The ambiance of the Autobot base was anarchic and disorderly, and malcontent soldiers—both human and alien alike—were frantically racing back and forth in haphazard incertitude.
A fire had broken out in the dining hall, and it was threatening to spread into the main lobby. Flames licked the ceiling and soot clung to the thick armor of the yellow Autobot known as Bumblebee. Having no mercy on him, it stained the glistening new paint job he had received only a few weeks prior.
As he cravenly endeavored to halt the germinating flames by his lonesome, he was taken by surprise when the sound of gushing foam permeated his audio receptors. One after another, dozens of men aligned at the vestibule of the kitchen in perfect synchronicity, each directing their anti-firepower towards the now weakening inferno. But unfortunately for Bumblebee, without any time to vacate the premises, he was just as caught up in the foamy onslaught as the raging flames were.
Swiftly transforming into his prototypical Chevrolet Camaro visage, he merely sat and waited impatiently for his colleagues to stop their involuntary attack on him. Several minutes later, the fire was no longer in existence, and he chirped in a mock sigh of relief.
Metamorphing back into his bipedal mode, the mighty Cybertronian disgruntledly trudged through the sea of foam, glaring at each and every one of the chuckling soldiers beneath him. The little mech had been completely doused, so much so that he now resembled a giant cotton ball more than he did a deadly alien robot from space.
Making his way through the assemblage and towards Bumblebee, NBE-Major General William Lennox placed his hands firmly behind his back. His stature was standard for someone of his rank: pin-straight and formal. But his face deceived his otherwise serious posture as he vainly scrunched his lips together in a subdued attempt at holding back a laugh. "Care to explain just what in the holy hell happened here, bud? Or am I going to have to weed out the story from one of you?" he said with a smirk, gesturing to the small troop of men who had gathered around to remedy the mess.
Bumblebee whirred in annoyance and quickly shot a metallic finger towards the charred carnage behind him. His vocal processor cracked with static as he sifted through thousands of radio channels in the span of milliseconds. "Explosions! If I hadn't been around the corner, (static) your ass would be grass."
"Ah, so for once you didn't cause this m-mess—" Cutting himself off before he could finish, Lennox exploded with laughter, no longer being able to hold it in. A mass of foam had dropped straight from Bumblebee's helm, falling against the floor with a resounding 'plop!'
Following their leader, the human soldiers began to let loose as well, the sight of the drenched Autobot before them just being too comical. But Bumblebee, who would have normally chortled right alongside them, just wasn't in the mood on this particular day. Too much had been going on between his team and their human superiors for him unwind. His mental state was currently weighed down by the incommodious responsibilities of leadership, and this pointless situation really didn't succor matters for him in the slightest.
After the soldiers' amusement had come to pass, Lennox spoke yet again, the gravity of the situation hitting him with the force of a freight train. "From what I've gathered, this fire was abrupt, spontaneous, and massive. Since it reached the height of the ceiling in only a matter of minutes, this is a big deal. With the entire kitchen burnt to a crisp and a potential danger to any human who enters it, it is imperative that whatever caused this be investigated and fixed immediately. You boys," he said, aiming his right index finger towards an outlying trio of servicemen. "Gather further assistance so we can get this off our workload. The faster, the better. Chop-chop."
With that, the triumvirate of soldiers saluted and vanished after dashing down the capacious corridors of the base. Lennox rotated to face the looming Autobot above him and sighed whilst raising an accusatory eyebrow. "What a damn mess, 'Bee," he said. "Oh, and remind me again—you had nothing to do with this little mishap, right?"
"Ayy, we've got a winner!" Bumblebee cheered imperiously. "This guy's smarter than he looks!"
The good ol' commander had really been busting his solenoids as of late, what with keeping him and his remaining Autobot team in the dark about the latest Decepticon assassinations, along with several other essential things. And that wasn't even mentioning Lennox's reprimanding of him whenever his teammates did something even moderately out of order.
Right now, all he could say was that he was covered in foam, annoyed, and copiously enervated. He didn't feel like himself at all and was well overdue for a protracted session in recharge. At the very least, all he wanted to do was go on a long drive. Alone. But of course he wasn't allowed do that much either, what with him being required to keep a low profile and all; which, by the way, seemed pointless considering the fact that the human race had been more than well aware of his existence for a good fifteen years now.
