A/N: It's unavoidable. When your inspired by something, you want to desperately combine what you love with your work. Which is why this is the first crossover of the story. Hold your horses Non-Twilight Zone fans, I would never leave you in the dust, which is why I have included a brief bio on each character being introduced in this chapter...
Henry Bemis from 'Time Enough At Last': A bookish little man whose passion is the printed page. A little man who is trapped in a world with people preventing him from doing what he loves.
Pedott from 'What You Need': A little old salesman who has the curious ability to give people exactly what they need before they need it.
Talky Tina from 'Living Doll': Talky Tina, a doll that does everything, a lifelike creation of plastic and springs and painted smile. Who in the Twilight Zone episode assisted another character, a little girl named 'Christine'. In short, if Talky Tina doesn't like you, you had better watch what you step on when you go down stairs.
Gart Williams from 'A Stop at Willoughby': A stressed advertising executive living a life that he has no control over. On the train ride home, he takes naps, when he does he finds himself in Willoughby, a town set in 1888 where he finds sunlight and serenity.
A character from 'A Pitch For the Angels' who I don't feel like mentioning (you'll see)
If you want to know more about the characters mentioned, go to Wikipedia.
I know it has been awhile since I last updated, I hate making you fantastic readers wait, so I'm sorry, you know how life is. My life has been filled with a job, ninety pages of text book every week and the ulcer from studying for AP European and World History. Plus I change my mind alot, just how I am. Again, I'm so sorry for making you wait and thank you all for being so patient. A thousand thanks to Northwest Sage for editing, I can't thank you enough. Enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: Twilight Zone and it's characters belongs to Rod Serling and CBS. Transformers to Hasbro. Chapter title to Sinatra. Original Characters belong to me...
Chapter 4
"Pocket Full of Miracles"
Location: The small green park in the center of this small town. The time: 5:45 p.m. It's purpose: To serve as a rural escape from routine suburbia. There is one man who finds no comfort in watching the passerbys or the sounds or other characteristics that make up the relaxing experience. This is simply because, he is not a man. He is an optical illusion created to look just as real as the mousy banker buried in his book next to him. This entrepreneur's name is Swindle, and he is the car parked behind the bench. Unknowingly awaiting the arrival of another salesman who is revisiting, the Twilight Zone.
The beige suited hologram turned his head, only to be greeted by two thick moon-shaped lenses glancing at him with childish gleam. A friendly smile growing on his face.
"I don't suppose you have ever read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea?" he asked, closing his book and tilting the green hard-copy towards the hologram's direction.
"No I haven't," The hologram responded dryly.
"Oh it's a wonderful, wonderful book!" he claimed with enthusiasm. "Fantastic rich characters written by Jules Verne. Captain Nemo, Professor Arranox and Ned Land! Ah, such great characters."
"I'm sure they are," the hologram mused boringly, turning away.
The hologram sighed, rubbing the bridge between his nose as the small man continued to ramble on. The hologram's actions reflecting the mood of the yellow and purple jeep parked behind them. He checked his chronometer. His client was an hour late! Something that was not appreciated, especially considering the fact that the Autobot called him. Nevertheless, the business meeting did give him the opportunity to test out the new technology that he acquired a few stellar cycles ago...
Fully Interactive Holographic Camouflage, holograms capable of touching, lifting and complete contact with organics. Rumble and Frenzy had introduced him to it when they returned from a reconnaissance mission. Being the size that they were, roughly the same size and height as the humans, the camouflage acted like more of a fleshy outer suit. They appeared to be human on the outside, but under a holographic layer were twin robots bent on mischief. For him however, the experience was defiantly a different one. Whatever the hologram saw, he saw as well, it was the closet he had ever been to a human's point of view.
The invention was impressive, but the Autobot Hound's holographic powers were far superior. He wasn't degrading the invention per say, it would serve it's advantage during his business meetings with the fleshies on this planet. Their currency was almost useless to him, he could live without ever gaining a cent, but the just the idea of obtaining it, well, that was a different matter. Every mech aboard the Nemesis has a desire-- he had made a profit off his comrades knowing them-- his was money, without it, a knife to the spark chamber would be more beneficial than continuing to function. Fortunately for him, humans are easily persuaded. The hologram solid features split into a ghostly smirk as he recalled all the fan merchandise he sold at Barrack Obama's Presidential Inauguration, not to mention the recent Super Bowl...
A splendid idea popped in his processor: If he could get the Constructicons to mass produce the Holographic Camouflage, well, just imaging the profit he could make on Cybertron or on Earth! Primus knows he could use it, not for financial purposes, but for the lack of economic opportunity that was deflating his mood.
"Oh dear," the human sighed with worry as he looked down at his watch, he glanced over his shoulder and then at the book, shrugging, he continued to read.
