*Disclaimer* I do not, nor will I ever own Transformers and anything related. Everything belongs to their rightful owners. I only claim ownership to my OC and new places and such. I apologise if any of this material offends anyone. I assure you that it doesn't mean to offend anyone in any shape, way or form. This is a fanfic and, therefore, is not real and is written solely for enjoyment. This story may contain some coarse language. Based off the 2007 movie.
Chapter 1 - First car
Before time began, there was the cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them with life. That was how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony, but like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war, a war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death, and the cube was lost to the far reached of space. We scattered across the galaxy, hoping to find it and rebuild our home, searching every star, every world. And just when all hope seemed lost, message of a new discovery drew us to an unknown planet called earth. But we were already too late...
"Okay, Mr and Miss Witwicky, you're up."
Walking to the front, me and Sam prepared to perform our genealogy report. Sam had a large rucksack which he tipped up, spilling the contents all over the table. He quickly gathered it up. "Sorry we got a lot of stuff." Sam muttered. Straightening up, I waited for Sam to begin. "Okay. For our family..." Sam stopped as a rubber band pinged him in the forehead. Glaring at Trent I rolled my eyes. Jocks. "Who did.. who did that? People responsibility." Mr Hosney spoke, pointing his finger as a warning. Sam began again.
"Okay umm. So, for our family genealogy report, we decided to do it on our great-great-grandfather, who was a famous man, Captain Archibald Witwicky. Very famous explorer. In fact, he was one of the first to explore the Arctic Circle, which was a big deal." Sam explained, holding out an old map. "In 1897, he took 41 brave sailors straight into the Arctic Shelf..."
A harsh Arctic wind blasted over the icey landscape. "Move faster, men! Move! Chop! Heave! The ice is freezing faster than it's melting! Chop faster! Heave, men!" Men cried as the chipped away at the ice encasing their boat. Captain Archibald Witwicky stood proud, encouraging his crew. "Heave! No sacrifice, no victory! We'll get to the Arctic Circle, lads!"
"...So that's the story right. And here we have some of the basic instruments and tools used by 19th-century seamen." The class let out a chorus of laughter at the word, seamen. Mr Hosney raised his red quiet sign in vain. "This here is the quadrant. Which you can get for 80 bucks. It's all for sale, by the way."
"Like the err.. sextant here." I said, earning another laugh from the class. Mr Hosney again raised his card. "$50 for this, which is a bargain, quite frankly. Ohh, and these are pretty cool. These are our grandfathers glasses." I smiled, holding them up to my eyes. Only then did I really notice the strange scratches on them. "I haven't quite gotten them appraised yet, but they've seen many cool things." Sam continued.
"Are you going to sell me his liver?" Mr Hosney interrupted. "Mr Witwicky, this isn't show and sell. It's the 11th grade. I don't think your grandfather would be particularly proud of what you two are doing."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just, you know, this is all going towards our car fund." Sam sighed. "You can tell your folks. It's on eBay. I take . Cold hard cash works, too. And the compass makes a great gift for Columbus Day."
"Sam!" The teacher snapped.
"Sorry." I decided to carry on the presentation, holding up two large sheets of paper, one an old newspaper."Well, unfortunately, our great-great-grandfather, the genius that he was, wound up going blind and crazy in a psycho ward, drawing these strange symbols and babbling on about some giant ice man that he thought he'd discovered-" I was cut off as the bell rang.
"Okay. Might be a pop quiz tomorrow. Might not." Mr Hosney called as everyone left the room. "Sleep in fear tonight." Holding up our Grandfathers glasses, Sam tried to sell them to passersby. "Here, you want? Here, 50. 40? 30?"
"Yeah. Sorry, sorry. Okay. Pretty good, right?" He said hopefully.
"Err... I'd say a solid B-." Me and Sam froze. "A B-?" I asked in disbelief. Our presentation wasn't that bad.
"You two were hawking you great-grandfather's crap in my classroom."
"Great-great-grandfather." I corrected.
"No, kids enjoy.. Look, can you do us a favor?" Sam began, walking closer to Mr Hosney's desk. "What?" He sighed.
"Can you look out the window for a second? You see my father? He's the guy in the green car." I raised an eyebrow at Sam. What is he up to? "Yeah." The teacher answered, looking out between the blinds. "Okay, I wanna tell you about a dream. A brother and sisters dream. And a man's promise to his kids. He looked us in the eyes. He said. "You two, I'm gonna buy you a car. But I want you to bring me $2,000 and each of you three As." Okay? I got the 2,000 and I got two As. Tiffany here, well she's got her three As but, forget that. Okay? Here's the dream." Sam put his hands together. "Your B-. Poof! Dream gone. Kaput." He said, 'exploding' his hands for emphasis. "Sir, just ask yourself, what would Jesus do?" I gave a confused look at Sam.
