Note: For those of you unfamiliar with the term, omake is a Japanese word that means extra or bonus. Usually they're pretty small, I hadn't planed on this being more than a page. But it grew, and then my beta insisted on more violence so this omake is quite literally half as long as the original. .
Don't Think You're So Great
Trent rubbed the fingers in his left hand absently over each other. He could feel the rough catches of tiny scabs between his fingers and his skinned knuckles were tight as he flexed them. His right hand was slightly more beat but, but he didn't mind. The person on the receiving end looked a lot worse.
The tight end trailed his eye from the clock to the empty seat a few chairs up and one row over from his own. Sadly, it wouldn't be empty forever. Trent had fully expected that dickwad Wibbicky to die in the cave, found the next morning perhaps or late at night. The visit by the Army dude had been unexpected and set him on edge. Mack's dad only had sway over the local police.
Yet that was three days ago now, the punk was still in the hospital. Mikaela, that whore, hadn't been in school. Probably called in sick and was sitting at the loser's bedside. She had called him, left a crazy assed message involving a lot of threats and surprisingly not a lot of yelling. Trent didn't pay much attention to it; he, Mack, and John had laughed over most of it. As far as consequences went, only getting a call from an ex was no big deal. He felt like he was on top of the world.
Trent's attention was brought to the student at the door only by the halt of the background droning of his history teacher.
"Trent, you're wanted in the office,"
He gathered his books and smiled at the silent whistle faces two other football players were making while he walked out. Ms. Lewie the principle was The Hottest Thang to walk the halls of Tranquility High School.
Trent took his time getting down there, putting his books away and checking his teeth and hair in his locker mirror. All set. He walked in the main office and found Ms. Lewie already there.
"Waiting for me Ms. Lewie?"
"Of course not, I was just talking to Chris here." The principle gestured towards the secretary and then turned and walked away, heading towards not her office, but a small empty one used for class meetings.
Trent's smile faltered as he noticed who was waiting inside, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, a grim mouth, and eyes promising punishment. It was that fucking Army captain who had come to his house asking questions.
He quickly went on the defensive.
"Hey I heard they found Sam, sorry I could have been more helpful."
Trent found it was kinda rude when he didn't get a response.
"Why don't you sit down Mr. DeMarco," Ms. Lewie indicated him to take a seat at the small table in the center of the room and then walked around it to the TV trolley on the other side. "There's something Captain Lennox and I would like you to see." She turned the TV on and then started a tape in the DVD player.
'Something' ended up being a black and white security tape showing three guys trashing a Camaro and then knocking out a guy out before stuffing him in a car and then driving out. Trent would have made a case about it being unclear who the attackers were because of the quality of the video, but the truck that took off was as distinctive in the school parking lot as the dickwad's Camaro.
He didn't want to turn around because he could feel the captain's glare from behind him. Trent was scared that if he did he'd end up with a few broken bones just from the force of getting it full on. As it was, the jock just hunched into his seat and refused to look anywhere but at the table.
"Do you have anything to say Mr. DeMarco?" Ms. Lewie asked.
Well, at this point it was useless to deny anything and it angered him that wasn't going to get away with this as he had planned.
"Nothing at all?" the principal reiterated.
"What do you want me to say?" he bit out.
"You can start with why," the army guy growled from behind him.
"Why? Because, Witwicky thinks he so cool, driving that new Camaro and taking my girl. He's just a dweeb turned snob and a thief. He stole my girl and he probably stole that car too! Fucker, I bet he's got blackmail on her and that's the only reason Mikaela's going out with such a loser. It's too bad he wasn't found later."
In a second, pain lanced across his head, his head hit the table, and Ms. Lewie's voice shrilled in his ears.
"Captain Lennox, please refrain from hitting my students! Mr. DeMarco, I'm ashamed of you, speaking so about your fellow students. You're parents would be ashamed."
