from the left side of her face, to leave the white of bone and black of flesh behind. He smelt the odor of singed hair; the scents of charred cotton and skin permeate in his interior.
And you can ask the counselor
And you can ask the king
She lifted her eyes back up to him. One blue eye stared at him, its eyebrow seared off and her other optic was a grotesquely empty, melted socket that offered only a black hole. Barricade waited. He didn't touch the dial of his radio, nor did he peel out and attempt to throw her out. He'd been through the motions before. He'd tried it all before.
And I'll say the same thing
And it's a funny thing
The cheap knick-knack was placed back on his dashboard, and the tense moment passed. She did nothing this time, choosing instead to ignore the burns on her arms and face and the not-blood pouring out of her right side. She tapped a rhythm on the door again with her fingers, missing the tip of one and only having a cauterized stump of another. Uneven breath fogged his window again. She started humming again, not looking into the mirrors but out at the alley wall.
Should we go outside
Should we go outside
Barricade sunk on his shocks, relaxing only slightly. He found out the hard way that she - whatever she was anymore – would not leave, ever under any circumstance. The yellow-black decoration was testament to that. With the not-organic female around so much – shadowing following haunting stalking – the absence of Frenzy was so much more conspicuous if she hadn't been.
Barricade was alerted from his thoughts when he heard sirens and the deep rumble of a Peterbilt truck. He tensed but didn't move. They passed by without incidence.
Barricade saw the not-organic looking in his rear view mirror again, scars and the not-blood gone to leave bronze skin and dark hair. Blue eyes, blue like an Autobot's, watched him – two eyes now, the gross sight gone.
Mikaela Banes, the organic femme he'd killed two months ago, turned the heater on even though she had no physical means to feel it. By all natural laws she shouldn't be here, in his cab, tapping her fingers – now whole and unburned – against the black leather. She should be worm-feed. He shouldn't feel her body heat. She isn't a guilty conscience that much he knows, but as he was one of Megatron's spies he can't be completely sure that this isn't insanity. He doesn't know what she is. His scanners recognize her. He can feel her. He can see her. He can smell her for Primus' sake. She is a paradox; folded on it-self three times and folded back twice.
Should we break some bread
Are you interested
She looked back in the mirror, still humming and bobbing her hair; fake gold glittering in her mass of hair.
Hope it was alright, r/r if it was, or wasn't. Much obliged. :D