"Yes! Yes, yes." Sam and me cheered. I jumped into the back while he climbed into the front. "So?" Dad asked. "A-. It's an A, though." Sam smiled back at me, before handing Dad the paper. "Wait, wait, wait. I can't see. It's an A."
"So I'm good?" Sam asked, hopeful while I leaned forward in-between the seats with my fingers crossed.
"Yes!" I cried, high-fiving Sam as Dad pulled away. Finally, our first Car.
"I got a little surprise for you two." I raised an eyebrow as we drove towards a Porsche building. There's no way Dad would buy us a Porsche...would he?
"What kind of..." Sam fell silent as we drove in.
"Yeah, a little surprise." Dad chuckled. "Oh my god! Dad!" I cried, my brown eyes wide with a smile dominating my face. I squealed as I gazed at the rows of shiny new Porsche's.
"No. No, no, no, no! Dad! Oh, you got to be kidding me." Sam yelled, ecstatic.
"Yeah. I am. You're not getting a Porsche." Dad laughed, dropping a bomb shell on us. "W-what?" I stuttered.
"You think that's funny?" Sam frowned. I shook my head and slumped back as we approached a run down car lot. "That was mean." I huffed.
"Yeah, I think it's funny." Dad chuckled again.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked. "That was low, even for you."
"You two think I'd really get you a Porsche for your first car?" He laughed.
"I don't want to talk to you for the rest of this whole thing." Sam muttered as we drove past a strange clown. "Oh, come on. It's just a practical joke." Dad reasoned.
"It's not a funny joke."
A man in his middle ages walked out of his office, surveying his car dealership. "Manny!" He yelled.
"What?" 'Manny' replied.
"Get your cousin out of that damn clown suit. He's having a heat stroke again. Scaring white folks." The black man replied.
"I'm hot! Makeup's melting. Hurts my eyes." Said clown spoke, waving his sign.
"Here? No, no, no, what is this? You said... You said half a car, not half a piece of crap, Dad." Sam cried, motioning to the run down cars in front of us. I shook my head, running a hand through my long brown hair. I looked around and surveyed the rest of the cars. All of them were rusty and worn down. To put it frankly they were piles of crap.
"When I was your age, I'd have been happy with four wheels and as engine." Dad remarked. "Yeah well, times change." I sighed, watching some man chase the clown from before. What kind of messed up car dealership is this?
"Okay, let me explain something to you. Okay? You ever see 40-Year-Old-Virgin?" Sam asked, stopping Dad.
"Okay, that's what this is. And this is 50-year-old virgin." He said, motioning to the car next to him. "Okay. You want me to live that life? Hm?" Sam pressed.
"No sacrifice, no victory." Dad chanted the old Witwicky motto. Me and Sam have heard a thousand times before. I just rolled my eyes and walked off further into the car lot, looking for a half decent car.
"Yeah, no victory. You know, I got it. The old Witwicky motto, Dad." Sam interrupted.
"Right." Dad sighed. A large man strode over to Dad and Sam. I stopped at an old green car and peered through the dusty window. "Gentlemen. Bobby Bolivia, like the country, except without the runs. How can I help you?" He asked, shaking Dads hand.
"Well, my son and daughter here, are looking to buy their first car." Dad explained, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and motioning to me, still looking around the cars.
"You come to see me?" Bobby asked, seemingly shocked.
"We had to." Sam replied. I caught his comment and nodded in agreement. Yeah, by our cheap ass father.
"That practically makes us family." Bobby smiled. "Uncle Bobby B, baby. Uncle Bobby B." He shook Sam's hand firmly. "Sam" Sam introduced himself. "And she's Tiffany." He nodded my way. I turned around and waved over. Bobby waved back before guiding Sam over towards the cars.
"Sam, let me talk to you. Sam, your first enchilada of freedom awaits underneath one of those hoods. Let me tell you something, son. A driver don't pick he car. The car'll pick the driver." I tuned out slightly as I gave the Ostrich a weird look. Poor thing, kept in this teeny pen. Not even proper shelter from the sun. I shook my head. A sudden roar of an engine caught my ears. Looking to my left I spotted a yellow car, decorated with black stripes. "Oooh..." A grin made it's way to my face.
