First shot at a movie fic. And it has to be Transformers. I mean, come on. It's Transformers. I grew up on Transformers and crushed on Hotshot for years. I was a little disappointed that Hotshot isn't in the movies instead of Bumblebee at first, but apparently Bee is an actual original character that I just didn't remember. Whoops.

The whole first arc, AKA the first movie, is typed in the most basic sense. Now it's just separating all 47 Word pages into chapters and fine-tuning them to fit what I really wanted. So no matter how many reviews I get, it will get finished. That's not to say I don't appreciate feedback... :D Enjoy ya'll.

Life has always been interesting being neighbors with Samuel Witwicky for the past eleven years. Whenever he drove up in a rusted treasure of a camaro on his last day of school, I knew the universe was aligning the planets for some big trouble. He barely knew how to ride a bike, and that was only because I beat him until he didn't fall off anymore. Kid learned through pain, what can I say?

"Hey, Sam!" I leaned against the shovel I was using to uproot Mom's old dead rosebushes along the fence. His dark head of nearly-gone baby curls turned, and I could see the cheesy sparkle of his teeth from here. Couldn't blame him. I'd be excited, too. "Guess those practice speeches worked out for ya, huh?"

"Yeah, well just barely. A-. Still an A, right, Dad?"

Witwicky Sr. had pulled in behind Sam. He waved as he was getting out with one of those parent laughs that said 'Yeah, you're a lucky little shit'. "Hi, Rach. How's your mom?"

"Fine," I answered, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of one of my dirty yellow work gloves. "Got me doin' her dirty work."

"Manual labor builds character," he said, pointing a finger at Sam as he came up to the fence. "You could learn from some of that."

"Yeah, thanks, Pops. I'll pass."

We watched his dad trod inside, waiting for the door to bang closed before glancing at each other.

"Did you have to beg?" I asked knowingly.

Sam gave me his wide-eyed hurt look. "Faith, Rach, faith. Where's that, huh?"

"Flew out the damn window when you were even trying to convince me to buy those crusty old glasses," I smirked, taking the shovel back in hand and driving it through the ground at the base of the bush stump. "Besides, I know that look. It means you were probably down on your knees kissing her pumps."

"He, and I'll have you know he'd look terrific in pumps."

"Whatever."

That toothy grin was back. "Wanna come see my car?"

I glanced down the fence line at the five holes I still had to fill in and the three more stumps I needed to uproot, then shrugged. "Why the hell not. I'm almost done. Could use a smoke break."

"Oh, uh uh, not around the baby."

Totally ignoring Sam's protests, I fished in the back pocket of my jeans for the pack of Misty blues and lit up, coming around the fence and up their driveway. The camaro was a lot more beat up than I'd first thought, but it could still be a beauty. With, y'know, money.

"Ain't bad for a first car."

"I know, right?" He leaned in the open driver's side window excitedly. "Look, it's not brand new, but it's got a radio, and-"

"A stick shift. How the hell do YOU drive it?" I asked, leaning in the passenger window and eyeing the bumblebee air freshener hanging from the rearview that said 'Bee-otch'. "Aw. That's cute."

"Came with the car," he said quickly.

"Uh huh, sure." I walked around to the front of the car, leaning down to wipe a gloved finger between the bars of the grill. "You wanna wash it before you take it anywhere?"

Sam popped the door open with a clang and slid in. "Is it real bad? I'm not surprised. That guy looked like he just crawled out of a hole in the ground and started slapping prices on things in a junk yard, so."

While I inspected a tire he made sounds like he was rummaging in the glove compartment. It actually wasn't too bad when you looked underneath. Some of the parts looked brand new. I was already dirty, so I laid on my back a little to run my fingertips over a shiny chrome pipe that ran alongside a rusty black one. Do cars shiver or is that just me suffering from heatstroke?

"Oh yeah. You got really lucky with this thing. Dirty, rusty, but still sexy. Sounds like you in a few years. Y'know, when you finally grow facial hair."