Actually, his dad had taught him every bit of colorful vocabulary he knew and his mom was the one who had introduced him to the idea of Mikaela being blackmailed. If Ms. Lewie was trying to shame him, it wouldn't work.
Slowly he brought his hand to the back of his head to search for blood. From the force of that blow he wouldn't be surprised if the guy was wearing brass knuckles, but his hand came away clean. Note to self: army guys pack a punch. He was simply grateful his nose wasn't broken from hitting the table like it did.
No one said anything. After a couple minutes Ms. Lewie released a heavy sigh. "You're expelled Mr. DeMarco. And you'll be facing charges."
"What? Just like that? No fingerprinting or anything?" he made to stand up but a heavy hand on his shoulder forced him down.
"You'll get fingerprinted and all that, but that video alone is enough to hold you and by the time you would be free to go we'll have the proof that you were the one to hurt Sam. I'm not letting you get away with this."
"Why are you here anyway man?" Trent asked, finally looking at the other man. "Sam's just a kid, he's not even old enough to be in the Army."
The captain crossed his arms. "Sam's a special case."
"Cuz he can steal cars?"
That earned him a glare, but the Army man didn't hit him again. "Because he's smart, already has battle experience, and the Secretary of Defense likes him. He's gonna do a lot better than working at McDonalds his whole life like you'll be."
"Hmmf, we'll see about that."
"You don't get kid, do you? You're not being given a public trial. You almost killed someone in the Army, you're going through our court systems, and I can guarantee you won't find any help there."
Trent hated to admit it, but he gulped.
"Now, I think we're done here. Ms. Lewie," the captain nodded to her and then pulled Trent out of his seat by the back of his shirt. "Now move."
"No hand cuffs?" Trent jibbed as they walked down the hallway towards the parking lot.
"Hand cuffs are to prevent the guy in them from trying anything. I don't need them. You try anything, and I mean anything, I will kick your fucking ass so hard you won't be able to sleep for a week because you'll be in too much pain."
Trent paled because the voice behind that threat said that said threat would be carried out without any problems and it wouldn't be the first time the captain had done so.
"You understand me DeMarco?" the Army man placed a not to gentle shove between his shoulder blades.
Trent squinted from the sunlight when they walked out and wished he had at least been allowed to grab his coat from his locker. It was chilly outside. And really, there was that black truck sitting in the teacher's parking lot. He had though it looked familiar when he saw it through the window in class.
"Doesn't look like much of an Army truck," Trent said as the came up along side it.
The captain laughed. "There's more that meets the eye to ol' Ironhide here. Now get in."
Trent found himself practically pushed in the back seat. Slowly he straightened up, glaring at the other man as he hopped in the driver's seat. Once he was fully upright the seatbelt zoomed across his chest and latched itself in the buckle. It was painfully tight.
"See what you mean about this truck."
He wasn't given a response.
Trent picked uselessly at the seat belt across his chest, trying to get it to loosen. Every time he thought he was successful it would snap back to its previous tightness, stinging his chest. After about four times he gave up, each snap smarted worst than the one before and now it irritated him simply to have the seat belt pressing against his sore skin. He slid a hand between it and his chest to some relief.
He opened his mouth to ask about where they were going, for they were surely not in Tranquility any longer, but before he could ask the radio turned on automatically.
Bad boys, bad boys, what'cha gonna do? What'cha gonna do when they come for you?
Trent could have sworn the captain smirked into mirror and then patted the dashboard affectionately. He made no move to change the station or turn the radio off, and Trent decided that it might be in his best interest to simply not say anything. He doubted anything would change and so killed time by tapping his foot on the floor. Or he did until his foot got stuck on something, most likely gum, and refused to tap again.
He didn't look up until the truck stopped. According to the clock they were two hours outside of town, but since he was currently in what looked to be a warehouse he still had no idea where he was.
