**Author's note: This is the first bit of a longer (9 page) story. I'm not posting it all here because of the content (violence, language, drug use) but I'm providing a link to my blog where you can find all of it. Link at the end of message.



"Scorch"

copyright 2009 by Whirlaway stonegd AT yahoo DOT com
disclaimer: Transformers, names + characters Hasbro.


"We've all seen terrible times, awful things- and had plenty of chances to walk away from it all, but we didn't. And neither should we now because we're Autobots, so long as we stay true to that we're never truly defeated." --Tracks [ IDW Publishing #8 ]
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Raoul Silva squinted his eyes against the rising sun. He could tell by the heat rising off the pavement under him that it was going to be a real scorcher. New York City never cooled down this time of the year, the humidity just sticking everywhere.
Inside his tiny apartment there was no relief. Stripping down to a tank top and boxers, he fantasized about central air. One day soon, he was going to escape the heat.
In more ways than one.

He managed to sleep until the afternoon when the heat became unbearable. He had been dreaming of his grandmother's sewing shop in Puerto Rico, remembering the old foot pedal-powered machine. One of his very first memories was of watching the needle jab up and down. He loved the sound of the machine and watching his grandmother's long fingers work the thread. Nothing could go wrong in those days, in her shop. The recollection of his early childhood was comforting and the dream lightened the lonely corners of his mind that remembered family, comfort, and popsicles on hot San Juan summer days.
He opened his eyes and groaned at the pool of sweat he was lying in. Popsicles and machines behaving properly were a thing of his past. Now it was all about the evil weather and machines that had their own ideas of what he should and should not be doing all night.

Raoul peeled himself out of bed and into an icy shower. The shock did nothing to soothe his guilty thoughts. He had never had much, but very early on his grandmother had taught him morals. Crime was wrong. Benefiting at the expense of other people was wrong.
*But it's not like I've ever hurt anyone,* he told himself.
Plus, the job at the tire shop he had last year didn't pay his rent. He hated the working world, playing by someone else's rules, punching the clock and dealing with loud-mouthed customers all day. He stuck with it as long as he had because of Tracks.

He felt the loneliness and guilt bubble up again when he thought of his Autobot friend. He'd never thought anyone so different from himself would ever care about him. Tracks had put himself between Raoul and harm time and again, never asking for anything in return but that Raoul stop wasting his life and believe in himself. He hadn't seen his friend in over a year, the last he'd heard was that he was being sent back to the Ark in Oregon, whatever that was. After that there was simply no way for them to communicate. He couldn't afford an air conditioner, let alone a phone.
It was just as well. Let Tracks remember him as he left him, a reformed car thief with his first legit job. Not as a gang-banger twenty year old that shoplifted and stole credit cards. Not as a man that hated himself for what he did.
But you didn't join up with the Latin Kings then one day decide you wanted out. If he left, they knew how to find him.
But there had to be a way out. Somehow, he would figure it out.
He had to get away from the heat. Resigned, he dressed, tied a black and gold bandanna around his head, and walked out into the burning day.



Read the rest

http://whirlaway-pred.livejournal.com/

or

http://www.myspace.com/499103040at my Transformers blog