Alone ~ 14

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
2ND POV
5-26-18
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   Anesthesia looked frantically around the crowded, rioting streets.

   It was the very early days of the Great War, and everyone around her was yelling. Shooting. Fighting. Nobody would be able to control them.

   Autobot against Decepticon it all was, the entire time she shoved her way through the mobs. The femme but her derma so hard she drew energon. Not that she noticed, of course, she was too busy searching for her sparkmate and daughter, the worst case scenarios flooding her processor.

   "Ratchet! Y/N! Where are you two?!" Anesthesia yelled in the chaos. She narrowly avoided the abuse that came her way, but now matter how hard she tried, bruises and dents still ended up in her armor. She would fix them later. After all, the femme was a doctor, just like her lover and child.

   "Creator! Creator, I'm over here!" Y/N called out to her mother. The daughter jumped up and down and waved her arms to let the older femme know where she was. Y/N and Anesthesia made their ways through the thick, bloodthirsty crowd in desperation to find and never let go of one another.

   "Darling, Where's Ratchet? Where's your sire?!" The doctor questioned. She gripped her servos on the younger femme's shoulders. Y/N placed her own servos on them for comfort.

   "I don't know, creator, I don't know!" You replied, your voice just as fearful and panicky as your parent's. "We need to find him, we need-"

   "Girls! I'm over here! Come on, me and Optimus'll get you to a safe-zone!" A harsh voice abruptly called out. Through the commotion, the two of you whipped your helms around to found your favorite mech. To you both, the angered voice came as a relief. He was only worried, and you had confirmation that he was okay.

"Darling, lets go. We have only so much time before the Cons try to target us," Ana urged her daughter. You nodded anxiously and the two rushed off, the daughter railing behind the creator, racing after the sire who would lead them to safety. Ana prayed to the original Thirteen that all would be well, and they would all make it through. Or, at least, her loved ones would survive.

"Sire, wait!" You cried out. The mech was consumed by the surrounding soldiers. Your servo held on tightly to your creator's as you continued to sprint out of the battle for the desperation of survival. Like mother like daughter, you bruised and bled your lip from biting it too hard, and soon went after the inside of your cheeks.

"Come now, my dear," The doctor kept encouraging you over the loud noises of rage and pain, "we're going to make it, you bet your medical license on it." You'd rather not, not that it'd make much of a difference at this point. Your home was falling apart, chunk by chunk.

Panic consumed your thoughts, and in the time it takes to snap your digits, her servo was torn from yours. Your faceplates went paler than before—if that was even possible—to find Decepticon generals grasping her tightly. Less significant Cons soon took hold of your frameand held you in place. You were helpless; you could heal those in need, not fight those harming them.

"Creato-!" You were cut off by the seeker on your right slapping you across the face. A big mark was left from the impact.

You didn't need to ask why they just snatched you up. You were the family of Ratchet, as well as some of Optimus Prime's closest friends. You were skilled and important medics that were going to play a large part in the war—or, well, one of you were going to, anyways.

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