Lost and Found

(A/N: So, the first story I ever completed was a Transformers/Avatar fic called 'Autoborg: the Journey Begins'. Well, I'm revamping it as I have a new idea and I pretty much deleted the old story. Still, a fresh start I think. A friend suggested an OC character may fit in with the show Gen: Lock's theme. I'll still work on other stories as well. I just want to focus on some other stuff. My head literally bursts with ideas! I hope you all like this story like you do the others.

Edit: I am aware of the new episodes from the show. For now, I want to continue writing this story. I will happily edit based on new information.)

Disclaimer: Gen: Lock is owned by Rooster Teeth. Transformers is owned by Hasbro. So, I don't either of those, obviously.)

'Fate rarely comes upon us at a calling of our choosing'-Optimus Prime

'Let the Good Times Roll'- Louis Jordan

Chapter 1

The name's Mute. I'm called that because I was born without vocal chords. Whatever family I had is either possibly dead or abandoned me like a prom-night dumpster baby, which is kind of an okay tune by Seth McFarlane, but that's for adults. That, and I kind of try to be at the very least a bit decent save for when I'm really pissed. Yep, I swore. I know a lot of words that sailors know. I also know a few swear words like 'cazzo' and 'mierda'. Then again, if I said those around my old man, I'd be in for my daily beating, that I would.

Am I happy about it? Hell no! I can't speak verbally. I would love to hear the sound of my voice, even if everyone gets annoyed! I want to tell my next-door neighbor's cats to quit waking me up at the unholy hour of five am in the morning about an hour before I'm supposed to wake up for school! I'd like to hear myself ask a girl out on a date and laugh at buttheads as they get caught by the cops for speeding right before said police officer pulls me over for swerving as I'm distracted while laughing my butt off. I would like to swear at what few racist buttholes are left that like to call me 'damn injun' behind my back. Frick, I'd love to hear my own voice.

I would like to hear myself sing and laugh and swear and so many other things. Unfortunately, I may or may not ever know what my voice ever sounds like as I have no chords. If anything, the only way my voice will be heard is on the Internet or through my iPhone... or maybe this sort of diary I'm keeping in my head right now as I'm going through the motions of being in so much fucking pain right now!

My parents were the best folks on the planet anyone could ask for: a hispanic drone operator for the US Air Force for a Dad and a businesswoman for a Mom. Of course, I had some great siblings as well. For instance, there was my big brother Jordan. He passed away when I was ten in Afghanistan. He was the best big brother I could ever ask for. My big sister, Janice, is also, for lack of a better term, 'gone'. I don't want to talk about it. I was there when it happened and that's all I'm ever going to say about it. Their deaths were felt a lot harder than you think. Most days, I wake up expecting to hear Janice doing some pop song covers and Jordan playing someMechwarrior on his computer or taking me out somewhere to see a movie or something.

Dad and Mom did those things too. For instance, they would take me out to see the newest (but also decent) scifi film. I wanted them to take me to see a action movie, but they took one look at it and said 'Hell, no'. Jordan ended up taking me one night and we lied to Mom and Pop about it. Needless to say, they never found out... to my knowledge.

For me, family didn't just mean blood relatives. If anything: it meant people that cared about me. Then, in the span of two years from age ten: my dog died, my brother and sister were killed, and I was the last kid in the house. And that felt shitty, really shitty. We kind of drifted apart as a family. We had lost two of our own within two years. And who was to blame? Me. They both died because of me.

I came home from school, as usual. For me, I would always go home, listen to music as I did my homework, have dinner, play video games, that sort of thing. The usual teenage loner life. And make no mistake: I was a loner. When Jordan and Janice were alive, things were alright. 'Honkey-dorey' to use the old-timey phrase. I was part of a paintball team and AJROTC to follow Jordan's footsteps but I ended up falling out of it. As a matter of fact, I fell out of a lot of things that made me happy. I stopped hanging out with what friends I had left and attended Church as usual, but I never really spoke with anyone there... not even my pastor or my ex.

That's right, I had a girlfriend. Of course, we broke it off as our first date became our last. The reason isn't for what you think it was. We connected well, it was just... my sister died that same night. Again: that's all I'm going to say on it. After that, I avoided her. Not because I hate her or anything. If anything, I blame myself for what happened to her. I haven't so much as talked to her in a year since that god-awful night.

I found a small, square package that was about the shape of a basketball on our front doorstep after the bus dropped me off. It was a somewhat cold day in February 2019. An ambulance went down the street like a bat out of hell, speeding past the few people that were out walking their dogs or whatever. I shook my head. This was happening too much.

