.:Another Veiw:.

Chapter one: Lost and Found



The lights over her canvas were making her eyes ach behind her glasses. Her arms were covered in paint and sores, for slaving away several hours to finish her deadline for the piece a customer wanted to have ready for tomorrow. Gulping down more of her energy drink that was seated on the worn oak table next to her, already strewn with various paints of pray paint, brushes, and tubes of acrylic. A bucket of water, dirty and discolored from the use, sat next to the chair that made her backside ach greatly from her lack of movement.
   With a cry of frustration and groggy anger, she threw the brush across the room sounding with the wooden brush impacting on the door. Her Boss, a tall woman with mousey curls and soft hazel eyes, opened the door with a deep set frown on her lips.
   “Ingrid?” She said loudly, causing the artist to turn slightly. “Hunny, it’s time to lock up. You can finish up tomorrow.”
    “…my deadline’s Tomorrow-” Ingrid pushed up the glasses that were in peril of falling off her nose, sighing roughly. The day had already seems a waste, so it wasn’t going to help to argue.
   She stood, the stool wobbling from the harsh shove, as she collected the items she brought with her: Her cell phone, wallet, pocketknife, and art bag, filled with her messy sketches and various art supplies. Her walk held a slight limp, from her exhaustion. Her boss, switching off various lights, looked back, still slightly worried.
   “Ingrid, D’ya need a ride home? Detroit’s a pretty scary place after dark….”
    “I grew up in LA, I think I’m good,” The younger artist grinned slightly, droopy from the need to sleep. “I’ll just kick whoever’s ass tries to kick mine.” She picked up her keys, stuffing them in her jacket pocket. Her favorite Jacket, a short leather coat that ended just below her chest, the rim of the opening lined in fur. The sleeves her hastily pushed up to her elbows, so the paint wouldn’t get to it. Under that, she wore a long sleeved white flannel shirt, the buttons on the front made of cork, the first two unbuttoned to let the necklace she donned, a thick silver chain with a fat Latin cross hanging from it easily seen. Her pants, a pair of sage cargos with paint smudges decorating its front, her covered by a thick belt that served as a pack of sorts-a dark leather with several pouches on it, some full from her wallet and phone.
   “I’ll be back on Monday, Caroline…Later…” With a resounding slam, the reinforced door closed behind her.

