"The ends of the Earth are just the beginning of the universe."

★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Screeching tires come to an abrupt halt on the asphalt road, only furthering Toby's dazed state. Though whirs of pain and torment rip through her soul as she becomes aware of the screaming Autobot below the bridge.

"Bumblebee," she watches numbly as her species bind the innocent 'bot with cables and freeze his bits with nitrogen. The woman remains unaware as she removes herself from Ratchet's cabin and rests her folded arms on top the stone railing, only observing from afar with no idea of what to do.

A small figure tackles a man with a nitrogen gun, taking the device from his grasp and using it against him until another agent brings the person to the ground. Sam's fearful voice pierces the night, startling Toby from her numbness and forces her to watch the boy and girl being dragged away from a still crying Bumblebee.

"Why," more of a statement, not a question. "Why are humans so cruel? What compels them to such torturous methods? And why must I be one of them?" The woman's voice is full of disgust and hatred, her lips drawn back in pure displeasure.

"Perhaps it is so you can prove such a fact to be wrong," the medic speaks, "perhaps it is so you can change their cruelty. You cannot presume what fate has laid out for you."

"Perhaps it's not fate then," Toby snarls in disagreement, "perhaps it's merely coincidence."

"Coincidence only takes you so far, young one. Coincidence did not get you to where you are now, but fate did. Fate guided you to interrupt our meeting and twist your future into our own lives. Do not take that lightly."

The woman chuckles lowly, looking away from the heart wrenching sight below, "For an old piston, you sure are full of wisdom."

Ratchet splutters indignantly at her words, causing his vehicle form to shake. Jazz laughs quietly as he pulls himself onto the bridge, seeing as the MIB cars and helicopters are gone, but his faceplates display his guilt for all to see.

"What are we s'posed t' do now? We just lost Bumblebee an' we don't even have the glasses!" The silver 'bot gestures wildly, downtrodden with all that has happened in the span of the evening.

"What, d'ya mean these glasses?" Toby grins halfheartedly, pulling the ancient spectacles from her flannel pocket.

"When did ya snag those?" Jazz holds out his servo for the woman to step onto.

"Just before the Men In Black showed up at Sam's door. I figured you might need them," she smiles widely as she hops onto the offered servo and settles quietly while the Autobot turns to carry her beneath the bridge to deliver the special package to Optimus.

"Ep, ep, ep! Not until I've scanned you; you took quite a hit to the head," metal clashes as Ratchet transforms into his bi-pedal self, holding an odd device in front of him.

"Alright, alright; calm down, Piston," Toby raises her hands in mock surrender, smiling slightly at the nickname.

"Don't call me that," the medic scowls and scans the woman, frowning further as he reads the results. "You don't have a concussion, but the level of caffeine in your system is quite alarming."

The woman grins, shaking her head slightly. "That's normal for me, I'm quite the caffeine junkie. Actually, I'm pretty sure my blood is pure caffeine at this point."

"That is not healthy."

"Neither is cracking your head on a car door, but here I am," she shrugs dismissively and pats Jazz's servo, "Come on, let's go give Bossbot the glasses."

"Givin' nicknames now, are ya?" Jazz smiles down at her as he swings onto the pavement below the bridge.

"I've been working on them all evening, Jazzy. I'm not gonna let my efforts go to waste."

"Optimus," the silver Autobot clears his chuckle and presents Toby to his leader, "she has the glasses."

"Then we must locate the Allspark, we cannot let Bumblebee's sacrifice be in vain," Optimus states, though the woman can hear the obvious guilt in his voice.

Taking matters into her own hands, she stands, and before Jazz can do anything about it, she leaps across the gap between the two Autobots. Despite his initial surprise, Optimus catches her fragile form and places her on his shoulder, questioning her motives for the sudden action.

"Whatever happened, Optimus, was not your fault," Toby comfortingly pats the Autobot's helm, sympathy evident. "Bumblebee knew what he was getting into and he certainly wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

Optimus observes the woman quietly, thankful for her presence in the moment. She smiles gently, eyes full of compassion and experience as she absentmindedly rubs her fingers on his armour.

"I blamed myself for my mother's death for many years until realising that she wouldn't want me to dwell on the past," her gaze becomes distant and hollow before shaking her head slightly to return to the current situation.

"Is there anything you need, Toby, before we roll out?"