I looked at it, wondering if it was for Mom or Dad. Dad like to make models, stuff from both fiction and reality. Mom liked to do her shopping online now. I looked at the label to see that it was addressed to, of all people, me. I sighed. I didn't remember ordering anything, obviously. That meant trouble. I smiled. But, that also meant liberation.

I opened the door and took it inside. I know, I know. 'Don't open strange mail'. That's the rule. However: bear in mind: I lost my two older siblings and I was a mute. What was the worst that could happen to me besides death? If I died, I died and the only thing Mom and Dad had to do was buy a new house or clean the kitchen if I blew up. If anything: I didn't give a shit anymore.

I took the package under my arm and opened the door to see the entranceway lined with family photos. I walked down to see the smiling faces of my adopted grandfather, father, and other members of my family. I stopped as I saw an image of a smiling tall black man with short hair. His blue eyes smiled at me as he grinned. He wore his Dress Service uniform with an American flag behind him. His smile would make everyone else smile. His nose was kind of broad and his clean-shaven face would occasionally have a beard ever day or so when he was off-duty. The name-tag read 'Daniels'.

Tears fell down my red-skinned face. My hair was black whereas his was brown. Like him, I had it short, but nowadays, it was long and unruly. I was about four years younger than him , by now, when he went off to join the Army. We had been so happy for him. I looked next to the other photo to see the picture of us together: Jordan, Dad, Mom, and Janice with me on her right. Janice was next to me in the middle with Jordan opposite of her on the left.

Her long blonde hair and blue-green eyes smiled at me. She always like to dress informally, wanting to be both attractive, but also telling how she felt. She had her arms wrapped around both of us as we all smiled. I remembered Jordan, Dad, and I making a solemn oath that whatever man came into her life would either make her happy as possible... or suffer the wrath of three guns to the face. Hell, there was that one time when a boy came into our house on a 'date' with her and that kid found all three of us men cleaning various weapons. Jordan had a Glock, Dad had his hunting rifle and, to my pleasure, I got to clean the shotgun that Dad loved. I remember grinning wickedly at the poor punk as he looked at all of us terrified, piss running down his pants as he saw us with our guns.

Janice yelled at us for scaring her boyfriend away as we laughed while said boy high-tailed it out of the house. I remember pointing at him while playing the 'haha' clip from the Simpsons as he ran. It turned out, as I had explained to her, that her 'boyfriend' was a bit of a troublemaker. She calmed down after that and never saw him again.

Now, she won't yell at me ever again and Jordan's never coming out of that coffin in Arlington. I looked down at the box and smiled. This was to be my liberation from my painful existence. My one hope of joining the ones that I lost.

The kitchen was clean and immaculate, but not for long, I counter had piles of mail in a corner that was junk. Dad liked to give the coupons away but the rest of it would be tossed in a recycling bag we had that hung on a door knob.

I set it on the table and got a kitchen knife from the drawer. I took out my iphone and put in my earphones as I decided to play my possible last song. I looked at my extensive song collection. Mostly it was stuff that both Jordan and Jan liked. One song in particular was great since I was now thinking of them. I played Red Hot Chili Peppers' Otherside as I pressed the knife against the tape. I looked again at the label as I heard the opening soft intro. I saw that the label was from Denver, Colorado... right where I was found. I sighed at this. Jordan and I were found in Denver, Colorado during winter. Both of us were orphans. Now, I don't know if we were found together, but I wouldn't be surprised. We were close, y'know? Like actual family. Hell, we were family. And now they were gone.

I cut the opening tape for the box at one end. I didn't smell anything funny so far. Maybe it was a dud? A shame. Jordan was killed by an IED. Maybe it was the same thing? What a drag. But, still, I'd rather feel what Jordan felt what he died. Be closer to him, y'know?

I cut the other end and the box's lid went slightly up, no longer fettered by its plastic adhesive restraint. I was about to cut the middle tape when the song was interrupted by a call from Dad. I sighed and rolled my eyes as I made sure the knife was out of view and set the phone down facing me. I answered it.

Dad's face looked back at me. His wrinkled brown eyes looking at me with his salt-and-peppered mustache. It looked like he was on a train somewhere.

"Hey, mijo. Que' pasa?" Dad asked, smiling. He had bags under his eyes. Must've been another mission with a drone strike... that or he was worried about possible civilian casualties. I swear, they really need to tell folks on the ground to make sure that there are no kids or women or unarmed people running around on the ground. I hate it when crap like that happens.

'I'm fine, pop.' I signed as I mouthed the words.

"What're you doing right now?" Dad asked, slightly worried.

'Nada, just chilling out.' I told him.

