Transformers: A Matter of Fate

THE AFTERMATH

A/N: So I just saw the movie, and this fic hit me at once. I had to write it, just had to. So I've been developing it in my head, and now here it goes. You'll have to work with me on this, as I'm still developing the idea. But I have enough that I think I have a good story and basic start to work off of. :) So be warned: there are some MAJOR spoilers. So if you have not yet seen the movie, heed my warning. Stop reading now until you get to see it

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers, only Mark Savoy, and any other original characters who may appear.

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CHAPTER 1

The Aftermath

"I'm sorry for your loss."

It was all that anybody could say to young Mark Savoy following the death of his mother. But he had hoped it would have been a much longer time before he ever had to hear it about his father. Perhaps it wouldn't have hit the fourteen year old as hard if everything about Cemetery Wing hadn't come out, from a speech from the President himself no less. It was needless to say that he could not comprehend his fathers actions. To kill the Autobots, a group that Mark had idolized for their awesome nature when he was a child, and use them the way he did.

Mark closed his eyes, trying his best to push the thought of what he did to the back of his mind. He pushed his chestnut brown hair from his face and squinted his dark blue eyes towards the distance. He'd been on the run ever since that day, just him, a backpack with a few cherished possessions, and the clothes on his back. It was all he needed, he didn't need his father's secrets and lies, and he definitely didn't need the sympathy of a world that didn't truly care. He only needed himself, the number one in his life now.

The only person he knew couldn't lie to him.

Stuffing his hands into his worn jean pockets, he stared around quietly. He wasn't at all sure where he was, though according to the bus he'd taken to get away from his latest run-in with the cops, he had read it was somewhere in Texas. He sighed, he had certainly put more than enough distance between himself and Washington DC, and he was truly thankful for that. He sighed a bit, making his way down the sidewalk and staring around for the local eatery, spotting a small diner before he checked his pocket again for what little money he had.

It amounted to little more than his last five dollar bill, and some loose change. He grunted to himself, and carefully settled it back into his pocket. "Hey, kid." Mark turned his head to see an older man, by the looks of it, homeless "There's a soup kitchen about a two blocks walk down that way." He pointed in the right direction "If yer looking for something to eat, I'd head that way."

Mark was silent, frowning at the thought of eating in a soup kitchen of all places. "Who says I am?" He asked.

"You look and smell like you haven't showered in a month." The man replied, starting toward him "You don't think I know a runaway when I see one?" He asked, taking in the form of the young teenager "Kids like you don't last long on the streets, yer too scrawny." He reached forward, running a hand along his hair "Of course, supposing you get yourself a job..."

"If you even go near there I will kick you in the balls old man."

As if for emphasis, Mark kicked the man in the shins. He groaned, backing up a bit and staring into the eyes of the young boy. "What the hell?"

"You're probably a pimp, right? This is how you pick up new merchandise." Mark clutched his strap "I've run into a few of you on the streets, man. And I'll tell you what I told them. I'm packing heat, if you come near me, I'll make sure you won't get "pleasure" again." He stated, the man seemed to bumble a bit "So thanks for the information, but I'll find somewhere else to get my meal."