Hello, everyone! My username as well as the title of the story is probably a little strange, seeing as I've changed my username as of January 2016. (It's part of my, uh... New Year, New Me resolution, heh.)

My username used to be A'isha Ishtar, but I've changed it to Scriptor Bellum as I feel that it reflects me and my writing more. So the original United We Stand was also mine, but this is a rewrite of it! Since I've been roleplaying and writing more, my overall writing has, I think, vastly improved. This was one of my favorite stories, as well as one of my most popular, and I really wanted to continue it, but I also felt that I could do better. So I've decided to rewrite it! The plot will be tweaked, and some character details and traits will be changed. The story also will be rewritten in third person, since I've become much more comfortable with that as opposed to the first-person narrative I used in the original.

My update schedule will be pretty infrequent, as I draw and roleplay, and will fall into lulls of not wanting to write at all. That said, I hope you'll stick with me and enjoy this rewrite!

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I am not making money off this story, I'm simply doing it for enjoyment and to improve my writing. I own Aspen Singletary, Stacie Woods, and other OCs who will make appearances in this story.

Without further ado, please enjoy the prologue! More action will begin next chapter. Leave a review if you're so inclined, as it motivates me a lot to see feedback! Till next time!

Getting herself into situations that she probably shouldn't be in was one of Aspen Singletary's many specialties. Her impressive track record included being on the prom committee in high school, being team leader of her majors course in college, and arguing with customers enough to get herself fired from no less than two car repair garages. When it seemed that she'd finally found her niche working as a mechanic for the United States military, the solemn promise she'd made to herself was simple. Stay in your lane. Don't be ambitious or hotheaded or goofy. Just do your job, and take it seriously. Do your job, but don't stand out. Don't blow it this time.

At twenty-nine years old, one would think she'd learned at least this life lesson. Even though she'd gotten better at curbing her ambitions and not letting it be the source of failure, it wasn't a risk she wanted to take. This job made her happy, and it gave her a sense of security. As long as she did the tasks she was assigned, there would always be a place for her. There would always be a need for people who could fix the army's equipment.

Of course, when duty called in a certain way, how could she refuse?

It came as a surprise to her when she was called into the office of her superior, with two other men and a woman entering and then the door locked behind her. Her first instinct was to internally panic, wondering if she'd screwed up something important. Who were these guys? Why were the doors locked?

But as it turned out, they had singled her out as having done solid, reliable work. Apparently, a few of the soldiers who worked in a highly secretive military group called N.E.S.T. had noticed her dedication to her job, as well as some of the higher-ups who were at the head of the organization. One of the men, who was introduced to her as Galloway, made a point of telling her that she was exactly what they needed: a mediocre everyman who could be trusted not to run her mouth about things.

And that was true, she supposed; her friends at work weren't really friends. Acquaintances, coworkers, what-have-you, she didn't really interact with them beyond what she needed to. And the only thing her family and outside friends knew was that she worked as a mechanic for the military. Where other people might gossip, or talk about specifics of work outside of the workplace, she didn't. (The reaction she suppressed was an indignant, "Are you listening to my phone calls?" But if they were, it was probably for a good reason. Talking back to people higher on the food chain than she was rarely worked out well for her.)

When they spoke to her about what they wanted of her, it rendered her silent for a few minutes. The beings that everyone knew existed by now, the Transformers - as the woman, Mearing, referred to them - had recently been through an Earth-threatening end to their war. Aspen could recall their images plastered all over news broadcasts and internet headlines, and she was no stranger to the terror that had gripped the city mere weeks ago. Their entire planet had almost become home to a bunch of human-hating Decepticons who would enslave the natives, and it was only owing to the Autobots' valiant efforts that they were defeated.

Her purpose, should she choose to accept the assignment, would be to lead repairs on the Autobots. When faced with this, her first response was nothing but quietness, then a question of whether or not there were already mechanics who did that job. The other man, a General Morshower, informed her that they did, but they'd never had to tackle a project of this magnitude before. The Autobots' medic, a bot named Ratchet, could only do so much. Though the human mechanics took direction from him well, everyone was having trouble managing their resources. Due to not being much of a leader yet being a perfectionist, it wasn't easy for Ratchet to delegate tasks. There was also the matter of their leader, a bot by the designation Optimus Prime, had gotten one of his arms completely torn off. That was the main repair they were trying to get done, and Ratchet lamented several times that he didn't have the tools to fix it.

The biggest thing they seemed to want of her was to organize things, find ways to repair that utilized what they had. According to the soldiers and supervisors who'd watched her work, she seemed to be good at finding unorthodox solutions to problems. "They fancy you as something of a MacGuyver" were Mearing's exact words.

