Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Still don't own anything. Still kicking myself for that.
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Chapter Two
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
The first indication that something was amiss came from the satellites. They chirruped frantically back to the computers on Earth, projecting trajectories and possible impact sites. Moments later the blackened hulk was hurtling through the atmosphere, bits burning off as the air superheated around it. The sonic boom that accompanied the "comet" was confused by some for thunder. The explosion that followed, however, as it drove deep into the rock face, scorching the basalt and throwing dust and debris for a thousand yards, could not be confused. Trees toppled with the force and spot fires sprang up on the scrub brush.
Had it occurred during the day, it would have been investigated with much greater speed. As it was, the man onto whose property a space-borne projectile had plummeted simply turned over in his bed, ignorant of the noise thanks to not having his hearing aid on.
From the rubble, a bipedal tangle of dark platinum colored metal staggered. It quickly regained its "sea legs" and, noticing the sparks and flames surrounding it, quickly let loose with a chemical spray dousing the flames. Secure that no harm would come to any other creature, it started at a sprint across the scrub and broken ground now littered with melted and still glowing rock. Soon the form had reached a road, heading towards the glow of lights miles away.
Oncoming headlights had the form ducking to the side of the road, careful not to draw any attention to itself.
The car, a silver Saturn Sky Redline roadster, slid past the alien creature, the driver unaware of its audience as it tore down the darkened highway. Nor was its driver aware that blue optics scanned it as it drove by, recording every nuance of the two-seater Roadster as it gobbled up the asphalt. Moments later, and well in the wake of the car, its twin, though crimson red in color, started in the opposite direction. The air quivered as it slid over lipstick-colored curves, the color slick and sparkling with a thousand rubies twinkling in the predawn light.
The road spun out from beneath its wheels as the engine growled. As it passed a sign, the metallic sign shook for a moment before steadying as the car passed.
"Welcome to Georgia."
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Ratchet set down the tools, staring at the still form of Jazz. It had been two years since the battle of Mission City. Since Megatron ripped the espionage expert in half, damaging his spark chamber to the point that the smaller mech had off-lined.
"You need to recharge, old friend."
Ratchet glanced over his should at Optimus. His leader, back from the dead. He was beginning to wonder if the movie Princess Bride had it right. Sam and Mikaela had insisted that the Autobots watch the film. The concept of "mostly dead" had intrigued Ratchet, though he found it highly implausible. But with Sam, Mikaela and even Lennox and Epps taking to quoting the movie at random, he'd latched onto one conversation from the movie between Miracle Max and Inigo Montoya.
88888
"Whoo-hoo-hoo, look who knows so much. It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do," explained Miracle Max.
"What's that?" asked Inigo Montoya.
"Go through his clothes and look for loose change," answered Miracle Max.
88888
If only he could bring Jazz back the same way that Miracle Max had done with Wesley, he thought. "I will soon, Optimus. Wheeljack had some suggestions and I thought I would see if they worked on Jazz." He glanced back down at his fallen friend.
Optimus nodded, coming to a halt beside Ratchet. For Ratchet to take suggestions or prompts from their resident "mad scientist" said a great deal of the lengths that Ratchet was willing to go to. "Anything?"
Ratchet shook his head, dejected. "Nothing, Optimus. Not even a flicker."
Optimus listened, though it hurt to hear. Jazz had been his second in command for millennia. It was devastating to no longer have the intelligence officer to act as a balance. Though the arrival of Prowl and the continued presence of Ironhide and Ratchet helped, no one could replace Jazz. "He sacrificed himself."
Ratchet draped a tarp over Jazz's no longer bifurcated remains. He at least had managed to weld them back into one form. "I'm getting too old for this," he admitted, rubbing his optic ridge with his hand.
Optimus nodded. "We may have more brethren arrived, Ratchet. Major Lennox just advised me that additional incoming space-borne debris hit parts of the Southeastern United States. He's mobilizing a team to further investigate. It's possible that it may be a latecomer expecting to rendezvous with us in Mission City."
Ratchet wiped oil and fluids that had covered his hands while working on Jazz onto a cloth. "Or it could be a Decepticon trap."
Optimus nodded. "That is true, old friend. But we must believe that more of our brethren have survived. Space is vaster than the Humans can ever imagine, as we well know." He stepped back from the table holding the remains of Jazz. "I want you and Ironhide to go with Lennox's team. If it is one of our confederates, I would feel better having two of my most trusted there to greet them."
Ratchet sighed. "Of course, Optimus."
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888