"Oh haha, you're a real riot, y'know that?"

"So I've been told." I stood and backtracked to lean through the passenger window again, tapping the disco ball next to the bumblebee. The steering wheel caught my eye. Sam had a crafty look on his face as he stroked an invisible beard.

"So.. You really think I'm sexy?"

I ignored him. "What's that face symbol?"

It centered the steering wheel, a clear little dome with a blue angular face inside. It really didn't go with the color scheme. It looked like something you would see as an insignia for a war MMORPG. Man. I grimaced. I could make myself feel like such a meganerd.

"Huh? Oh, that. I dunno, guess some custom stuff from the previous owner. Probably thought it went with the racing stripes."

"It doesn't."

"Still cool."

"Yeah. Where'd ya'll go for it?"

"That crappy Bolivia's place."

"Like the country…"

"Without the runs. Dad loves me, can you feel it?"

"He's a big softy and you know it," I mumbled, straightening to lean against the roof of the car.

"Yeah, to you. You're a girl."

"Point? Still a girl who could kick your ass. Watch yourself."

"I'm scared, I really am. Listen, I gotta go, me and Miles are hittin' this party at the lake. You wanna go?" He started the engine, which roared like it was dying. Yikes.

"In my dirt and sweat ensemble? I think I'm good. Probably a bunch of high school kids anyway." I sniffed. "I'm above that now."

Sam stared at me through the window. "You - you're serious? You only graduated like a month ago."

I took a long drag on my cigarette and leaned down to blow the smoke at him. "BUT, I can go into strip clubs. You can't. That leaves you like, three rungs below me on the ladder of life." I walked around the back of the car and gave the rusty yellow trunk three pats, yelling over the roar of the engine, "Take good care of Sam, big sexy. Kid can barely walk without help."

"Don't you have some weeds to pull, chico?"

I flipped him off and went back to my garden work. "Racist. Good luck!"

The car's muffler puffed out a plume of black smoke as he backed out.

"… Yeah, you'll need it."

Two hours later I heard Sam hooting from my kitchen. I stared blearily down at the essays I was typing up for colleges, half-heartedly, I might add. They had to be online colleges or at least an hour away. Who was gonna take care of Mom when I left? Sure as shit not my life-sentenced dad, rotting away in prison for repeated domestic violence felonies. Yeah. Felonies. Because mom never came away with all her bones intact.

I leaned forward a little on the table to see out the window over the sink where I could see him doing some flailing little happy dance up the gravel of his driveway. I shook my head and sat back down. Kids. Pfft. Guess the party went well.

I also noticed how dark it had gotten outside. I glanced at the digital clock on the oven and hummed tiredly. It was almost nine. One more hour, I told myself. Finish this essay, then call it quits.

Things never work out like I plan. An hour and a half and three cigarettes later my eyes were crossing and I had to take a break from staring at the screen. The particular essay I said I would quit after was long finished and being the non-procrastinator I am, I'd started on another one. Yay me.

I heard mom typing away on her computer down the hall in her room, taking online surveys for extra income, and figured it was safe to put on some music. Bringing up a YouTube tab, I had Jem begging me to 'Come on Closer' while I pilfered brownies from tuberware in the fridge. I was safe to dance in my kitchen, seeing as how the only window showed the Witwicky garage with Sam's car beside it A few dance sessions on the Wii could make anyone feel sexy hot. Even stocky little me with too much muscle, too much boob, and not enough neck or hips. Jem's got a sexy as hell voice, let me tell you, especially when she's singing about fornicating. I almost felt like a stripper, but. What stripper shakes her hips in fuzzy pajama pants and flipflops?

I was pouring a glass of milk to go with the brownies when I heard the roar of Sam's camaro engine and backpedaled to look out the window again, milk in one hand, cup in the other. Where the hell was Sam going at almost midnight?