Lennox turned towards the group of remaining men and viciously cleared his throat. "Listen up, soldiers," he said, raising his voice. "This place is loading up with smoke, covered in fluffy shit, and roasted worse than my backyard grill. Video feeds will be reviewed to see just who or what activated this nightmare factory. At this point, I imagine it was nothing but a gas leak, but right now only the lord or Primus or whatever knows." Then, suddenly, he stared Bumblebee straight into his optics. The last thing he needed or wanted was to have to babysit a giant robot because he himself was exhausted, rankled, and sick of everything going awry at the base lately. Softening his tone but remaining stern, he said, "Listen to me, Bumblebee; when you're not happy, I'm not happy. But one thing I refuse to tolerate is you talking down to me in front of my troops. While under my jurisdiction at this base, you will behave."
Rubbernecking the soldiers who were now making moves to clean up the mess, he picked out the two guys closest to him. "Aberdeen. Jackson. You two will escort our boy 'Bee to the indoor car wash in Division-4." Leaning in close to the men, he whispered, "And make sure the foam he drags around the base is kept to a bare minimum. Even our janitors have been swamped with overtime."
Both men responded with a grandiloquent "Yes, sir!" and saluted their leader floridly before walking away.
Bumblebee galumphed behind them, chirping discreetly as he wiped the downy substance from his metallic pedes. Thinking to himself, he found that a small part of him felt it was mirthful that Lennox, who was both leagues younger and smaller than himself, had the gall to talk down to him as if he were a little sparkling. Regardless, though, the non-bitter, adult side of him knew that even if he was somewhat justified in his contemporaneous behavior, Optimus would never ratify his actions.
And for that, he mentally reprimanded himself and opted to follow behind his small pair of comrades in a muzzy, toneless silence.
Drift, Hound, and Epps sat in a tight annulus, each carefully ogling a set of cards.
The klaxon signifying the end of everyone's work-day had sounded off a good half-hour ago, leaving the troika with little to do. Since all of the training rooms had been locked up for the night, they ultimately settled on a card game to relieve their boredom.
Because the cards were fun-sized when compared to their typical bipedal forms, the two Autobots had decided to activate their holoforms in order to play the game with Epps. Drift's was a lissome, dark-haired Japanese man of about the age of thirty. He had an attenuated but modish mustache, a slight goatee, and wore a standard suit and tie. Overall, his human equivalent was well-trimmed, statuesque, and radiated an aura of seriousness and respectability.
Hound's holoform, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired when compared to Drift's. He was a slightly over-weight American man who looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. He had a bushy yet scraggly beard that came past his shoulders, and his physiognomy appeared to be somewhat flushed from rosacea. He was rather grubby looking as well, as he was adorned in a tattered camouflage military uniform with an indecorous cigar hanging loosely from his lips.
When compared to one another, both Autobots were like night and day. On one end, there was Drift, who regularly spoke of honor and respect, whereas on the other, Hound existed for one purpose and one purpose alone: to blow things up and wreck people's shit.
While training, it wasn't uncommon for the duo to clash heavily with one another. They often got themselves into irrelevant contretemps that either Lennox or some other official would have to reprimand them for. But outside of battle, they somehow managed to get along with each other just fine. By no means were the pair best friends, mind you, but they certainly weren't enemies either. If anything, the one thing they had in common was this: life with Bumblebee as their leader while the humans breathed down their necks twenty-four/seven was nothing short of a nightmare straight from the Pit.
However, in spite of those feelings, they still got along with many of the soldiers on the base—Epps being one of them. At the end of the day, the unearthly pair knew that the human warriors were just following their directed orders. Like themselves, it wasn't as though they had the authority to call any of the shots.
Epps suddenly smirked and proudly placed a card on the ground. "Go Fish."
Hound let out an interminable grumble. This was the third time he had lost. "These human games, I tell ya. What a pain in the aft."
Drift sighed and rubbed his facial hair, deep in thought. He had also been on a losing streak and was tired of looking at Epps' cocky grin whenever the divertissement came to a close. But his reverie was interrupted all of a sudden by the floor vibrating beneath him. An Autobot was coming, and whoever it was clearly hadn't had the best of days.