"I have a small bag at my house, it has some important stuff in it that could come in useful," the woman gives her address to the 'bot, running a nervous hand through her hair, an action neither Jazz, nor Optimus, miss.

With rising suspicion, Optimus places Toby on the ground, awaiting her unofficial 'guardian'. Once the medic joins the trio, an optic ridge raised at the two concerned Autobots behind the woman, he transforms into his alt and studies his charge quietly while she climbs inside his cabin. Her posture appears stiff and her fingers tremble lightly as she takes her seat on the passenger side.

"Didn't you have a bag earlier?" Ratchet's question startles the young woman, causing her to jolt harshly before grimacing and holding a hand to her head.

"Yeah, bolt head's goons took it from me when we got arrested. It only had sketchbooks and pencils in it, I can always replace that," she goes silent, staring at her hands while she fidgets.

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

"I guess you could say that," Toby looks out the window to watch the others transform, otherwise ignoring her friend's question.

:.Ratchet.: Optimus' voice fills the tense silence, :.We are collecting items of necessity for Toby from her residence, prepare to roll out.:

"Was that a comm?"

"Indeed it was," Ratchet states, slightly surprised by her question, knowing how observant the woman typically is.

Silence settles once more between the two, Toby remaining tense and jittery, much to the medic's confusion, and occasionally chewing on her nails, only stopping when Ratchet grunts scoldingly.

"You mentioned street racing earlier," Toby jumps in her seat, "care to elaborate?"

"I-I didn't actually street race, but I guess I was what you could call a 'scout'. I don't—er-didn't—have a vehicle at the time, but since I knew the streets pretty well, the racers would send me out with their cars to scout out good racing strips. If I found a decent place, I'd get paid a percentage of the winnings."

"Why did you do it?"

Silence.

"Toby?"

"I-I'd rather n-not."

"Toby," The demanding tone in his voice has the woman staring out the window to avoid any sort of 'eye contact'.

"Y-you'll see."

Not quite understanding, Ratchet focuses his attention on the road and the passing houses on either side of the tarmac. Street lights become less frequent, and cruising vehicles cease to exist as the band of Autobots exit the bustling city of Los Angeles. Duplexes turn into separate buildings, only to then decrease into small plots of land accompanied by two bedroom houses. Wheat bows softly in a gentle breeze, and a low hedge grows in size as the group approaches their destination.

A large house comes into view after Ratchet turns down a gravel road, half of it clearly unused, and the branches of a towering willow tree brush the window of one of the upstairs rooms, tapping quietly in the breeze. A steel-roofed shed sits overgrown beneath the window, the door padlocked and rusted. No lights brighten the once pridefully kept building, turning the place into a gloomy afterthought, and signifying the absence of any conscious beings.

As Ratchet's tires come to a halt, Toby inhales shakily, only to hold the breath while she runs her hands through her hair. Releasing her breath, she glares at the dashboard so harshly that the medic almost shakes and unbuckles the seatbelt.

"Do not, under any circumstance, transform. My dad works for Sector Seven, and we do not want a repeat of earlier," Toby sends him one last glare before exiting his alt mode and running over to the shed.

The woman grasps the roof of the shed and swings her leg up in practiced movement, creating little sound as she hoists herself up. Her steps are rehearsed, barely tapping on the steel while carefully she picks her handhold on the window ledge above her head. A small leap has her sliding through the open window and into the room beyond.

"And stay quiet," A small voice demands from inside the house, leaving the Autobots slightly baffled and confused.

☆★☆

"Where is it? Where is it?" Inside the room, Toby rummages through piles of paper, panicked and mildly fearful. Something skids across the floor as the woman accidentally kicks it in her haste to find the lost item. A curse leaves her lips upon noticing the object slide beneath the twin bed.

"You know what? Leave it. Grab everything else first," Toby dismisses the prototype, instead silently collecting items of necessity and stuffing them into a black knapsack. Blueprints, prototypes, even handmade tools find their way into the bag—though she doesn't forget the small stash of food hidden in her closet—anything that can prove to be dangerous in the wrong hands discover themselves removed from the bedroom.

She snatches her soldering iron from atop a shelf, only to find everything on said shelf crashing onto the floor in a loud clatter.

"Scrap."

Silence fills the house, and Toby holds her breath. Nothing moves. Nothing dares make a sound.

"Toby?" The woman releases her breath, eyes wide as she scans her room for a hiding place. Nothing.