I pushed my glasses back up my nose with a wrist and froze. There was no one in that car from what I could see. They had to be ducked down so as not to be spotted. Had to. Only problem was, as the camaro pulled out of the driveway, the street lights illuminated the front seat for an instant, and…

There was no in it. No hand on the wheel to direct it as it turned left. That… wasn't normal.

I was out the front door watching the tail lights go down the street from the front yard as Sam peeled out of the driveway on his bike, screaming "Nonononono!" at the top of his lungs.

"Sam!" He didn't hear me.

I had a bike. A real bike. A Kawasaki ninja 250R that I had spent every summer working two jobs for since I turned fifteen and was legally allowed to work. It was three years old, pre-owned, but I'd never trade it in because it was my baby and dangit, you wouldn't believe how much more you treasure things when you work for them that hard. Mom didn't have a car - she sold Avon products from the house and did stuff online, and I'd had a part time after school job for three years to help out that I had to walk to. That was extra money for insurance that cost about half as much for a motorcycle as a car. Hurray for plans that actually work.

I grabbed my helmet, keys and wallet, and ran outside in my blue moon pajama pants and old Texas Longhorns tank top, with the pink flipflops to top it off. Insert key, twist, clutch, gas. I did a quick U-turn and followed. He was still on that dingy mountain bike when I caught up. He was screaming into the phone, I guess talking to the cops, though what his father's glamorous title of 'head of the neighborhood watch' had to do with it, I'll never know.

"Get on!" I stopped and shouted.

He dropped the bike, tripped over the curb and banged his forehead on the back of the bike, managed to clamp his arms around my waist and I took off again before he had a chance to get both legs over. He squealed like a little girl, which I was used to at this point, because hey, he always did that.

"Gogogogogo! I can NOT believe my freaking car gets stolen the first night I have it! Who does that? Steals a person's first car?"

Stopping just those few seconds for him to get on had cost time. Whoever was in that car - and a chill ran down my spine when I remembered seeing no one - was flooring it. We followed the tail lights all the way across town, Sam shrieking every time I drifted on a turn - major pansy - all the way to one of the old mill buildings lining the west side of Mission City. Ahead of us, the camaro slowed down, then slammed through an old gate and kept going.

"You're gonna dent it!" Sam screamed. "A-hole!"

"SHIT." I skidded to a stop when a train cut us off. Smart fucking driver. I didn't know why anyone would want a beat up old camaro that much, but to each his own. I was getting pissed off. You not only steal my best guy friend's car, you almost get us hit by a train? Oh hell no.

Sam shouted, "Jump it!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? YOU jump it!"

"AAAAH!" He jumped off the back and stumbled to the rails, jumping around like he was actually thinking about leaping through one of the open cars of the train. I power-walked my bike to lean against rusty barrels that sat against the fence, flipped the visor of my helmet up and followed him across the tracks when the train finally ended.

You ever tried to run across gravel in old flipflops? I don't recommend it. Tiny rocks kept getting stuck between my heels and the flipflops.. "Sam, wait up!"

"He's getting away!"

The first thought running through my mind was that a gang was going around stealing cars for parts and had set up their base of operations in one of the old mill buildings. What was Sam going to do when we did find his car and it was surrounded by thirty crack addicts with big wrenches and power tools? I could take two, maybe three, but that still left roughly twenty-seven to bash our heads in and burn the bodies. With these thoughts in mind, I made a grab for his shoulder to slow him down. "Sam, wait!"

"What?" he panted, stopping to lean his hands on his knees, brows furrowed in irritation. "We gotta catch him before he hides with my car!"

"Sam, why would anyone bring that car to an obvious dead end unless they had back-up hiding somewhere around here? I don't know about you, but I don't feel like getting gang-banged tonight! I just graduated! This is the start of the rest of my life!"

"What would you do if it was YOUR motorcycle?"

"Urm... Prrrobably go on death row for cruel and unusual mass homicide."

He raised his eyebrows at me now. "Wow. You've thought that out, haven't you?"

I thunked the front of my helmet with the heel of one hand. "That's not the point!"

