I knew only two things as consciousness reclaimed me: My memory of a white-tiled room had not been a nightmare, and I was still in deep shit.
Most sanely logical people would have jumped to the conclusion that they were still alive upon opening their eyes. With that little nugget of hope in mind, they would have started to figure out a plan to stay that way. I harbored no illusions of the kind. I knew I was dead the moment Anthony the Bull's right cross had sent me spinning into the wall hours ago.
When my head hit the steel plating of the vault and my vision started to fade to black, I had said my final prayers to the almighty. Opening my eyes in Aprile's torture chamber had been a mild surprise. I should have known he just wouldn't have had a clip emptied into my sorry ass to be done with me. Of course they were going to interrogate me.
And so my mind didn't count waking up this time as truly being alive. I counted it as borrowed time. The only question remained to ask was why. Why did Aprile want me alive? I shoved the question to the back of my brain. He'd answer it for me in his own time. For the moment, I needed to find out where I was—exactly—and how much of me was left.
"You're awake," someone said in a relieved sort of way. "How are you doing?"
I frowned at the voice and cracked open an eye, taking the time to let it focus. I was in what looked like a hospital room complete with the usual sterile furniture. Visitor's chair, crappy TV mounted somewhere above me and on the opposite wall, tiny dresser, and a desk of some sort with a tiny stool. The only light came from above and behind me, bright rays of the sun spilling through a large window, if I hadn't missed my guess.
Two doors were on the left wall, probably leading to a closet and a bathroom. The one door on the right most likely lead out to a hallway and armed guards. Aprile didn't strike me as the type to underestimate anyone. The fact that I went toe-to-toe with one of his enforcers—and held my own for a bit—probably hadn't escaped his notice, either.
"Can you hear me?" repeated the voice, a bit more insistently. There was a hint of concern in there, too, which was surprising.
I opened my mouth to reply, closing it when all that left my lips was a croak. My lips felt parched, the back of my throat like it had been coated with something thick and coppery-tasting. Most likely my blood, but I pushed that thought away too. One horror at a time. I licked my lips again and tried not to frown. I was very thirsty, which lead me to believe I'd been out for a while. That was never a good thing.
"Yeah," I croaked out, blinking up at my visitor.
He didn't look like any of Aprile's men. In fact, he had a pleasant smile to go with his soothing voice. Dark hair framed a thirty-ish face, and dark eyes like warm chocolate made him seem old and young all at the same time. He wasn't dressed in an expensive suit or tux. Just a white lab coat with the name Dr. Edgars, Lieutenant stitched over the chest pocket. Was this some kind of trick? Why would Aprile put me in the hospital after he told his guys to kill me?
And then the lovely curtains of denial parted, and the memories flooded in. The fight in the vault, the interrogation, the house in the middle of the desert, the roof peeling back like it was made of paper. And the giant robot hand coming right at me.
"Shit," I swore softly, running my hands over my face. "Oh man, I wasn't hallucianting, was I?"
"If you're referring to the Autobots," Dr. Edgars put in gently. "I'm afraid not. You suffered a massive concussion complicated by a skull fracture, one that you're lucky to survive."
I peeked at him from between my fingers. "Car accident," I lied automatically. I had no idea how I'd gotten here, or how much this guy knew. I also had no freaking idea what an 'autobot' was, but if he was talking about one like it was an everyday thing, I could fake like it was, too.
Dr. Edgars lifted both eyebrows. "Really," he said, obviously not believing a word of it. "And all of your other previous injuries? Were those car accidents, too?"
"Yeah, I'm notoriously hard on cars," I said through my fingers.
Dr. Edgards continued to stare at me. I think he was hoping that his intimidating I-know-that's-crap-so-tell-the-truth-already stare that most doctors and police had would work on me. Fat chance. I'd been interrogated—the legal way, mind you—so many times now that it took a lot more than this guy to make me squrim.
"Okay," he said simply, picking up my chart from the end of the bed and making notes. "If you don't want to talk about it yet, that's fine. But I have to tell you, eletrical current applied directly to the spine isn't an accident of any kind. People don't accidently beat or torture you to death."
You've obvioulsy never met any of my associates, I thought with a smirk. But I let it go. See, I could be resonable at times.
"I've cleared you for breakfast," he continued, closing the chart and placing it back in it's little plastic holder. "Can you sit up and eat something?"
