Transported

Ch. 9

*A barrage of bullets peppers the fourth wall, leaving a crude oblong shape. A foot kicks the center down, and outsteps a small girl of about 10 years, carrying an assault rifle. She looks up at you and waves* Hi! I’m Iris, the main character of this story. I’ve come here today, to the other side of the fourth wall, to deliver an apology on behalf of my author for taking so long to update this fanfiction. You’ve all been such wonderful followers, and you have waited so patiently for the next chapter. My author has no legitimate excuse. She’s just a lazy lump on a log who doesn’t know how to get her butt off of Tumblr and do something productive with her life. *Sighs* Oh well, here it is anyway. No harm no foul, right? Well, *Scratches head* I wouldn’t say NO harm… Speaking of which, if you’ll excuse me, *Hefts gun* I’m going to go repay my author for all the crap she puts me through in this chapter. Enjoy the show! *Darts out of sight. Screaming and gunshots are heard*

*

As many stars that were in the sky on that night, I’ve sorrowed over what I failed to remember that day.

*

Bumblebee, Ratchet, Ironhide and Jazz were in position, hiding in vehicle mode on the bridge. Below, Optimus Prime was standing in a dark alley, pressed against the massive brick wall in attempting to hide his huge bulk.

Where was I, you ask? In a place of honor: Prime’s left shoulder.

Now you’re probably wondering, Why would she be up there? The answer was quite simple really: The rest of the Autobots would be coming down from the bridge in acrobatic maneuvers of the highest of skill, and holding on to me while doing that was just not a good idea, no matter how much I trusted them. There had been an argument to exclude me from the entire encounter, instead tucking me away someplace safe. However, it was debated that I was most vulnerable on my own, and that I must have an Autobot accompanying me at all times. So, the conclusion was that I would be safest with none other than the Prime himself.

The whole fuss over me made extremely embarrassed, and I was nervous to the point of shaking slightly when I was lifted to Optimus’s shoulder. I prayed none of the Autobots noticed.

When the Prime had first offered his huge, metal hand, I’d stepped up as delicately as possible. I was still stuck in my whole ‘He’s too great to be touched’ mindset. Even though his movements were careful and deliberate, the upwards motion and my nerves unbalanced me to the point where I fell to my knees, settling to stay somewhat seated on the way up, and forgetting my reservations enough to clutch the great fingers for dear life. When I reached ‘top floor’, I forced my shaky legs to support myself and cautiously stepped onto Optimus’s broad (understatement) shoulder. I tried to move around as little as possible, immediately crouching and using the huge, jutting shoulder panels for support, then turning myself to the front. I settled my legs in front of me, found a solid surface to brace my feet on, and sat.

I exhaled and looked down. Prayers echoed involuntarily through my head as I felt my feet begin to sweat. You know that urge to jump you get when you stand in a high place, yet it’s completely un-suicidal? Later I would hear that, it’s not the urge to jump; it’s deeper than that. It’s the urge to fall.

Whatever you call it, it was there, and stronger than ever. I’ve always had it, and as far as I can tell, it’s stronger in me than in most people. Strong enough that it’d make me afraid to be around heights; it’s not that I might fall which frightened me, but the aspect that I’d decide to fall. I didn’t always trust myself not to make that decision. That’s why my sweaty hands clutched any hold they could find so tightly.

It wasn’t all terribly nerve-wracking though. I remembered Simmons, the S7 agent. I was still having trouble remembering what he would do, the memory frustratingly just out of touch, but I did remember one thing: that I was looking forward to watching him squirm.