A light turns on somewhere in the hallway, followed by heavy, lumbering footsteps. She might as well accept her fate as the person comes closer. Toby reaches under her bed, nerves frayed, but determined not to show it. She pulls out the prototype weapon and stuffs the last item in her bag before zipping it shut.

The door swings open just as she shoulders her bag, revealing her disappointed father.

"And what do you think you're doing?" The broad shouldered man crosses his arms.

"I'm leaving."

Her father scoffs, almost growling. "You will do no such thing."

"Watch me, then," Toby straightens her posture to hide her trembling knees.

"You are my daughter, and you will do as I say!" He demands, chestnut eyes blazing.

"No."

"What did you say?"

"I said, no," the man opens his mouth to snap back but halts upon seeing the pure fury in his daughter's expression. "You had seven years—nearly eight years—to act like you cared."

"I—"

"Were you unaware that you had a daughter?" Cold malice fills her voice, accompanied by pent up hatred. "The day mom died I was left to fend for myself. I was eleven years old."

"I was grieving!" The man defends himself hotly.

"For seven years?!" Her voice snarls. "Arthur Williams, I grieved for one week! I moved on! I forced myself onto other things because you forgot about me!"

"I did not—"

"You did. You forgot your child because she reminded you too much of her mother. She suffered and made herself provide for herself. You made her believe that she caused her mother's death. Do you have any idea of what that did to her?"

The man growls, rolling his shoulders and putting his hands on his hips to reassert his dominance in the situation. Toby holds her glare, adjusting her bag and grabbing a white baseball cap.

"It destroyed her. She lost both her mother and her father. So I tell you now, in this moment, that I am leaving. I'm leaving for good because it's clear to me that you don't care," her eyes are dry, no tears to be shed for the man before her.

"You are not leaving my house."

"Then I won't say goodbye—not that you deserve one," the woman steps towards him, eyes glued to the hallway where her freedom lies. He blocks the door, glaring coldly at her, but she doesn't spare him a glance, only halting momentarily to address him. "And it isn't your house, it was mom's."

She shoves her shoulder into the man, brushing past him without a second thought as she walks down the hallway, leaving the chains of her life behind.

Each step relieves more weight from her shoulders; each step brings further happiness. Nothing will be able to stop her progress; nothing can stop her now. She is free. Toby is free.

The rusty screen door is the only obstacle that remains in her way. A simple push is all that's needed.

The hinges creak painfully as the woman presses against the white painted wood, seeing fleeting memories of more joyful times

A strained smile fights its way onto her face, remembering that her mother will be with her through every step of this new life, whether in spirit or in the stars, the woman does not care, so long as she knows how far her daughter has come.

A rumble of an engine changes her strained expression into a true grin of happiness. Her feet move before she even thinks, carrying her across the overgrown lawn in eager leaps towards the source of the sound. Small tears roll down the woman's cheeks, shed only in the joy of freedom and countless possibilities for the future.

The neon yellow Autobot ambulance rolls into view, appearing, somehow, to be worried or, at the very least, concerned. If even possible, her grin broadens further, fuelling her body to run faster. His door opens upon seeing the speed of his charge as she propelles herself across the grass towards him.

A very audible 'oof' sounds as Toby barrels into Ratchet's cabin, though unclear as to which of the two it belongs to. Despite being in the driver's seat, she shuffles over to the passenger seat and makes herself comfortable while respecting the medic's personal boundaries.

"Well, that went well," Toby is one hundred percent sure that her friend just scowled.

"I would not say that it did," he disagrees, starting to drive away from the depressing house.

"What you heard was the best possible situation," she pauses. "And everything I said in there is true."

"Your sire does not seem suited for the occupation of 'creator'."

Toby scowls at his steering wheel, momentarily confused by his choice of words. "Do you mean 'father' and 'parent'?"

"Yes."

"Oh, then you are absolutely correct—well, not quite. He was great when mom was around, but when she died I guess he just couldn't cope. Doesn't mean I forgive him, mind you. He may be my father, but he sure ain't my dad."

★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Man, I don't know about you guys, but reading that makes me emotional.

*Sniff*

I'm so proud of Toby (yes, I'm aware that she's a character of my own creation).

If any of you folks are stuck in a situation that you feel like you can't escape from, don't hesitate to seek out help. And, hey, if any of you need someone to talk to, you can always private message me. I'm being completely serious.

But I utterly enjoyed writing this chapter, no matter how short it is. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it!

Drag0nRider out!