Chapter Two

"A 96? That's wonderful!" Mia's uncle, Mr. Grant Davis, glanced over her shoulder at the paper she held in her hands. She hastily shoved it in her pack as soon as he mentioned it.

"So, this was a good day, then?" He followed hurriedly behind her, trying to keep the conversation going. She met his eyes for a moment before nodding and dropping her bag at the kitchen counter.

"I hope you don't mind Tony's. Again. Teenagers can't get bored of pizza, right?" She set a paper plate out for him on the table and then reached to open the pizza box. She hesitated before picking up a piece of pepperoni.

"Oh. Oh, shit. I thought I asked for half cheese only. Here, let me take off the pepperoni." Grant took a couple quick steps over to her side. He tried to grab at her plate, but she moved it out of his reach just in time.

"It's no problem, Uncle Grant." She offered him a half-hearted smile, stepping around him and heading towards the stairs leading to her bedroom. She locked eyes with him as she walked up the stairs. "Really, it's fine." She assured him one final time, hoping it would ease the pout on his face.

"Thank you." She added as an afterthought.

"Hey." He called to get her attention. She stopped at one of the top steps, turning back to face him. "I thought maybe we could eat at the table tonight. Like old times?" He fiddled with his hands, a nervous habit he picked up some time before she knew him. Mia looked like she considered it, but she shook her head shortly after.

"Homework. Sorry." She mumbled apologetically. She gave him one final look of regret before dashing up the rest of the staircase.

"Right. I'll just be here. If you need me." His voice followed her up to her bedroom before she shut the door.

Sam Witwicky sat in the passenger seat of his father's car, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest and huffing at his father's poor prank.

"Alright, you don't just joke about Porsche's, okay? It's mean." Sam moaned as his father left the parking lot of the Porsche dealership and took a left turn down the street towards a more fitting place to buy Sam's first car.

"Here? No, no, no, what is this? You said… you said half a car, not half a piece of crap, Dad." Sam complained as they entered 'Bolivia's Auto Sales', a used car lot that had definitely seen some better days.

"When I was your age, I'd have been happy with four wheels and an engine." Mr. Witwicky reminded his son, parking his car and walking towards a man that could only be Bobby B himself. Sam took an extra moment to bang his head against the car door window before following his father.

"You ever see 40-Year-Old Virgin?" Sam asked, pointing towards the car for sale in front of him. His father gave a brief nod, an amused grin already tugging at the corners of his lips. "Okay, that's what this is. And this is 50-Year-Old Virgin." Sam finished his thoughts, gesturing wildly at the heaps of junk surrounding the two men. His father quickly shushed him as they walked closer to meet the dealership owner.

"Gentlemen. Bobby Bolivia, like the country, except without the runs. How can I help you?" Bobby charmingly introduced himself, shaking both Sam's and Mr. Witwicky's hands in greeting. His voice had a rich essence to it, but nothing masked the dodgy aura that surrounded the man.

"Well, my son here, is looking to buy his first car." Mr. Witwicky clapped his son on the back, secretly proud to see his son reaching this new milestone in his life.

"You came to see me?" Bobby placed a hand over his heart, showing Sam just how much his visit meant to him. It might have meant something to Sam if he hadn't already mentally checked out of this shopping trip. The moment he stepped out of the car he had already given up on his dream of buying anything of quality.

"I had to." Sam muttered begrudgingly. Bobby unleashed a bellowing laugh before steering the Witwicky's towards some of his cars for sale.

"Let me tell you something, son. A driver don't pick the car. The car'll pick the driver. It's a mystical bond between man and machine." Sam ignored Bobby's words for the most part, perking up at the sight of a car that actually didn't look too bad, at least not for his standards.

"This one's got racing stripes." Sam mentioned to the two men, stroking the car's hood and appreciating the feel of metal under his fingertips. This would definitely do. He peered into the window, assessing the condition of the interior and finding nothing to complain about. He then took a seat in the car, swatting at some of the dust that appeared as he did so. He gripped the steering wheel, rubbing away some grime at the center to reveal a strange symbol. It definitely wasn't familiar to Sam, but it evoked an odd feeling inside of him.

"Feels good." Sam mumbled into his chest, already forming an attachment to the car. He knew right then and there. This was going to be his first car. He just had to convince his dad. If only at the time, Sam had known this particular vehicle was going to be a lot more than he ever bargained for.