CREEEAK. The loud noise echoed across the mill yard. We straightened and looked around wildly for the source of the noise, then ducked behind a tire-less truck with matching squeaks.

"Is that a fucking robot?" I whispered breathlessly through my helmet.

"Uh huh," he said weakly.

"… Holy hell."

Sure enough, a bigass robot was standing on piping that led to one of the mill's tanks, staring at the sky. All too familiar yellow paneling lined it's legs, head and arms. We stared in awe as it flipped something on it's chestplate and a spot light shot into the sky. It was the same shape as the symbol on the steering wheel. A robot? A robot? He was enormous! The piping under its feet dented as it adjusted so the spotlight shone through the meager clouds in the sky. My mouth worked like a dying fish under my helmet. I didn't quite know what to say. What words could describe seeing a giant robot in your home town? 'Oh fuck, call the cops, Mars is invading'? Because there was no way that thing was from this planet.

We might want to get the fuck out of here now. I punched Sam's shoulder. I tried to punch him anyway. I hit open air and turned wide, stricken eyes down to his crouched form.

"-If you find Busty Beauties under my bed, they're not mine, I'm holding them for Miles. Wait, no, that's a lie, they're mine but Uncle Charles gave them to me and I'm sorry. Mojo, I love you. Mrs. Parker, I didn't mean to get Rachel killed-"

"Oh for the love of God, what're you doing?," I hissed, jerking him away from the truck by his hood. "We need to get the hell out of here before that thing sees us. Now."

Unfortunately God said 'no' that day. As we crouched low and started crawling away from the truck, I looked right.

"Saaam…"

We both stared at the two very big German Shepherds chained to a building that stared right back at us with ears perked and mangled femur bones between their paws. Ouch. Guard dogs. Those teeth marks on their chew toys looked painful.. Sam, idiot that he is, moved his foot. Gravel churned. The dogs snarled. Sam ran.

Fuck the rocks. I tore after him like a bat out of hell with the devil on our heels. Might as well have been. I looked back just in time to see their chains yank right out of the brick wall over the rim of my glasses. Well, SHIT.

"RUN FASTER!" I screamed, arms pumping.

"AHHH! GOOD DOG GOOD DOG!" Sam screamed over his shoulder. Don't think that's working, Sam.

He ducked into a tear in the wall of an old water tower, and I followed. If I didn't, they'd chase the easiest moving target, which would be me, and one dog attack in a life time is enough, thank you. St. Bernard's are bigger, but there was only one of Marlin and he was trying to play. These hellhounds were wanting to play.. with our skulls.

Sam leapt onto an oil drum in the center of the tower and I hoisted myself up with his arm just as the black dog was making a leap for my leg. I admit it. I screamed like a little wuss. The dogs circled, howling and snarling with a little twinkle in their eyes that spelled murder for us.

I clung to Sam's arm, both of us trying to fit in the very center of the drum as it swayed. "You've got a dog, Sam, get down there and sweet talk them!"

"These are not Mojo dogs, okay? You can't punt these across a football field!"

"Then sacrifice yourself for a lady's sake!"

"Chivalry's so dead, Rach! And you got the helmet!"

Since he reminded me, I tore the helmet off, careful of my glasses, and threw it at one of the dogs. If anything it made it angrier. And then the last thing I wanted to see. The camaro barreled through wooden planks in the side.

"It's the demon car!" I screamed.

The dogs disappeared with yipes, but I was so not worried about them anymore. The demon car was circling us now. I actually missed the puppies. Sam dug around his pocket frantically and threw the keys at the car. "Just take the car, I don't want it anymore!"

I wasn't paying much attention. I'd leapt off the barrel and started running when the car made a wide circle around us. I heard the crunch of gravel as Sam jumped off and followed, but we didn't get far outside before a cop car with lights flashing screeched to a stop right before hitting me.

"Ohmigod I'm so glad to see you guys!" I wheezed, clenching a fist in my tanktop.

"HANDS IN THE AIR!" one of the cops commanded, like I'd never spoken.