As the two continued to sit in silence, Swindle noticed another man approach them, a little old man carrying a large leather suitcase. Graying hair hid under his wrinkled light brown fedora, he wore dark pants, a white collar shirt and a black tie under a green cardigan. Swindle glared at him, recognizing what he was... He was a street peddler.
"Hello Henry," he greeted in a warm voice.
Henry beamed as he saw his old friend. Swindle watched as he stood up from the bench and wrapped his arms around the other gentleman in an enthusiastic hug, as though it had been vorns since he had seen him.
"Pedott!" he cried with excitement. "My good friend, how are you?"
"I'm well Henry, and yourself?"
"Very good as well, when did you get back in town?" Henry asked.
"A couple of days ago," he answered. "But I have to leave soon I'm afraid."
"You do? But it's been so lon—"
"BEMIS!" called a voice from behind them across the street. The hologram, and the two men turned to see a rather slim balding man storm across the street from the bank building. The slender man, placed his hands on his hips, his moustache and small, rodent like eyes both twitching with annoyance.
"Bemis, I have a line of twenty people waiting for a certain bank teller to return from his lunch break"-- the man raised his arm, forced the sleeve back and lowered his arm with a violent swing-- "ten minutes ago. Now, if you would rather seek employment elsewhere I suggest you notify me instead of sneaking off to read!"
"I-I'm terribly sorry Mr. Carsville, I-I just lost track of the time," Bemis stumbled over his words, trying to find a suitable excuse. He turned to Pedott. "This is my good friend, I haven't seen him in so long and I'm afraid I forgotten—"
"Well, Mr Bemis, next time it happens you can forget coming to work," Carsville stated harshly before he stormed back to the bank. Bemis, grimaced, shrinking as he turned back to Pedott.
"I'm afraid I have to go," he admitted sadly, embarrassed that he was verbally degraded in front of one of his oldest friends.
"It's alright," Pedott assured as he placed his hand on his shoulder.
Bemis started his slow, painful walk back to his workhouse and away from the only person on the planet that gave him an ounce of respect. Bemis stopped and looked over his shoulder, his face pulling in an apologetic face. Pedott smiled warmly, showing in a physical gesture that 'it was okay'. Suddenly, he paused. Bemis and the hologram watched as Pedott's face dropped, growing serious as he studied the other man with concentration. "Henry," he called out.
Bemis walked back to Pedott. "What is it my friend?" he asked.
Opening his suitcase on the pavement, he reached in, scavenging for something as both Swindle and Bemis watched him. Pedott rose to his knees, a small rope dangling from his hands. He handed the long cord to Bemis.
"Eyeglass leash?" Henry asked, strangely offended as he looked at the red and blue cord. "Why on earth would I need this for?"
"Trust me friend, I think they're what you need," Pedott said as he patted his friend on the shoulder.
"Alright," Bemis nodded as he placed them in is front pocket. "Thank you," Bemis smiled gratefully, and with that, returned back to the bank.
Both of the men, real and unreal, watched Bemis run across the street and back inside the bank. Swindle glanced at the old peddler, wondering why he didn't charge him for the string—friend or no friend—only to see that the man was staring at him. Sure, humans stared at his hologram as they passed by, it was there nature, even the little girl sitting on the grass had dared from time to time, but the way that the old man was staring at him, the way he shrunk away from him, it was almost as if, he was scared.
The hologram watched as the peddler shifted his eyes... and stare straight at the parked jeep—his alt mode. He couldn't be sure if the human was just glancing at it because it was there, or if somehow, unknown to Swindle, that he knew that he was the purple and yellow jeep. The human locked eyes with the holgram again, nervously holding his breath as he stared at him.
After the awkward moment passed, a business man approached the peddler, his dark hair fell over his eyes in strands as his hands shook umfumbling a dollar bill from his pocket.
"Do you have matches?' he asked, reaching into his front pocket and placing the cigarette at the corner of his lips.
Swindle, deprived of anything else to do, watched. Where the slag is Smokescreen?!
The old peddler's face dropped again, returning back to that serious look of deep concentration.
"No… not matches today," he said. "No… I think I know what it is you need."
The man reached into his front pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. The business man, smiled weakly disappointed that the peddler was refusing to sell matches to him; he could really use a cigarette. A piece of paper couldn't calm his nerves or lift the weight off his shoulders! Nevertheless, he took the piece of paper from him and stared at it.
"Train tickets," he read, confused. "To… I never even heard of this town."
Pedott said. "Trust me, it is what you need. It really is."
"What are you pulling?" he questioned. "Why do I need to go here?"
"Who knows, maybe you'll find something on the way," he shrugged.
The man stared at the man uneasily, debating whether or not to accept them or not. Hesitantly, he put them in his front coat pocket and pulled out his wallet, but the old peddler held up a hand to stop him.
"No charge," he said.
Swindle's jaw dropped. What the slag was he doing!? Train tickets for free!