"I was wondering that, after you were done with your homework.." Dad started to say.
"That me, you, and Mom could go out and see a movie." He suggested.

"Y'know? Like old times?" he said, smiling. I looked at him and thought for a moment. What could we possibly watch? I'm too old for kid's shit... Okay, I'm discounting a lot of stuff when I was a kid.

"Look," He told me, honestly. I looked at him.

"I know it's been rough losing Jan and Jordan." He said. I looked down as I remembered them both. "But, they wouldn't want you to be a closed shut-in for the rest of your life." Dad told me, sighing.

"Vijo, your madre and I are worried about you." He said, worried. "You've been hanging out in that room of yours all-day," He explained.

"And I'm not going to talk about how many mirrors you've broken," He added, looking at me. I looked at my hands. There were scars on them from when I punched the glass in anger. The hospital bills had been in the hundreds, not to mention the counseling. No words ,written or oral, could describe the pain that I felt right now.

I looked at him.

'You don't have to worry about me, papi.' I told him. Dad looked at me worried. He didn't like the way that I looked at him as I 'spoke'.

"Where are you right now, vijo? I'm coming as fast as I can." Dad told me, looking like he was sitting up. His tone was starting to get high-pitched, as if he was panicking.

'Relax, pop.' I signed as I looked at him.

'I'll see you when you get here.' I told him with faux happiness.

"Mute-whatever you're going to do- don't do it!" Dad said, his voice rising. I could see the panic in his eyes and his love for me. On that day, I rejected it. Afterwards, I wanted it back.

"Son, your Mami and I lo-" He started to say right as I ended the call with a click of the button. He'd probably call both Mom and the cops by now. I didn't care. I die, I die. I would finally join my siblings in death.

I switched songs from Red Hot Chili Peppers to Welshy Arms' 'Hold On, I'm Coming'. I put the iPhone in my coat pocket. I grinned as I started to put the kitchen knife towards the slit of the tape that held the lid together. I looked at the container of the instrument of my departure as I opened it quickly, no thought for my own safety. I expected the engulfment of flame and heat, the sound of a loud boom as shrapnel would pierce my flesh, bone and meat. I expected the blackness and the light of either my damnation or salvation. But above all else, I wanted to go to where my brother and my sister were, the only true family I knew. Such was the truly selfish attitude I had that day. Had I known what would happen afterwards, I would've hesitated. I would've stayed and waited until Mom and Dad came home. In hindsight, I should've just stayed and waited. But, I wasn't thinking clearly then.

What I expected was different than what I got. Instead of a faceful of shrapnel and fiery death: I got a metal ball. What the hell?

'You've gotta' be kidding me', I thought. What kind of a joke was this? I wanted death and all I got was a metal soccer ball! I looked at it closely as it sat in the box. If I ever met the people whom met them, I told myself, I would wring their necks. I expected death and liberation from a pained existence not a cosmic practical joke.

I 'grunted' a silent grunt in anger. If I had vocal chords, I'd be swearing up a storm.

I looked up at the ceiling, hoping my gaze would penetrate to heaven.

'Jordan, Janice... I'll meet you all someday. And when that day comes, we're going to have one long talk about why in the hell I wasn't taken first.' I thought, hoping it reached wherever they were. I hate being the only kid in the damn house. I looked at the ball. It was about the size of a soccer ball, but unlike a soccer ball, it was metallic and kind of... weird. It had some kind of design to it. It was somewhat sleek, but if I thought that if I felt it with my hands, it would feel slightly bumpy. It looked like it had seams, so it could separate.

I rubbed my chin at this. In a way, it reminded me of the Apple of Eden from Assassin's Creed, only it wasn't golden and at the very least it didn't force people to do things. However, I highly doubt anyone would want to send me a powerful artifact. Besides, what's the point of having power if you didn't have a family?

Maybe it was a biological weapon? That's a plus. I'd be killed by a bio-weapon and scientists would use my corpse to study how to counter it. That's one of the good things about being dead. In fact, I had a letter in my room saying that if I ever died that my body was to be donated for either science or for organ donations. Parental consent be damned.

I picked it up with my fingers and held it. It was a bit cold to touch as it sat out in the cold. I sighed as I felt the bumps and seams on it. The seams were tightly closed, but you could still feel them. Now, why would anyone want to send me a ball of metal? It wasn't radioactive. I touched it and didn't feel that burn that one would feel from plutonium or uranium. So, something was up.

I held it in my hands and felt for anything. Nothing. Just the slightly rough texture. Other than that, it was smooth like an android's bottom. I looked at the inside of the box. No note. Well, then: what the frag was the point?!

