Like all fanfiction writers, I do not own Transformers (I do own my OCs though) and make no money off this what-so-ever.

Warning(s): Language.

Chapter 3

I pace the across the floor of the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Tranquility, California where we're setting up camp after days of driving, "Are you certain we don't have enough money to take us all the way to Chicago?"

Opal looks at me guiltily as though its her fault, "I've checked, double checked and triple checked. There's just not enough."

Ira looks at me warily before speaking, "We'll have to earn some more money before we can head out to Chicago."

"And do you have a plan of how to do this?" I ask sternly, "Even a basic plan could be fairly workable."

"I figured you could work as a mechanic," Opal replies, "while Ira and I try to find some kind of retail or manual job."

"What about the others?" I ask curiously.

"They could stay here," Ira mutters, "as much as I dislike the idea."

"Are you absolutely certain Silvia and Jori can handle the leadership responsibilities?" I worriedly reply, "You know how much of a handful the younger kids can be. And we're not even talking about the potential for another Initiative attack."

"They're almost our age, I'm pretty sure they can handle themselves," Ira replies confidently, "they'll be fine."

"Very well," I reply, knowing I wouldn't get anywhere with my arguments, "but just because I'm agreeing, doesn't mean I approve of this!"

"So we're all in agreement about this?" Opal asks.

"Yeah," Ira replies.

"Fine," I mutter.

"So," Mikaela asks curiously, sitting on one of the chairs in his parent's living room, "how have things been at school?"

Sam shrugs, "Pretty good, all things considered. Thankfully most of the school bought the government's cover story about the whole incident last year. Still doesn't stop Leo from being annoying though. Thank god for summer break."

Mikaela nods in understanding, "I see your parents have done a lot of redecorating and remodeling since..."

"The appliancebot disaster," Sam adds helpfully, "yeah, added a few new rooms to the house, a pool and a hot tub in the backyard. Thankfully mom demanded that I have a bedroom or I'd be sleeping on the couch."

Mikaela laughs at her boyfriend's small joke and focuses her attention on the chihuahua, french bulldog and mastiff currently chasing Wheelie around the backyard for a moment before laughing again as Wheelie accidentally falls into the pool. "Warrior Goddess!" Wheelie calls from the pool, "I need a little help, the slobbering mutt and his little buddies chased me into the pool again!"

Mikaela laughs again, "I'll go get the pool skimmer, just hang tight Wheelie!"

Sam leans back into the new couch his parents had bought, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight filtering through the windows when a compelling urge he'd thought was long gone returned, sending him running to his bedroom for a piece of paper and a pen. When he had found the required materials he began to write, once he was finally finished, he shook his head as though to clear his head and looked down at the paper before him. There on the paper was a neat line of cyberglyphs forming a sentence of some kind, though what it said was beyond him.

He calmly walks back down the stairs, looking the freshly written sentence, before sitting back down on the couch. He stays there until Mikaela comes back in carrying a soaking wet Wheelie wrapped in a towel. It would have been hilarious had he not been possibly going crazy again. "Mikaela," Sam almost whispers, holding up the paper with the recently written cyberglyphs on it for her to see, "I think we may need to call Optimus."

What is that noise? It's irritating, repetitive and beeping. I vaguely recognize what it is, some kind of monitor, like the ones in hospitals. But why would I be in a hospital? I take a tenative sniff of the air around me, the reek of antiseptics making my nose wrinkle in disgust. Wait. Antiseptics, hospital equipment, am I back in hell?

I force myself to open my eyes, afraid of what I might see. Light assaults my eyes, too bright for someone who knew darkness for who knows how long. When the brightness finally became somewhat bearable, I sat up and looked around and saw I was in a small "room" created with a pair of bland curtains hanging on a running track attached to the ceiling. This wasn't The Initiative, so what was this place? I reach up to my throat with one of my hands, trying to find whatever it was that was on my neck. The moment my hands touch the gauzy bandages it all comes back to me: the kidnapping, the helicopter, Megan, running, the soldier…

Oh my god, Megan nearly killed me!

Where am I now? Panic begins to gnaw at me at the thought of not knowing if I was safe or in danger. The repetitive beeping grows faster. There's the sound of running feet headed in my direction. They'd be here any second, if I was going to run, it was now or never. I jump out of the bed, ready to run, only to fall to ground with a loud crash of falling things. Crap, there's wires and stuff still attached to me. I struggle with them for a few moments before getting up and dashing out of the curtain walled room.

I catch a glance of black combat boots and sturdy dress shoes before running in the opposite direction. I hear the people behind me calling for me to stop, but I keep on running, desperately seeking a way outside. I finally find an open door leading to the outside and dart through it. I got no further than a few yards before I hear the loud roar of an engine and the sound of shifting metal. A moment later, I'm plucked off the ground by a giant yellow and black robot. This is bad. The Initiative kept a few giant robots in cryostasis, only using them in the direst of situations, our escape had been one of those situations and we barely got out alive.