   Walking along the brightly lit sidewalk, Ingrid traveled alone through the long, unending streets of Detroit. She was a few blocks away from her house, a nifty little condo that gave her plenty of space. It was three in the morning, an ungodly hour to still be awake after almost ten hours of work, But Ingrid couldn’t care less: It was her mind to go through with her work, and she did a damn good job to do what she wanted.
   There wasn’t, however, anything new going on in Lovely, clean Detroit, except for several reports about the Autobot Activity. I mean sure, they were bid news around the U.S of friggin’ A, but after a few weeks of nothing, no Decepticons tearing through Detroit, no anything, it just got…Quiet. Boring, for a word. She liked the excitement, being in the city were cybernetics took its biggest jump of the century. It was 2005, for god’s sake, there needed to be something big happening! There was the war across the ocean, yeah, but that got boring after four years. Sumdack’s mechanic genius intrigued her, but she never bought a bit like most of America’s paying occupants. She just enjoyed them from afar.
    Exhaling loudly, she kicked a stone on the dirty sidewalk into an alleyway, not really caring.
   Until it hit something metal.
     “What the…” She paused, curious. There really wasn’t anything that could make that sound. Even Garbage cans these days were plastic. So, as curiosity got the best of her, she wandered into the darkened alleyway. Filth and garbage were strewn across the concrete, and stepping in various things, she grunted in disgust, pulling out a flashlight she normally carried on her. Clicking it on, she looked around. There were the essential things: Cardboard boxes, the large trash bins, a few articles of rubbish here and there. But something strange, something out of place caught her eye like a falcon to a fish out of water.
   A foot, a dark purple foot. Obviously, it was robotic.
    “What in sweet hell…?” She mumbled intriguingly, moving closer. Raising the flashlight, it caught over more of what the foot was attached to: A tan hued armor of a leg, a rather oddly built chest and torso, a icy blue face under a tan helmet that closely resembled an old WWII helmet worn my the Germans. The eyes of the Robot were blacker then the sky, face slack as if asleep.
   Creeping closer, alert for any movement, she noted the cannon nozzles that peered out form under him, on either side of his head.
     Crouching next to it-‘He’, she later learned, Ingrid looked it over. The chassis had several large holes, mostly burns in the metallic plating no wiring showed through, luckily for the purple and tan robot.
   She looked around, bewildered: Who would leave a perfectly good looking Cybernetic out in the trash? Especially if it’s barely damaged. Was it lacking a system to operate on? Was it defective? No matter. She looked around, perhaps for several minutes, and huffed irritably. There was no switch activate the sucker! Maybe that was what was wrong with it.
   “God, how d’you turn this thing on?” She muttered, but that seemed to do the tick. The eyes flashed on, a bright scarlet hue, which caught her off guard. It swiftly caught her by her upper arm, a soft cry of surprise escaping her.
    “Vhar am I?” The bot had a thick accent. Definitely German.
    “What the hell?!” She countered, brows scrunched together. Her eyes, a hazy blue, were wide in puzzlement, and panic. Her mind already jumped to conclusions: This defective piece of junk would kill her. Tears her up and blow a circuit.
    “Lemme go, yo-”
    “Answer me, Human.” His voice was cold, yet wondering. He seemed…lost, unable to comprehend something.
     “You’re in Detroit, you metallic birdbrain!” Ingrid back sassed, trying to pull her arm free from the bot’s grasp, but to no avail. His grip was too strong to wriggle out of. So, she used her natural talent: Being a pain in the ass.
     The Metallic being stayed quiet for a moment, adjusting to his surroundings, then fixed his optics on her. She was small, an estimated five foot two, average build. Average he thought, for humans. He didn’t release her, for some reason, thinking that this human female would have some use.
   “Vhat ist the date?” First, to fix the massive loss of memory, he needed to reset his internal chronometer.
   “It’s….July 18th, 2005.” She said, looking at him like he was mad.
     “Can you let me go now?”
     “Nien.”
     “Oh, so now it uses German on me,” She threw her free arm to the sky, her tone skeptical.  The bot raised an optic ridge, a frown setting in.
     “I’m not an ‘Eet’, I’m a Cybertronian.”
     “Oh….” She said in an even more skeptical tone. “Another like the Autobots, riiiight?” Apparently, that wasn’t the best thing to come out of her mouth.
     He held her up by her arm; a good few inched from the ground.  Ingrid, Now obviously not liking this situation, spat a few rather intriguing insults at him, before he retorted, “If you don’t vant your head torn from your body, I suggest zat you silence yourself zis instant.” He grinned; the threat shut her mouth instantaneously. Letting her stand on her own, he still held a strong grip on her arm, though it loosened to a degree.
“Gut. Now, tell me: How am I the same height as you?”
   “You aren’t. You’re obviously taller.”
   He felt the push of his spiteful personality in the back of his mind, and tried to hold it at bay. “Why am I zis height?  I am not sure how…I shrank to zis size.”
     “Hunny, you’re asking the wrong girl,” She shrugged, still tugging at her arm. “I ain’t got no clue how you’re a small fry, and why you were laying around in the trash. So don’t go trying to tear my head off. I’ll kick your ass riiiight back.”
    He hummed. This girl had guts to speak this way to a Decepticon. Maybe she didn’t know that he was…Oh, well. He had to hand it to her anyway, to be so brave. No femme, in his entire existence, had the bolts to talk to him like that.
   “Vhere are you going, Frau?” he asked, a slight inclination of his next question showing through.
  “My house.” She said with a chord of stubbornness, refusing to give up on getting her arm free.
   He released her, and caught her before she fell backwards into a dirty looking puddle. Even with the grief he was already causing her, At least he had some chivalry.
    “Take me wif you. Until I can contact any of my comrades.” He said in his cold, precise tone. It wasn’t a question, it was a request. Ingrid slashed her last thought. This ‘bot was a real jerk-ass.
     “And why the hell should I?”
     ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll rip you pieces,” the Blue faced mech spoke in such a low key, that Ingrid literally felt her stomach drop twenty feet or so. “Und scatter them all over Detroit.”
    “Okay, okay,” She waved her hands. This thing meant business, and not the good kind.
   “Promise you won’t turn me into a rag doll, and it’ll be okay.”
    Scarlet optics rested on her for a moment, unsure. Then after a mental argument, he nodded, “Ja. I agree to these terms.”
   “Well, thank god, then.” Ingrid exhaled. The Robot let her loose, and she straightened her shirt, brushing off her jacket. Eyeing him for a few minutes, she wondered aloud, “Can’t you at least give me a name, instead of me calling you it?”
    A smile pulled at the edges of thin lips.
     “Eet’s Blitzwing.”
     “Blitzwing?” She relayed the name over her tongue, a smooth, yet harshly pronounced name.
     “Weird.”
     “Vhut?” he asked, watching her intently.
     “Blitzwing…Too long.” She shrugged. “I’ll just call you Blitz.”
     His brow twitched; No one had the audacity to give him a nickname, but seeing that he was under her terms, as much as he regretted it, he had to comply.
     “Vell, are ve going?” He asked, seeming to grow Impatient under the light of the flashlight.
    “Yeah, why not…..” She turned, shoulders slumping, knowing that tonight was gunna be hell.