I 'grunted' in anger. I looked at it in anger. Then, I felt it start to vibrate slightly. I found myself a bit curious as I held it. It glowed right in my hands, the seams alight with a bluish-green light. The whole thing lit up and I felt a burning sensation in both of my hands and I felt something reverberate throughout my entire body as if something was calling through it. I soundlessly screamed in pain as I dropped the damn orb as I looked at them.

'Motherfucker!' I roared silently.

'Piece of shit!' I added, looking at the palms. They were burnt alright. Then, I started to feel something... something bad. I grunted in pain as I started to feel weird. I felt a pain unlike any other. It was like a growing pain in your tooth times a million. I crumpled into a ball as I felt my blood start to churn or something. I started to feel something happen on the inside, to my heart, my organs, and my brain. Everything inside, under my muscles started to hurt. I wordlessly screamed in agony and more pain than anyone should ever know. I would make a sort of comparison to Zyklon B, but that would be a vast injustice to what the Jews and many more peoples suffered in the Nazi concentration camps. Millions felt pain and died. But this pain that I felt? It went on for more than mere seconds or minutes.

I lost track of time and I had closed my eyes as I wordlessly screamed. I crumpled to the floor as I writhed in agony, wordlessly screaming. I felt my brain start to change into something. I could still think, but something was wrong. I felt my hands start to harden as well. I felt my lungs, heart, liver, stomach, even my intestines were starting to harden, transform. But, I was still alive as I felt it all the pain of what was happening then and there. It was the worst pain that I could ever think of.

I remember hearing the orb whir with power. I remember, through closed eyes, there was a bright green flash that could be seen even as I closed my eyes. I felt like I was flying through something. But, I was in so much of an excruciating agony and being afraid, I didn't open my eyes as I flew. I flew through the air, it felt like. I remember seeing things, symbols run across my mind's eye as I traveled. That was the last memory I had of home.

XXX

The call had come in about a minute early. A worried father had called for a welfare check on his disabled son whom he believed had just come in from school. The son was apparently having suicidal tendencies having lost two siblings within two years of each other.

Sergeant Chris McReary prepared himself for the worst as he drove his cruiser up to the house. His partner sat next to him.

"Goddammit," Officer Jason Lee muttered next to him as he shook his head.

"Kid should realize how much his family loves him," He said aloud. They drove down the neighborhood, the crisp cold air a sharp difference to their cruiser's internal temperature.

"To clarify: he wants to be called 'Mute'?" Jason asked.

"Yeah," McReary said, nodding in response. They both frowned. The kid wanted to go by what he was... not whom he was. Dispatch had told them over the walkie-talkies that 'Mute's medical condition was that of not being able to speak. He could hear, but he couldn't speak.

They were in the neighborhood now. They had the address memorized. Martin, Virginia was a medium-sized town. Not as famous or as large as say Richmond, Fredericksburg, or even Williamsburg and Yorktown, but it was alright. It was supposed to be a nice place for good people to raise their families here. Just as they neared their destination, there was a sickening green glow of light from the ground floor of a residence. McReary blinked as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

"What the hell?" He said, looking at it. The glow was soft at first, then its luminance strengthened, making the officers shield their eyes.

"Someone playing magic or something? Cripes!" Lee said, angrily. Then, a loud boom was heard and the green glow disappeared completely. The two officers exchanged looks. There had been stories of strange happenings, but neither of them, both five-year-vets of the force, never expected anything like that. Well, a few things came close to it, but that wasn't the point.

They radioed the disturbance in as they drove to their destination.

"I think this was where the glow was," Lee said, looking at the house number on the mailbox as they parked. There was still some daylight left. They looked at each other before exiting. Something strange was going on. They radioed for back-up and an ambulance just to be safe.

"Please be alive, please be okay." McReary whispered softly while also praying to the Virgin Mother to at the very least give the boy some idea that his family loved him and what he was doing was completely selfish. They ran over to the edge of the house.

He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He tried knocking again as his partner tried to look inside.

"Police department, open up!" McReary said aloud.

"Sarge, kick it in!" Lee said, turning to him, his eyes full of determination. Something happened inside.

"Oh fuck!" McReary breathed as his adrenaline started pumping and kicked the door in. Both men drew their tasers and entered the house.

What greeted the police officer and Afghanistan veteran was a strange sight. Ahead of the hallway was where the kitchen and the living room met was a counter that separated the two rooms, if the layout was correct. One end of the counter was gone along with the floor, showing a large hole to the basement of the residence. It was like the area, about a meter square, got scooped by a celestial ice cream scoop and disappeared.

"What the fuck?" McReary said, looking at the damage. Where was the kid?