"It's a mystical bond between man and machine." Bobby continued. "Son, I'm a lot of things, but a liar's not one of them. Especially not in front of my mammy. That's my mammy." Bobby smiled pointing over at the woman sitting not far from the cars. "Hey, Mammy!" I looked over my shoulder in time to see the old woman stick her finger up at Bobby. "Awww, don't be like that. If I had a rock, I'd bust your head, bitch. I tell you, man, she deaf, you know?" I snorted with laughter, before turned and trotting over to the yellow car, which I believe was a Camaro, maybe 1976 model. "Well, over here, every piece of car a man might want or need." I heard Bobby say but I ignored him. As I got to the Camaro I ran my hands over the hood and along to the door handle. I quickly retracted my hand though, as I felt the car shake beneath my touch. "Was that just me or did you just shake?" I asked the car, not really expecting an answer. I opened the door and slid into the drivers seat. I put my hands on the steering wheel and got a feel of the car. "Hey Sam!" I yelled. "Come look at this beauty!" I shouted, excited. This car was beautiful and felt so right. Sam walked over, giving the car a look over. "This ain't bad. This one's got racing stripes." Sam said. Looking up at him, I saw him at the open door peering in. I slid over to the passenger side.
"This car's perfect!" I squealed at him. Bobby smiled and sauntered over.
"Yeah. It got racing... Yeah, what's this? What the heck is this? I don't know nothing about this car. Manny!" Bobby bellowed.
"What?" Came Manny's answer.
"What is this? This car! Check it out!" Bobby ordered.
"I don't know, boss! I've never seen it! That's loco!" Manny cried throwing his arms about.
"Don't go Ricky Ricardo on me, Manny! Find out!" Manny's cried back but I tuned out.
"Oh, wow. Sam, look. Look at it. 'Bee-otch'." I laughed pointing at an air freshener hanging. "Well, at least this car has a sense of humor." I giggled as I ran my hands over the dashboard. There! There it was again! "Sam did you feel that? It shook?" I gasped but Sam wasn't paying much attention. He was focused solely on the car.
"Feels good." Sam murmured to himself. He rubbed his thumb over the centre of the steering wheel. "Hey, Tiff. Look at this." Sam nudged me. I looked over at the strange symbol.
"The heck. Never seen that one before." I commented as I gazed at it. It looked like some sort of robotic face.
"How much?" Dad asked.
"Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, with the slick wheels and the custom paint job..." Bobby spoke, before Sam interjected.
"Yeah, but the paint's faded." Bobby stopped then bent down to the window, on my side of the car.
"Yeah, but it's custom." Bobby replied. I raised a brow.
"It's custom faded?" Sam questioned, scrunching his face up.
"Well, this is your first car. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Bobby finished before leaning back up. "Five grand."
"No, I'm not paying over four. Sorry." Dad sighed. Dammit! I cursed in my head.
"Kids, come on, get out. Get out the car." Bobby said, patting the inside of the door. I frowned at him.
"No, no, no. You said cars pick their drivers." Sam defended.
"Well, sometimes they pick a driver with a cheap-ass father. Out the car." Bobby gave the final order before turning to the car next to him. "Now, this one here for four Gs is a beaut." I sighed and rubbed the dashboard again. "But Dad, please. This car's the only decent one for miles. Heck, I even prefer it to a Porsche." I pleaded while Sam slowly got out the car.
"There's a Fiesta with racing stripes over there." Dad suggested.
"No, we don't want a Fiesta with racing stripes." Sam muttered. I sighed at tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge.
"Strange. Lock must be jammed." I sighed.
"This is a classic engine right here." Bobby spoke. "I sold a car the other day..." Sam closed his door and mine suddenly swung open, slamming into the car next to us, the one Bobby was in. "O-oh my god!" I cried.
"Gee. Holy cow." Dad gasped and walked over to inspect the damage.
"I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! T-the door was stuck and I was pushing it and..."
"No, no, no. No worries." Bobby quickly said, regaining his composure.
"You all right?" Dad asked. Sam just frowned and peered in through the other door at me. I looked at him and just shrugged.
"I'll get a sledgehammer and knock this right out. Hey, hey, Manny! Get your clown cousin and get some hammers and come bang this stuff out, baby!" Bobby then gave a strained laugh.
"...greater than man..." I snapped my head down at the radio. Did it just talk? I mentally asked myself.
"That one's my favorite, drove all the way from Alabammy." Bobby laughed, walking across the lot to a car on the other side. A sudden noise emitted from the radio, causing all the glass, windows and all, to shatter. "Ahh!" I yelped, shying away from the open door, as everyone covered their ears and ducked slightly. When it was all over I uncoiled myself and gasped. Glass was everywhere and every car, except the camaro, was wrecked. Bobby gasped and whimpered slightly as he spun in a circle, looking at his destroyed cars. Turning to us, he raised four fingers.