She pushed open the door to her condo, the dark space cold, the way she liked it, sure, her AC bill was jacked up a bit, but it didn’t matter: She hated hot environments. She flicked on the light to the hallway, which normally led to the kitchen and the living room, and took a few steps inside to kick off her boots that she had already unzipped.
   “Make yourself at home, and don’t break anything, please. I’ve only lived here for a month: I don’t plan on replacing anything yet.”
   Blitzwing just nodded silently: he was in someone else’s domain, something he was unaccustomed to. She wasn’t rooting for the Autobots, it seemed, and either for the Decepticon party, so he felt a bit at ease.  Following her with intrigue, the human environment quite…A change.
    Her walls were colored a sage hue, the furniture black, Preferable the leather material that she wore over her skin. An exoskeleton, or armor perhaps? Metal and old wood tables were next to her couch and in front.  The electronics seemed to be adequate, top notch for some standards. Archaic to his race, but still well produced. She slumped, falling back into the plush leather sofa, exhaling her stress away. Looking over at the clock above the bar, it read out that it was around four A.M. Wonderful.
   “I need to sleep, it’s too late to be up,” Ingrid yawned, stretching her arms. Blitzwing looked over, from his inspection of various glasses and cups that were on a wine rack.
   “I’ll probably be up in a few hours, though. I don’t sleep so well.” She got up, though her body protested. Gazing over, she saw that Blitz wasn’t much of a problem: She said don’t touch and he didn’t touch anything. At least he listened better then her last roommate.
   “If you need anything, just knock on the door at the end of the hall. Chow.”
    Walking sluggishly towards her bedroom, the mech mumbled something. Her head poked back into the living room. “What?”
   He looked back over. “I merely said Gut Nacht.”

  “Gut…” She ran the words over in her head, thought a bit slowly, and guessed it meant good night. A small, tired smile flickered over her lips.
   “Yeah, Gut Nacht to ya too.”





Chapter 2: Shower

It was only hours ago that She had fallen asleep, and when she woke, the reality of what happened last night hit her like a Semi on the freeway: She brought a Robot home, probably Alien, since it seemed to have some connection to the Autobots. It could’ve killed her, and could be dangerous.
   But she laughed away, thinking she was crazier then before.
   Kicking off the covers, she sat up-and looked down to see the Tan and purple mech sitting at the foot of her bed, seeming asleep again.
This, personally, irked her beyond reasoning.
   But, she sighed quietly, it was probably inevitable.  Waving a hand next to him to see if he’d grab it out of sure thought, she quietly crawled out of her bed, the cold air sending the bare skin that wasn’t covered by her tank top and boy-sort underwear, both her neutral black, to prickle with Goosebumps.  The wood floor was cold under her feet, the Saturday morning sun luckily stopped by her curtains.
   Grabbing her glasses, she slipped into her bathroom, putting them on. Looking into the mirror, she sighed. A young woman, around thirty, stared back. The Doppelganger had fair, light skin, dark coffee colored hair with cream streaks breaking with contrast. Her gray blue eyes were groggy, half way closed. Freckled sprinkled over her in various patches, unlike her younger sister Irene.  Irene, who was now living in a small city in Georgia, who was married, apparently, with one child and another on the way. She wasn’t able to make it to the wedding, she regretted miserably, but was there to help bring Quinn, Irene and Her husband’s first son into the world. She was, in fact, a doctor in training, her skills called upon because they had no one else left to turn to. Ratchet was too unfamiliar with childbirth, so it was up to the learner to tech the old medic the way it went.
  She smiled, thinking of how Bumblebee fainted, Prime close to that. Jazz thought it was the neatest thing, seeing a child born, but Prowl, or Hunter, found it totally gross.

    In the time she spent thinking she didn’t notice the red eyed mech walking into the Bathroom as well, inspecting her. She turned, screamed, and slipped into the bathtub, groaning in pain.
   “Good gods in heaven, next time warn me that you’re sneaking up on me…” She grumbled, trying to climb out. She had a bit of trouble, until a black hand reached out.
   “Here,” he rumbled. She took the hand, and he pulled her, slightly too roughly, from the tub. She nearly crashed into him, though he caught her anyway. She looked up, back into the eyes of the mechanic being.