I thought about that a moment, and gently flexed my toes and shifted my legs. Nothing felt broken, an unexpected blessing. "Why? I'm not planning to hang around, Doc. Just give me my clothes and I'll get out of your hair."
"That's not going to happen, Miss Witwicky. There are questions that need answers first. Not to mention that you are in no condition to go anywhere."
I froze, slowly lowering my hands from my face. So much for that brief moment of relief thinking I was out of Aprile's hands. If this doctor knew who I was, then it was a safe bet to believe he worked for Aprile.
Whatever the good doctor saw in my expression made him take a step back. "You've got ten seconds to tell me how you know my name," I said.
Dr. Edgars recovered quickly, I'll give him that much. He also had brains enough to stay out of arm's reach of me. Concussion or no, I was going to get answers from him one way or another. Espeically with my family on the line if I didn't.
"We've known who you are for a while now," he continued, backing towards the door. He knocked on it once without looking away from me. "And I can assure you, we aren't here to hurt you. We're friends."
"Oh yeah?" I shot back. "Prove it. Let me out of here."
"How about I prove it in a way that will let you trust me and convince you to calm down all at once?"
The door opened before I could come up with something suitably snarky to say, and the last person in the world I expected to see here opened the door. "Hey cuz," Sam Witwicky said softly, worry etched on his face. "If you promise not to throw anything at my head, I'll explain everything."
"We'll explain everything," a deep, booming voice corrected above me.
My head jerked upward, staring at what I previously thought was a huge window. It was't. Not in the slightest. That entire part of the wall was just missing… as in it was never meant to be there. The wall simply stopped about eight feel up. Like someone had simply forgotten to put a roof on this structure. Above that was nothing but clear bright space leading up to a warehouse style ceiling. Peering down at me through that space with those same unearthly blue eyes was the mecha that I had seen in my hallucination.
Blue and red coloring covered him in places, and I got the sense that the colors were part of a pattern. Like a puzzle that would assemble in some way. There was another standing next to him, with the same kind of puzzle colors, but in yellow and black. I must have been gaping like an utter moron as I slowly laid back down.
"Sam?" I asked, my voice that lovely calm that comes before a complete mental breakdown.
"Calm down, Syrie," he said, running over to the bed and turning my face to his. "Look at me. They're not going to hurt you. They're not here to hurt any of us."
"Autobots, right?" I asked again, swallowing hard.
"The female's optics and hearing seem to be functioning correctly," said the yellow-and-black mech above me. "Though the deminishing of color in her skin indicates she might loose conciousness again."
I flicked my eyes back up at them, taking in deep breaths, trying real hard not to just start screaming in panic. Breathe in… breathe out… I'm okay. I'm not going to pass out. I'm just hallucinating, or dreaming… or something. I'm okay. I'm not going to pass out… Sam is safe… I'm safe… I'm wit—
And that was when reality caught up with me for a second time.
"Sam?" I asked again, this time staring wide-eyed at my cousin in disbelief. "Sam? You're okay? Good lord, how did you get here?" My hands cupped his face, my eyes searching his.
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Calm down."
"But I got the message," I insisted, panic starting to fight through the shock of where I was and what had happened. "They told me they had you. They were going to kill you if I didn't give them the stone."
"Who told you this?" This, from the red-and-blue mecha.
"Hey, I'm asking the questions here, pal," I fired back. I could only freak out for so long before I started to get pissed. And personally, I preferred the anger to panic. "What the hell is my cousin doing here, and who the hell are you?"
"Syrie!" Sam repremanded me sharply. "Seriously, don't yell at Optimus. That's not a good idea."
"It's okay, Sam," said the red-and-blue mech, almost soothingly. I got the impression that my reaction happened more often than not around him. "I am Optimus Prime, and this is Ratchet, our medical officer. You are here for the same reason Sam is here, for protection."
"Protection," I echoed dumbly, trying to get the word make sense to me. "Protection from what?"
Optimus exchanged a look with Sam, and I had a feeling that I was missing some kind of private converstaion. "It's a long story, Syrie," Sam sighed, taking one of my hands in his.
"Well, isn't that a coincidence," I retorted, settling back against the pillows so I could keep both my cousin and the Autobots in my line of vision. "Since the good doctor over there has no intention of releasing me, I've got the time to hear it. Start talking, cuz. Make it good."
Again, Sam flicked a glance at Optimus and the autobot nodded once in return. "Remember my so-called school trip to the Hoover dam? Well, it wasn't a school fieldtrip…"