Oh, fuck me. Now we had guns pulled on us?

"Nonono, the guy's inside!" Sam shouted, coming up beside me with his hands in the air. I threw mine up, too, just in case.

The spotlight blinded me as the younger of the two came around his door with his gun still raised.

"He's the one who called you guys-"

"Shut up! Hands in the air! Come towards the car!"

We obeyed. How could you not with a gun in your face?

"Heads on the hood, now!"

I rested my sweaty forehead on the cold metal with a long-suffering sigh, adrenaline causing me to quiver. How were WE the bad guys? Sam banged his head down beside me.

"You and your wonderful first car..."

"Shut up, Rachel, just shut up."

"Look I cannot be any clearer on how crystal clear I'm being."

"It just stood up," I mumbled, staring into space and just needing a cigarette. I'd been told, not just no, but 'hell no'.

"Just stood up." The cop with way too much shadow on his jaw, which looked crappy on him by the way, scoffed handed Sam a clear jar and a napkin. Then he offered me the same thing. "Okay, fill her up. No drippy drippy."

I lifted my head from where it rested on my hands. Pale blonde strands were tangled in my fingers where I'd been yanking at it all night in the women's cell. It was pure insanity, sitting there listening to other inmates discuss which county jail had fried chicken and the most comfortable mattresses. Did not want.

"Sir, we're not on drugs."

He snorted at me. He failed at snorting. Sounded like a pig getting tasered. My mom shook her head behind him where she leaned against a file cabinet. Tears streaked her face. I don't think she understood that I was immune to her oversensitivity by then. And I'm not being a bitch, honest. My mom cried about everything.

"You sure? No sauce with the boys? Shootin' up in the mill? Maybe it runs in the family?" That last part was directed at me and my wonderful dad situation.

I met his shit-brown gaze head on. I was so close to assaulting an officer. Just one more remark. Just one. Give me a reason, rent-a-cop.

"We're NOT on drugs," Sam insisted half-heartedly. My leg started bouncing like it always did when I was nervous. I rubbed a hand over my mouth and cleared my throat. Quick note about jail, kiddies. Never use the water fountain. I tried once in the middle of the night and the head bitch about melted my head with the lasers she was shooting with her eyeballs.

"Oh yeah?" The other cop tossed him an orange prescription bottle. "What's these?"

Nice grammar. And Sam gave me grief when my accent showed.

"Mojo," the cop read in a low, mocking tone. "S'at what the kids are doing these days? Little bit of Mooojooo?"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. You'd like to discover a new drug and get your name in the paper, wouldn't you, spanky?

"Those are my dogs pain pills."

"Y'know, little Chihuahua," Mr. Witwicky cut in, pinching the air to demonstrate.

The cop shook his head, then gave Sam the eye. He grinned and lifted his jacket. "What was that?"

Hm? I lifted my head curiously. Did I miss something?

"What?" Sam asked slowly.

"You eyeballin' my piece, 50 cent?"

Oh. My. God. Strike me now. Just do it.

"No, I wasn't-"

"Oh, you wanna go?"

"Are we in kindergarten?" I muttered under my breath, head falling back into my hands with a sigh.

"You wanna go too, missy? You and your little boyfriend go in the pokey together? Hm? Real romantic, right?"

"Not even funny." Who says 'pokey' anymore?

"She's my neighbor," Sam protested, swallowing nervously.

"Izzat so? Tryin' to show off for your little girlfriend, sonnie? Make something happen, kiddies." The cop leaned in close, looking between us. "I will bust you up."

Sam's eyes darted around before he leaned in and whispered, "Are you on drugs?"

I snort-laughed into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. This was not happening. "It's a drug called 'machismo', Sam. You wouldn't understand, it's for big kids."

"Rachel Shawn Parker," Mom gasped tearfully.

I ducked my head back down. Sam mirrored the action. We grinned at each other wearily between our fingers before I closed my eyes. My mouth was going to make this a long morning.

To Be Continued... (In roughly 24 hours).