[ xviii. ]

Sam saw her, she saw Sam, and in a split second all hell broke loose. By the time Shockwave and Soundwave had pulled there respective minions off of each other, she was shrieking in agony- an awful, metal on metal grating sound with a the high squeal of a some sort of dying animal – and his skin so ripped and torn it made Shockwave, dare he say, fret over his condition. Logically, there was no reason to attack her the way he did; he knew exactly who she was, had been told she would be coming, and was appropriately prepared for her arrival, regardless of not being very thrilled about it. Emotionally, he had every reason in the world.

She shouldn't have been wearing Mikaela's face.

[ xix. ]

"I want her gone." Sam snapped as Shockwave tended to his new wounds. "I want her gone, or I'll kill her." He watched the pseudo-needle passing through his skin; focused on it instead of the boiling rage in his chest.

"She will stay." The con's voice held none of the usual softness that was associated with convincing Sam to go along with something. "She is an integral part of our plans."

"You'll find her dead in the morning." He'd only muttered it, but received a harsher jab in the side than necessary to pierce the skin.

"You would kill her like you did your mate?"

Sam lost it at that, and regretted it soon after. He wheezed under the pressure of Shockwave's hand, a single, irrelevant wire poking up from the con's wrist the only evidence of his attempted attack. A little squeeze and Sam quickly "changed" his mind about Alice's residency at the lab. That matter finally settled, Shockwave went back to stitching up the wounds, as tender and gentle as ever.

"It would do you well to remember that your life is a privilege that I have given to you."

Sam ducked his head and nodded, obedient and grateful as ever.

[ xx. ]

She wasn't doing a very good job of proving Shockwave's case. Sam had wanted company before, and had gotten far more than he was interested in.

He hated Alice. She had somehow become the pinnacle of his Mikaela related miseries; it made sense to him, what with the way caused beautiful, wonderful Mikaela to doubt his loyalty. It made perfect, bloody sense that he should blame her, in part, for Mikaela's death.

And she was still wearing her face.

He hated that most of all. She could have chosen any person in the world to imitate and out of them all she chose the one who should have been off limits. He wanted to rip that face off her metal skeletal frame and tear her apart link by link, gear by gear, for even considering its availability after what had happened.

And she knew it too. She smirked at him, winked, twirled her hair, swayed her hips, smiled, laughed, kissed him on the cheek when he wasn't expecting it- all a cleverly devised scheme that so obviously unraveled the every time he looked at her eyes.

At. Not "in to."

She had no spark, no heart; nothing. There was nothing for her eyes to be a window to. Even if on the off chance she had a soul, she was as lifeless without them as he was with both, and that, above all else, she made sure he knew.

[ xxi. ]

Alice-with-Mikaela's-face sauntered into his room, flopping down on his mattress next to him and draping herself over his back.

"Hello Samuel, dear." She purred.

"Leave." He snapped back. She grinned and removed herself, but did not do as he requested. Instead the Pretender began to meander around his room, as she often did, inspecting the little bits and pieces of objects he used to decorate and add at least a little personality to his personal space. Sam cleared his throat loudly to remind her of his order. He'd been thrilled to discover that he out ranked her in the chain of command. Alice only laughed.

"Oh don't be so cold." She chimed; her voice was the only part of her that wasn't borrowed from Mikaela. It was the part that kept him sane.

She stalked across the room in a twisted version of some sort of "sexy swagger" and dropped into his lap, not quite pushing the science magazine away, but definitely blocking his view. Sam glared, and Alice only smiled and laughed again, cupping his cheek.

"Don't you think I'm beautiful, Samuel?" The Pretender ran her other hand through his hair, its partner gently patting his cheek.

"Of course you're beautiful." He answered honestly. And she was, if only because Mikaela had been. She smiled and moved in for what he assumed was going to be a kiss. "It's your soul that's hideous."

He thought the violent mixture of red, blue and black on the floor was perfect for the splash of color his room had needed, but Shockwave must have disagreed. One of the cassettes cleaned up the evidence before it could dry.

[ xxii. ]

"I was under the impression you had him under you control." For once Soundwave spoke in actual sentences.

"I did." Shockwave sounded almost irritated at the accusation. "And he still is under my control."

"Then why are you allowing him to act out? I would prefer to not have to rebuild my Pretender for a second time."

Shockwave and Soundwave rarely argued; with each other or anyone else. Most just assumed neither had enough emotion to actually fight. Apparently though, they were the only beings in the universe who could effectively push each other's buttons.

"I am not allowing him to act out. I have disciplined him more often and more harshly than I have had to before you brought your drone. Perhaps if you complied to my original suggestion of changing its appearance…"

"I will not alter my creation's desired appearance for the sake of consoling your human's feeble mind."