No surprise there.
The three looked above them in a laid-back silence. Bumblebee, who had just returned from the car wash, stood before them with leftover water droplets almost shamefully trickling down his yellow and black frame.
"You alright, big yellow?" Epps asked, getting a read on the tension that Bumblebee was exerting. "Because it sounds to me like you need a quick shot of motor oil to calm those grinding gears of yours."
Bumblebee took a glance at his human friend, but before he could say anything, Hound suddenly perked up. "You sayin' we've had that available all along?" he questioned, shaking his holoform's head in disapproval. "Damn this place- always hidin' shit from us."
Bumblebee shot his helm up in frustration as he raised his arms dramatically. "You're telling me!"
Epps promptly cleared his throat, non-verbally asking the mech if he should grab the Cybertronian equivalent to alcohol for him.
Narrowing his otherwise vibrant blue optics, Bumblebee said, "I ain't havin' that shit."
Epps then gregariously patted the spot next to him on the floor. "Alright, then how about a round of Go Fish? Maybe you'll pose a real challenge to me, unlike these chumps," he said with a smug grin plastered across his sprightly face.
Hound shuffled the deck and spat his leftover cigar at Epps. Epps dodged the playful attack, and Hound slapped the pile against the even terra firma in faux scorn. Bumblebee smiled at the bizarre squabble, whereas Drift rolled his eyes in disgust, shooting daggers at his rotund compatriot for his indecency. Epps, who was the victim in the situation, stifled a chuckle at Drift's sanctimoniousness.
It was a fun little moment, but like all good things in life, it was cut short. Abruptly and brutally.
The sickly-sweet voice of NBE-Lieutenant General Isaac Braginsky was suddenly heard throughout the entire NEST base, directing all Autobots and specialized personnel to the Command Center, a.k.a. the 'war room'.
Despite his light and bright tone, Braginsky was no man to be trifled with. With a constant smile slathered across his reptilian mien, he served to disturb and dragoon many on the base, both with his acts of incredible violence during training and his unnervingly thorough way of threatening someone. He was never to be joked around with or addressed casually, as it was clear that he had ample experience in the art of slaughterous warfare. Humans and Autobots alike made a point to steer clear of the hulking mass of muscle, as he was just too creepy to stomach. Even though he'd never admit it, Hound himself was also a bit caught off-guard by the eldritch fleshling. His triple-faced nature reminded him of a particularly insane Decepticon he had once done battle with in the distant past.
The message went off yet again, although this time it was longer in length. "This message goes to all Autobots and superior officers~" There was a pause. "We have a situation. I repeat, we have a situation. Make your way to the Command Center immediately. I repeat, make your way to the Command Center immediately."
Not needing another reminder, Bumblebee, Drift, and Hound quickly transformed.
Epps climbed in with Bumblebee, and the three set off, morbid curiosity taking the threshold of their minds.
After speeding through the gaping hallways of the base, Bumblebee was unsurprised to find that he was the first Autobot to arrive in the war room.
He was followed closely behind by Drift, Hound, Sideswipe, Arcee, and several other Autobots, which prompted him to take a somber moment to reflect on just how many of his brethren had been held at the facility alongside him.
On the massive screen that stretched the entire length of the room, located at the very center, was an unambiguous picture of a singular, mangled Decepticon. Energon pulsated from the metallic beast's headless corpse like a free-flowing river, which caused Drift to cringe slightly. Lennox stood tall in the center of the room with Braginsky at his side. Dead silent, they both waited.
Five minutes passed, and once all of the necessary personnel had arrived, Bumblebee decided to say something to Lennox. Allowing his authentic yet broken voice to be heard, he asked, "Wha-at is t-this, Ma-j-jor?"
Sideswipe, who had entered the room alongside Arcee, immediately recognized who the owner of the somatic Cybertronian carcass was. Internally noting that it had belonged to a medium-level Decepticon known as Dropspring, he said nothing as their leader spoke.
"Autobots," Lennox said stiffly, opting to address all of the aliens rather than just Bumblebee himself. "I believe it is finally time we let you in on a little secret."
A/N: The Lieutenant General is, in fact, an original character. My reason for creating him is because Charles Galloway is presumably deceased, and I needed an antagonist of sorts who contrasted Lennox.