This was the first time that Mia truly wished she had listened to her uncle when he told her not to watch the news. She never understood how he could live so blissfully unaware of what was happening with Patrick. Now she did.

Mia sat cross-legged in front of the mini-television she'd drug in from Patrick's room when he left. Her body was limp, but her eyes frantically soaked up every second of the video footage being shown live on the news network. Her body was cold and she couldn't breathe.

"At this time, we can't confirm whether there were any survivors." All at once, a heat overtook her. Her body was buzzing with energy, bones grinding in their sockets as her limbs shook despite the rigid hold she had on her frame. Dark spots were dancing around the corners of her vision. She needed to breathe.

"Our bases worldwide are, as of now, at DEFCON Delta, our highest readiness level. We're dealing with a very effective weapons system that we have not come across before." Her nails bit at the delicate skin covering her chest, pounding roughly onto the area just above her lungs. They weren't working. She wasn't breathing. The black spots were starting to spread into large blobs, expanding to obscure the majority of her eyesight.

"But our prayers are with the families of the brave men and women…" Finally, her hearing began to fizzle out. At this point, she didn't mind. Her mind wasn't processing anything of her surroundings, focused solely on the repeated clip flashing over and over across her television screen. Maybe if she had been able to hear her Uncle Grant come in to the room, she wouldn't have been so distraught to feel his arms folding around her. But she didn't hear him, and his presence struck a match within her. She jerked and screeched and struggled, writhing in bottomless pain on her spot on the floor as he held her in place. At least she could breathe again.

Her hearing came back next after a few deep breaths that were immediately dispelled into screams. She could hear her uncle calling her name, but she couldn't listen. She wouldn't listen. She needed to go.

"We need to go." Her voice was raspy and uneven. Grant had stopped talking, so the room once again filled only with the drone of the news reporter. Mia tried to crane her neck to face him, but his hold on her was too strong.

"We need to go!" She repeated herself, involuntarily shaking so violently her uncle's grip began to slacken. "He's out there! Waiting for us! Waiting for me." She could feel her shoulder wetting and the wild thrum of Grant's heart against her back.

"We were waiting for each other. He was going to be right home." Her throat ached, but she couldn't stop shouting. She felt a slight sting at corners of her eyes, but there were no tears.

Mia heard the familiar buzz of a phone call from her desk on the other side of the room. She tried to scramble to her feet, but she couldn't catch her footing, so she crawled towards it.

The name 'Madsen' glared back at her from her phone screen. She answered the call.

"Mia. Oh, babe. Where are you? Are, are you safe? I won't ask if you're all right, because I know… I know. Just sit down, okay? Wherever you are. Take a couple deep breaths. In and-" Mia's phone hit the wall with a sickening crack. Grant gasped at the sound. She rummaged through a stack of envelopes in her desk drawer before pulling one to her chest with trembling fingers. She gingerly unfolded the paper, her eyes racing over the familiar words. She had read this letter so diligently each night since it had arrived to her three weeks prior.

Just a couple more weeks, Stinker. We can make it 'til then. Chin up. You can do this.

Love, Patch

"Your brother-" Her uncle began.

"Don't." Mia interrupted. "Just don't."

what are u doing?

Mia ignored the message that popped up on the side of her screen. She snuggled further into her winter coat, rubbing at her red nose. The outside air was clearing her mind, but she couldn't help the shiver that came with each brisk gust of wind. A stream of 'hello?'s and other distracting messages flashed across her screen.

Finding out what happened.

Before she was able to break the connection, another message came through.

but this is private information isn't it? couldn't this get u into a whole lot of trouble?

Her fingers twitched on the keyboard. The messages continued before she could respond.

u don't want that right?

She hesitated. Was this really what she wanted? Would it even change anything?

mia?

A series of reports opened before her eyes. She searched through each one, summarizing their contents before moving on to the next. The rough brick of the wall behind her kept her stationary. Grounded. 'Non-Biological Extraterrestrials'? She scrolled further down, seeing the video broadcasted on every news outlet for the past seven hours, and then a picture of the Special Ops team stationed in Qatar. Her brother and his brothers-in-arms grinned back at her from the other side of the screen, and for the second time that night she felt like she couldn't breathe.

Goodbye, B.

She ended the conversation and got back to work.