The door on his left opened, his seat belt zipped off him, and his captor and jailer reached in to haul him out. "Watch it," he grumbled under his breath. Trent wasn't sure if the military man hadn't heard him or was just ignoring him again. Most likely the later. Then again, considering he found himself on the floor with his left arm twisted behind his back the captain probably had heard him.
"You have no say here, not after what you did to Sam," a voice growled in ear. "If I had it my way, I'd get one of my black ops buddies to help me get rid you without anyone being the wiser. Give me one good reason to not do that."
Trent wisely kept quiet, but apparently that wasn't what the other man was looking for. "Don't have one do you?"
His arm was pushed even higher and with a wet pop and a ton of pain he realized the fucking captain had dislocated his shoulder.
"I've got one Lennox," a gravelly voice with a tint of a southern drawl sounded from behind them, "It means Bee and I wouldn't get a chance to have some fun."
The Army man laughed. "Good point Ironhide. Alright Trent," his name sounded like bile in the other man's throat, "there's some people who want to met you." The high schooler found himself pulled to his feet by a pull on his left arm. He cried out in pain, but stood none the less.
People? He was surrounded by car, not people. That truck behind him, what looked like a rescue Hummer, and the same model of car that Kitkicky had, color and all. Funny, this one also looked a little beat up; small dents and scratches in the paint and faint cracks in the windows. Trent had expected the drivers of the vehicles to exit, but closer inspections showed the driver seats were empty.
Trent turned to give the other man a questionable look when the Camaro practically growled. He vaguely noticed the Army captain getting out of the way, but before he could think of why the scent of burning rubber filled the warehouse and Trent found the yellow car quickly bearing down on him. He turned and ran, tried zig zaging to get the thing off his tail, but the driver he couldn't see had amazing reflexes.
Eventually he found himself backed up a wall, feet on the Camaro's fender on a weak attempt to keep it from running him over. Pain shot from his dislocated shoulder as it was pressed against the wall. The car was rocking back and forth, moving forward in bursts. Trent's back was slowly moving up the wall, a painful process since it was made of metal and his shirt had run up his back, and his knees where just shy of touching his chest.
"Please don't kill me, please don't kill me!" He begged. The tight end cast a quick look towards the captain to ask for help, but the Army guy was just watching passively, arms crossed and leaning lightly against the front of the Topkick that they came in.
"Did Samuel Witwicky beg?" asked a voice from the direction of the Hummer.
The Camaro rolled forward again, causing Trent's knees to push into chest. He felt something grab hold of his pants and was horrified to see little mechanical arms had sprouted from under the hood to grab him. "Please don't hurt me!" he cried again.
"Answer the question kid!" the captain barked from across the room.
"No! No he didn't! Happy now?! He put up a bit of a fight, some tough words, but ultimately took all in silence." Trent was trying to pluck the little fingers off of his jeans, muttering under his breath, "Well, 'cept for the screams. Wish he wouldn't have held back on most of those."
There was a high pitch screech of fury that came from the hood of the Camaro. Then the hood itself seemed to fold up on an invisible seem and what looked like two glowing blue eyes stared up at Trent from the darkness. He couldn't help it, some unspeakable emotion in them prevented him from looking away, drawing his attention so thoroughly that it was only after his butt hit the cement that he realized the car in front of him was not a car, but a 17ft robot with murder in his gaze.
He had just enough time to wonder for how long the Army had been working with the Japanese to develop advanced cars that could transform before a giant hand came in from the side and sent him flying.
His head hit the side of the black truck and from the way his head felt when he finally slid down to the ground, Trent was pretty sure he had a concussion. He had plenty of experience in that department from football.
"Is it normal for humans to lubricate themselves?" that gravelly voice asked again.
Trent looked down to discover that yes, he had wet himself somewhere in his terror. He didn't know if it was while he had been pressed up again the wall by the Camaro or staring into its eyes. Even now the idea of them set them on edge; he mad a point of not looking above the yellow robot's knees.
"Younglings do, but usually by the time they are four planetary cycles old they no longer commit such an act," the yet to be seen Hummer driver said, "Though it does appear that he is exhibiting high amount of stress and fear hormones."