  “Thanks…” She said, backing up.  He was too tall. Six feet? Seven feet? Too tall for her standards. Ingrid took a breath, exhaling slowly. Turning, she looked around the bathroom, to look at anything EXCEPT the cybernetic being in front of her.
   “Uh…Can you please get out? I need a shower….” She mumbled loudly, making a face at him. He blinked, obviously not accustomed to Human hygiene.
   “‘Shower?’” He repeated with a look of question on his optics.
  “Yeah.” He retorted. “Get naked, wash my skin off from being dirty, and being absent of anything of the opposite sex.”
    “I haf no gender.”
   “Whatever…” She grumbled. “Just get out, please.” To add on, she waved a hand away to the door, turning to turn on the water.  Jerking the curtain closed, she turned to look over her shoulder, the Robot still staring.
    “Are you stupid?” She asked in a sardonic tone. “I’m taking a shower, I want privacy. Thank you, and go into the living room, with the big couch. I’ll be there in a bit.”
     It seemed that only when it was explained did he leave. His shoulder’s moved, imitating a shrug, and walked out. Ingrid kicked the door closed, instantly locking it.
    Then she thought about how stupid she was acting. She was treating this robot like he was human.
     But he thought and acted like one. A Bit disoriented, yes, but still passed if she closed her eyes.
Peeling off the tank, she chuckled to herself. “God, I’m so lame…” She threw the undergarments to the side on the counter, and pulled off her glasses, setting them aside too. Jumping in the shower, she exhaled a relaxed sigh, the hot water soaking her skin and washing away all the stress and sweat. A personal heaven, where the big scary robot couldn’t bother her-
    She bit her lip. Why was she thinking of him still? He was a stupid tall robot with a substantial German accent. Genuine, even. Shaking her head, she made a rude noise, grabbing the shampoo. This wasn’t going to be a pretty set of days that he was here.
    He was gunna drive her insane, accidentally or purposely.

After stepping out, with towels wrapped around her hair and body cozily, she walked around her bedroom. The door was open, and when she peeked outside, Blitz’s stood in the hallway, walking away. He didn’t seem to notice her, which she took kindly. Maybe he was chivalric at heart. Shrugging, she closed the door with a soft clink of metal to metal, lock sliding smoothly into place. Throwing the towels aside, she walked to her closet, opening it. Pulling out a pair of grey cargo shorts and a black snug tee, she reached for a pair of underwear and a bra, not caring for which color. Pulling all the needed clothing, she snatched up the towel, rubbing harshly at her hair to soak up the access water. With it in a frizzy mess, but after a tangled war with her brush, it was fixed back, her glasses enabling her vision to return to its original ability.
   Unclicking the lock, she made her way to the kitchen and living room, where the Tan and purple being sat, on the couch, though it seemed to strain under his weight.
     He stood immediately, though, after she entered the room and his train of vision.
       “No reason to stand,” She grinned, walking in the kitchen, and opening the fridge to grab a pitcher of tea, iced and sweetened to perfection. Taking a clean glass that was already set out on the counter, se filled it about three-fourths of the way, and took a long gulp. “ahh, that’s better,” She mumbled, and walked out into the living room.
   “Soooo,” Ingrid said, sitting on the oak coffee table near Blitzwing. The wings on the robots twitched, almost like a human would their brows. “What now?”
    “Vhat do you mean?” He asked casually, though his facial expression didn’t match.
   “I’ve got work in about three hours. You coming with me or no?”
   Blitzwing muttered under his breath, but replied, “Vhy not? I ‘ave nozing else to do on this Primus forsaken planet…”
     “Ey, I live on this ‘Primus-forsaken’ planet, and you’re in my house. Respect it, or you’re on the streets again, bucko.” Ingrid snapped back a bit, raising her glass.
    “Besides, I think I can fix those holes in your armor, or whatever. I have some welding tools back at work.”
    “Human tools will not work on me,” he equally retorted, crossing his arms.
   “Then be a holy tin can for all I care.” She stood, and walked over to her boots, grabbing them up. “You stay here and rust and I’ll go to work.” Hearing the creaking of her couch as the weight was lifted, she rolled her eyes, smiling in success.
   “Vut work do you do?” it was a simple, curious question.
   “I’m an artist.”
   “Vhat style?”
   “Painter, welding sculptor, the list can go on.” She mumbled.
   “…I wish to see it. Your art, I mean.”
   “Sure, why not?” She stood, boots on. “I mean, you have nothing else better to do, right?”
   He said nothing, but a smile grew over his otherwise cold features.