I manage to squirm between the robot's fingers and out of its grasp. I crawl underneath a nearby tank parked against a wall and stay there, cornered. The people who had been chasing me stop in front of the tank. "Where'd she go?" one man asks.

"She crawled under the tank," a no-nonsense voice replies.

"Why would she do that?" another man asks, obviously confused.

"She woke up only recently," the second voice replies, "she might still think that she is in danger."

I crawl a bit closer to the wall, not wanting any of the men to notice me. The sound of two more footsteps make me squirm uncomfortably. "What's going on here? And why are you all standing around a tank?" a stern, commanding voice asks.

"General Morshower sir," a new voice replies, "the girl Galloway told you about woke up and apparently panicked. She fled and hid under the tank."

A man bends down and peers at me, revealing the uniform of a high level general, confirming that this man was General Morshower. I back up to put more distance between us and eye him warily. "I am not going to claim that I know what you're going through" the man says gently, "because if I did, I would be lying; I will probably never know what it's like to go through what you have. I am not going to ask you to 'just trust me', because it's obvious that you don't. I am not going to treat you like some immature little kid, because I've read the reports, and you're the farthest thing from an immature little kid."

I nod, still wary.

"I'm going to be as straightforward to you as I would be to one of my own men," General Morshower continues, "everyone out here is worried about you. We think that there's some connection between what happened to you and a recent attack on a little known, but highly dangerous organization called The Initiative."

"Hey momma!" a tiny voice interrupts, "Why is daddy an' all those men standn' around a tank?"

"Annabelle," a familiar voice replies, exasperated, "this is important business."

"But daddy," the voice asks, "why's your boss looking under a tank?"

Suddenly a small girl, no older than four peers under the tank at me, "Daddy, why's there a girl under the tank?"

"She's scared," her father remarks.

"Why's she scared?" the girl asks curiously.

"Would you be scared if you woke up in a strange place?" her father asks.

"Yes," the little girl replies.

"Well, that's how this girl feels," her father replies.

Suddenly the girl starts crawling under the tank towards me. "Annabelle!" her father yells, "Get out from under there!"

"Wait," General Morshower replies, "maybe she can do what we can't."

"But what if the other girl reacts badly?" the girl's father asks worriedly.

"That's what we're all here for," the General replies.

I'm so busy watching the adults that I don't notice the little girl crawl up in front of me until she's right up in front of me. "Hi," the little girl says brightly, "I'm Annabelle, who are you?"

"Annabelle," her dad tells her gently, "she can't talk."

"Like 'Bee?" the little girl asks.

"Yes," her dad replies, "like 'Bee."

"Oh," Annabelle murmurs before turning to me and noticing the bandages around my neck, "you have an owie."

I nod noncommittally, wincing slightly at the pain that followed the motion. Annabelle notices almost immediately, "Your owie hurts?"

I nod slowly, hoping the pain would go away.

"Oh no," Annabelle replies worried, "that's not good."

My attention focuses elsewhere as a deafening squawk makes me turn my head. A red eyed metal vulture slithers from behind the back of the tank's left tread. It's an assassin bird, designed to infiltrate buildings and kill people. I've seen one in action before, and they're nothing but bad news.

I put myself in the space between the bird and Annabelle, bracing for the first strike. The bird shifts its wings, revealing a pair of gleaming guns mounted on the sides of its body. Annabelle takes one glimpse at the silver weapons and begins screaming bloody murder. Almost instantly the tank above us vanishes, thrown to one side, exposing all three of us to a huge black robot with a two massive guns mounted on its arms, pointing right at me like a giant, angry Ira.

Well shit.

Something went wrong. Steven's assassin bird had been discovered. "Can someone tell me how the hell this happened?" Megan roars, angry that yet another plan was going wrong, "I need answers and I need them now!"

"One of N.E.S.T's resident robots got involved," Steven answers, "according to our contact's reports, he's one of the more aggressive and easily angered ones."

"Shit," Megan mutters, "tell your bird to get out. I don't care how he does it, just tell him to do it. This is one we can't win even if we kill the girl - especially if we kill the girl."

"Are you certain?" Steven asks, "We may not get another chance like this again."

"I don't care," Megan hisses, "we can always hunt her down again, but we can never truly replace a valuable assassin bird. Send the order."

Steven stands silent for a moment before speaking, "Yes, Megan."

Megan was fuming, why was everything going wrong at the worst possible times? "Steven, make sure the board does not hear of this," Megan adds, "if they find out we're screwed and call a meeting after this fiasco is over, I'm getting sick of failures that have to be hidden from the board every time we try to make a move and I want this crystal clear to the others. I better not have another failure for a good long while."

With that Megan stalks out of the room leaving a group of terrified minions and somewhat frightened Steven behind.