"It's not uncommon for someone to piss themselves if they're really scared Ratchet. Especially those who lack any type of moral fiber." Trent could hear the disdain in the captain's voice and was glad he could not see the other man.
"Can they do it more than once?" the first voice asked again.
Before anyone could respond Trent felt the trunk shudder underneath him. He flinched away from it and slowly turned around, fearfully expecting yet another car-turned-robot.
He was right.
This one was stockier, more broad in the shoulders, and while his eyes were also burning fiercely, it was less so than the Camaro. But what really caught his attention were the two charging up guns of some type in his face. The bullets alone were the size of his head! Morbidly, he wondered how big the creator would be if he was shot from this range. There was no way he would survive a shot.
This time, Trent was very aware of wetting himself.
"Huh," the captain said, "I've never seen a guy do that twice, let alone in five minutes. Lot of talent you've got there Ironhide."
"Gah, got more fun out of playing with those fragging 'Cons."
"I think you just need to play a different game then. This kid knows football. How 'bout it?" the captain asked.
The truck looked up, presumably at the other robot, judging by the vibrations on the floor it was walking toward them. "What do you think Bee?"
"I don't think we have the room that we would need for that," the voice was new, slightly British, and a lot older than Trent would have given to a Camaro.
"What about catch?" the other human suggested.
Trent turned to look at him aghast. He was on good terms with the robots?
"What gives man!" Trent yelled at him while wobbly getting to his feet and standing at an angle to favor his shoulder. "Since when have we been working together with the Japanese?! And why are you letting them push me around?"
"Japanese?" the truck asked
"Group of humans known for making super advanced robots," the captain casually threw up towards the robot before invading Trent's personal bubble. "One, these guys? Not from Japan. Think a little farther than that. And two? Why? Cuz of what you fucking did to Sam! And Bumblebee!" an arm was flung out to point at the yellow robot. "Geez, I didn't think you were so dumb I'd have to repeat myself!"
The captain pinched the bridge of his nose and turned halfway away, before snapping around and landing a hit on Trent's face that broke his nose. The teenager stumbled backwards, a hand to his face in an effort to stop the blood.
"Sam," began the voice from over near the Hummer, Trent was scared to think it might actually be the Hummer, "Is a friend of ours and we owe him a great deal. We don't take kindly to those who hurt our friends. As a human, Sam is a lot harder to fix than Bee is.
"I also find it humorous you think we were built by humans. Your species has only recently been able to develop an artificial intelligence to match that of a feline and are only fully aware of four dimensions. You're rather primitive. No offense Lennox."
The captain turned towards the Hummer. "None taken Ratchet. I'm actually surprised by how well you guys put up with us."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The Army dude then made his way toward Trent, who quickly found himself backing up. Everyone in this room seemed out to get him. The tight end's footsteps were more of a demented shuffle however, everything was fuzzy from pain and he couldn't put up much of a fight when the captain grabbed a hold of the arm connected to his dislocated shoulder. Trent fell to his knees with a cry, there was a loud pop-crack noise, and the teen found himself with two fully functional arms.
"Why?" he asked dumbly.
"It's no fun to play with broken toys," the Topkick ground out.
Five large metal fingers wrapped around Trent's body in a just shy of painful grip. The teen started squirming as he found himself being lifted, the feel on nothing underneath his feet setting him on edge.
"Wha, what are you doing?" he asked shakily.
Trent found himself tilted horizontally, his head pointing towards the warehouse doors, and then thrown into the air with his feet leading. He couldn't help it, he screamed. He was going to land on a hard cement floor from two stories up, and mostly likely die from the fall, but not right away. He'd lie on the floor in pain while the robot cars and captain stood around and laughed. Trent closed his eyes, not wanting to see the end.
