A little black leather book with gold lettering on the front,
"The B-I-B-L-E, Yes that's the book for me…" the high pitched singing of a child rings out in the nearly empty house.
Placed below the unstable leg of a chair, as a young boy stands upon the wooden furniture, reaching up to the cupboards, still not reaching quiet enough despite the help of the chair.
"I stand upon the word of God, the B-I-B-L-E…" the voice trails off, followed by giggling laughter and the foot falls of small feet on tile flooring.
The chair leg cracks, thumping to the ground as the chair topples with the child, who releases a piercing shriek as he falls. Just before he falls the strong, familiar arms of an older man catch him.
"Sam! What on earth were you doing?" Nearly panicked, Ron Witwicky cradles his only child to his chest, not quite subtly checking his progeny for injury.
Sam sniffles, rubbing at his tearful eyes and tries to explain through racking sobs. "I-I jus'-jus' wan-wanna coo-cook-cookie."
"I stand upon the word of God…" the child turns a corner and stares at the gruesome scene displayed in the living room, voice becoming smaller as tiny brown eyes catch red, glowing lights. "the…B-I..-B-L-e..." A metal hand reaches out, circling the child, and squeezes.
"Sam, you know you aren't supposed to have cookies before supper. What would your mother say?" Sam hangs his head, still sobbing and Ron sighs, carrying his son to the living room. "Oh, Sam… shh, it's alright. I have you."
The brunette child continues to sob, but they lessen as he falls asleep, secure in the grip of his parent.
The scream can be heard two blocks away, before it's abruptly cut off. But the sound of it alerts the yellow camero, brief though the it is. The car transforms, releasing its own cry of agony, laced with crackles and static. "SAM!"
Ron carries his son up to his room, kicking a few scattered toys out of his path as he moves to set his son down on the bed, smiling at the peaceful look projected by the red, tear-stained face. Gently, he uses one of his hands, much larger than he normally sees them when compared to the size of his child, to brush soft brown hair away from Sam's face.
From the living room the red eyed monster smirks in triumph, sending its message to its master. 'The Witwicky child is terminated. Orders?' There is quiet for but a few seconds.
'Return to the present. And destroy the Bug.'
'Acknowleged.'