Shockwave snarled at the other and very nearly attacked, grabbing the blue mech by the shoulder and forcing him against the wall.

"You will not directly insult my creation. If you have not been properly paying attention, I must inform you that his mind is anything but feeble; I myself have ensured that."

If it weren't for their acclaimed intelligence and calm, impersonal-personalities, they would have destroyed each other long ago. Luckily for them, they both knew when to back down from a fight. Soundwave made no physical retaliation when Shockwave released him after a final shove, but the debate was far from over.

"I do not doubt you abilities, but the human mind is, in essence, feeble. It lacks the proper foundation to support higher cognitive abilities that our species is capable of. You cannot build his mind to be any more than what it always has been."

Shockwave didn't offer a response. Instead he went to frustratedly examine the equipment of the surrounding lab; all of it was designed specifically to research this boy and this theory. And now that he had his answer, with no doubt in his processor that he could be wrong, Shockwave knew he would be met with an issue far greater than what he wanted to deal with at the time.

[ xxiii. ]

It was cold here; and dark. Sam couldn't remember what the sun looked like anymore. So he settled with this when he needed to "get out" or "take a breath of fresh air." The light of his chest and dim lamp lit the small, hollowed out area of the ice well enough to see the blue (he never told Shockwave that it helped him think of the Autobots) and white ice compared to the almost black water. For all Alice's worth and skill as a Pretender, she still couldn't swim like he could. None of them could, actually. As far as he was aware the only way they ever left or entered the base was with Skywarp.

When he had felt like being disobedient he'd often entertained the idea of swimming away; his armor provided him with enough air and warmth to make the trip. Unfortunately, the ice had blocked his path, and no matter how much he searched it yielded no glimpse of air or sun. But, it had offered him places like these in return, as if to apologize for its hand in keeping him prisoner. He wasn't a prisoner anymore, but the private retreat was still more than welcome, especially with a moodier than usual Alice biting at his heels.

Sam drew his attention back to object in his hands; a funny little thing he'd noticed attached to his armor. He knew it was foreign, the alloys used were completely different, but due to damage he could not figure out what it was. No doubt Shockwave would take it from him if he were caught trying to fix it, so instead he came here to fiddle with it. Most of its shell was useless, but the wires and microchips and other bits and pieces were in relatively good shape. He finally managed to patch up the last wire and slip it into place, then sat back and set the little thing a bit of a ways in front of him on the ice. He watched, and waited, and watched, and waited, and when finally convinced the device would do nothing, he prepared himself to take the plunge back to the lab.

Sam scooped the object up to take it back, but thought better of it and set it down again, leaving it there to entertain him when he made another visit. Perhaps he'd figure out its significance the next go around. For now, he was hungry, and Shockwave had hinted at the possibility of letting Sam have that last can of chicken noodle soup, even though he hadn't done anything amazing to earn it recently.

[ interlude vii. ]

It went unnoticed at first; not out of lack of care but simply not enough time to really study into what it meant. But a little yellow scout noticed after he'd finally gotten the chance to rest on the weekend. He had insisted on having direct access to the channel even though the signal to be broadcasted would most likely never come. He didn't believe it, at first, after all, the transmitter had been broken. But he took it to Ratchet, and to Hound and Red Alert and Optimus, and they'd all debated on it with themselves, the government, and even his own inner demons. But finally, finally, he dared to hope their next expedition would finally bring his boy home.

Asdfghjk.

Guys.

Guys.

I'm sorry. ;A;

I really have no legitimate excuses beside the obvious; school, general business, work, etc.

I got a little lost in my own mind on this, and had to sort it out for a while. Thanks mucho to miss Ouchimoo for being my lovely sounding board. C:

This isn't even long enough to make up for it. How do you guys write ridiculously long chapters? Do you just keep going and going or something? I dunno. Whenever i go long it distracts from the point I'm trying to make. The quality of a story isn't in the word or page count, right?

Also. Okay, I'm going to have my lame nerd moment here. Yes, this does have a song I see as describing the mood for the story. Well, a million score tracks really, but only one song. And I'm only telling you because it's gorgeous and you've most likely not heard it, and need to.

Bones & Skin, by Mirah

There isn't another song in existence that fits this story more perfectly than that one. Everything about it, from the slow and calm pace to the lyrics. And while you may not see it now, it will fit very well with Sam's emotional turmoil I have set up later in the recovery portion. Hopefully; if I pull it off. That in mind, no, I will not be using it in the story. D: It has no place actually inside the story. It just describes it. But it does that beautifully. I'll shut up now.

Ttfn~