He ended up not hitting the floor, but another metal palm as the Camaro roughly caught him. Trent found himself shuffled into a different grip, fearing some part of his body getting caught between shifting plates, only to find himself once again prepped to throw. Head first this time.
"Sure you don't want to play Ratch?" it asked in its British voice.
And low and behold, the Hummer itself unfolded and reveled itself to be another robot. It was odd; it had a beard.
"Yes. Who knows what his bodily fluids could do to the tools in my hands?"
Trent didn't know how many times he was thrown. The rushes of air and blurring of the scenery all ran together until his head felt like that one time when he was ten and rode the Tilt-a-Whorl fourteen times in a row. He was at the point where he had closed his eyes and tried to give the air on his face a cooling presence to tone down his nausea. But considering how each throw was coupled with a hard, bruising impact into a metal hand it was proving to be harder than he had expected.
"Ironhide! Bumblebee! Is that a human?!" A deep baritone voice called out.
Trent felt a strange sense of movement, was he going sideways again or down?, but then felt the concrete under his feet that told him he was indeed being set down on his feet. Not that he stayed upright very long; the combination of concussion and becoming a human football, not to mention pain from a broken nose, made him very dizzy. He fell on his hands and heaved.
"Ratchet!" That new voice continued, sounding like pure authority, if authority had a sound. Trent wasn't entirely sure his brain was working correctly at the moment. "I'm surprised you allowed this!"
"It's not like he won't heal. He hasn't suffered anything permanently damaging."
"I thought I told you, we do not –"
"Prime, I'd like you to meet Trent DeMarco." The captain spoke up.
Trent was pretty sure that the silence that followed wasn't in his favor.
"This is the boy who hurt Sam?" The voice was deep, dark, and contained enough ranging thunder for a year's worth of storms. It had to have belonged to another robot; no human voice could fill a room like that. Trent started to crawl backwards, vision still swirling. He ran into something metal, most likely a foot, which was quickly pulled away and resulted in him falling onto his back and forcing his field of vision to include the new comer.
He was big. Really big, just able to fit in the warehouse. And were those flames on his chest? Trent felt himself grabbed roughly by the upper arm and pulled to his feet by the captain to be forced to look at the Big One.
"Trent DeMarco, if you ever do anything to Sam again I cannot promise that my soldiers will hold back. As it is, you are not to go near him or you will have problems. Do I make myself clear?"
The justice the robot gave off, not just in his voice but also in his very being was so strong, so large, it could only be right. Which of course meant that Trent was unconditionally in the wrong. And thus all the more deserving of getting kicked around by giant robots. He didn't like the feeling, but he couldn't help but accept it.
He looked down at the floor, taking note of feet as long as he was tall. Trent mutely nodded, glad his pants weren't any wetter.
"And if you tell anyone about this little conversation," the Hummer spoke up, "I'm looking for humans to dissect."
Trent hadn't though he could get any paler, his mouth any drier, until that comment. Once again, all he could do was nod because it seemed as if even the air in his body was too afraid to come out as words.
"Psh, pitiful," The Topkick snorted in disgust.
The Army guy lead him out of the warehouse and into a waiting Army jeep, something Trent was glad for because there was no way he was getting into another truck for a year, if not more. Over the sound of the engine starting he thought he heard a British voice say someone called Kyla wanted a video of what happened.
A/N: Haha Trent! Haha!
Actually, I don't know if you guys would have found this funny or not. I didn't mean for it to be humorous when I wrote it (which I guess is understandable since I was in Trent's head most of the time), but my beta got a kick out of it. Hope you enjoyed it anyway. Review? *puppy dog eyes*
I do apologize for taking so long to get this up, or anything for that matter. But school is now done and I am quite capable of writing while at work this summer. What else am I supposed to do all of Sunday? I can only spend so much time on Facebook. But I just bought this amazing coloring book, one with all the intense, hard core designs. *squee* I used to have the tiny versions in elementary school but this one has 100+ pages! It'll take me awhile to go through it all, but I'll savor every minute.