The decision to accept was something Aspen grappled with for a few hours. Time was given to her, since the higher-ups clearly understood that working with the Transformers would possibly be a life-changing thing. But after thinking it over, the side of her that wanted to be driven and risky and more won out. If this was what she was needed for, and if she could really help them... shouldn't she? There was no excuse not to be ambitious when the ambition was literally being handed to her.

So her choice was made, and when asked what she would do, she told Mearing that she would help as best she could. The other woman led her to an elevator. When those doors opened, it felt as if Aspen stepping over them was a threshold leading her into an entirely new life. They closed, with both women in the elevator as it began to move.

"Get your ID out, Ms. Singletary. We'll get you cleared for access, and then you're going to meet the Autobots."

The one thing about Stacie Woods that could be counted on, no matter what, was that she didn't poke into other people's business. Unless someone approached her first with interest, her life was mostly kept to herself. Her circle of friends had always been small, consisting of one or two individuals who may or may not have also been quiet. The few situations that involved interacting with anyone outside her tiny group consisted of having a tutor in college and going steady with a couple people, as well as working in retail and at a car repair garage.

They'd all ended up with her barely coming out of her shell, most of them even contributing to her decision to manage a career at home. It was better that she was alone most of the time, anyway. There were things in her past that were best left there, and didn't need to be repeated. For some experiences, once was enough.

Still, she had found contentment, as she started to emerge just a little more. About an hour a week was spent at the library, researching and working. As an online consultant for an automotive repair company, her schedule was more flexible than some. A friend was made of the volunteer librarian around her own age; pleasant conversations were carried out among complete strangers. None of it was forced, and the anxiety that may have been in those interactions during her younger years had gradually faded. The drive from town back to her house made her nervous, but nothing bad had happened yet. Since she'd taken these small risks, everything that could have gone wrong... hadn't, so far.

Her lucky streak was long overdue to come screeching to an end. Thirty-one years without a life-threatening incident was a pretty good run, all things considered.

The darkness had seemed to stretch on for longer than she remembered as she drove home that night. Although it made her uneasy, it wasn't a particularly long drive - what could happen in this short time? Her mental question was answered when, shortly after she was over the bridge she'd been crossing, her car sputtered to a halt near the side of the road.

No time was wasted in getting out of the vehicle, and even though panic was setting in, she tried to calm herself. After all, who wouldn't be panicking when faced with these circumstances? The night was near pitch black, and everyone she could think to call would be asleep. This was how it served her to spend longer than normal at the library, apparently.

At least she was able to keep her head about her, as she did a quick check of the engine. It was futile; even if this was something she was able to repair herself, her box of simple tools was at home. The once-over revealed nothing, either due to her panic or the lack of light or both. Plan B was to call someone, and a number was dialed with shaking fingers. Her parents didn't answer their phone, which only set her more on edge.

Through her frazzled state, she tried to keep her logic even. They go to bed at nine, they're asleep. Just call someone else. Her aim was off for every digit of her friend's number as all the awful possibilities of what could go bad out here ran through her mind. There had been a massive, frightening attack on the city not a month ago, led by terrible alien creatures who had clearly not cared who they were stepping on. Suppose some of them were still left, and one was lurking around here who had no qualms about ambushing a defenseless human? That particular worry came out of nowhere among all the others tumbling through her mind. Despite there not being much traffic on this road, she still scurried into the grass on the other side of her car. Giving herself any opportunity to be in the way of a passing car was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

Her foot made one misstep, and then she fell.

How exactly she lost her footing would remain a mystery, but how she landed was clearer: on her side, in a puddle of mud which was thankfully softer than the surrounding dirt. There was a soreness in her ankle, and the muck had clumped together strands of blonde hair. By the time she was able to push herself up, tears were making tracks in the filth that had stained her face. And somehow, the universe was still not done with her; when she lifted her head up, she would meet with a nasty surprise.

Red eyes were the only thing that had flashed at her in the darkness, and a scream immediately ripped its way from her throat. It was one of them.

At first it seemed dead, although that made this no less petrifying. After a moment, once her screams had ceased and she'd begun to catch her breath, the creature spoke. The voice seemed to denote male, low and growling and irritated as he introduced himself. "The powerful and mighty Megatron." It stood to reason that he was an important figure in the battle that had torn their city apart, perhaps one of the most important. The way he talked was lofty and arrogant, despite the fact that it seemed he could not move.

A quick fumble with the flashlight on her phone revealed the reason why - on this section beneath the bridge, the water had promoted the growth of rust. Both his arms and legs, as well, seemed to be missing. There was no one to put him back together, nor could he manage it himself in this state.

So he demanded of her that she would be the one to repair him. She was to return in the morning, and she could find no voice to argue.