The man didn't say anything, he just walked away and disappeared out of sight. Swindle and the peddler's eyes connected again. Swindle shook his head in disgust at the peddler. Just the thought of selling anything for free made his fuel tank churn. The hologram turned away, meeting another pair of eyes.
"What?" he demanded from the girl who stared at him.
She jumped slightly and then averted her eyes quickly, tugging nervously at a button of her denim overalls. Pedott, who had finished setting up his stand, stared at Swindle, the little girl and back to Swindle. In her hands she held a child's doll; a female doll with a pink fringy dress and brunette pigtails.
"Mister," she started, whispering as she took a hesitant step towards him.
"Yes my dear, what is it? Is there something wrong with the doll I gave you?" he asked.
"Oh no—I love Tina," she said. She frowned and added. "But my mommy told me I have to give it back to you."
"Oh," was his response. "Was it something that Tina did?"
"I don't know, but I told my mommy that I had gotten it from you yesterday and she said it was fine, she knew who were and all, you grew up with Mr. Bookman our neighbor, but today she told me to bring it straight back to you."
Pedott nodded warmly.
"Please don't make me give Tina back—I love her and I want her to be my dolly." she pleaded to the old man.
"What does your father think about Tina?" he asked.
"He doesn't like Tina, not one bit, he tried to get rid of her and I think that is why mommy told me to give it back to you. I didn't understand why he didn't like her, Tina loved him."
Pedott frowned and took a step closer to her, bending down to her height. "If your mother wants you to give Tina back, then you should probably do what she says. Your mother is the one you need now, not Tina."
With wetted eyes, she handed the doll back to the old peddler. She dropped her head and walked back home, both salesmen watching in silence. Pedott looked down at the doll, fear gripping as he stared at the weapon in his hand. Talky Tina's plastic blue eyes staring at him; her eyelids opening and closing as he placed her back in the suitcase. He forced his eyes to look away, even though he could still feel her staring up at him. He heard the man laugh at him.
"Why are you laughing?" the old man asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
"Your face old man," Swindle answered, smirking. "You look like you found something to be scared of."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Eh never mind," Swindle said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'll never understand types like you."
"I'm sorry?"
"Donators; giving away things for free without charge," Swindle explained. "Nickel and diming it, don't ya' want to make any money?"
"It's just something I do," he answered.
"What? Like a hobby?"
"If you wish to call it that," the peddler said.
"Your strange," Swindle shook his head.
"It is your right to think so," Pedott replied.
"Take some advice from a real business man," Swindle grinned, humoring himself. "If you want to get by in this world financially, you got to break legs."
"Do you believe that?" Pedott asked, grimacing at the philosophy.
"I always take advantage of opportunities, and I always get what I want out the deal." the hologram said.
The peddler stared long and hard at the hologram, with a long sigh, he stared down at his suitcase. He ran his aged hands over the aged leather suitcase. Not once since he had first found the case had he ever parted with it. After all the years of selling things to strangers on the street did he realize his purpose. To supply people with what they need, what they truly need. Ever since he had come across the case when he was a boy, he had been given this strange gift. Whenever he looked into a person's face, he was given insight of their future.
His friend Bemis, oh his silly friend, today when he looked at his face he saw him kneeled on the cement, broken lens from his eyeglasses in his hands. The fatigued business man he had sold the train tickets to, he knew that a stop at Willougby, peaceful stop on the map only accessible in his dreams would surely do his heart the ease it needed. Talky Tina, he was more hesitant to give to the child. He had come across her in a curios shop one day. Seeing the future on a piece of molded plastic was something that was new to him, so he purchased her, but after he purchased her, he realized that she was something more than just an ordinary doll. Something dangerous, but he had seen the little girl's face in the doll's future. If Talky Tina was what was supposed to be promised to her, who was he to deny them their fate? And lastly, there was the business men on the bench that had caught his interest the most. When he looked at him, he saw what he really was. He was called 'Swindle'; one of the robots that he had seen on the television.
When he looked at this metallic being, he saw a single word written upon his brow: Greed. A characteristic that needed to be corrected and Pedott had just the thing.
"Would you care to make a friendly wager on that statement?" Pedott asked.
"What?" the hologram guffawed. "What statement?"
"That you can sell anything," Pedott explained. "I bet that when you leave here and continue your business dealings, that you will not be able to sell anything."
"Really?" Swindle smirked both mentally and physically (on the hologram's face). "You're a little vague, can you be a little more specific; what kind of dough are we talking about here with this little venture?"
Pedott had succeeded in grabbing the Decepticon's interest, something he knew he had to do in order to give him what he needed. He continued his charade to the best of his ability.
"One week, sir. You have one week to sell something," he said. "That's all; one week."
"And what do I get if I win?" Swindle asked.
"I don't have much, but I will give whatever you request that you find is reasonable."
Swindle pondered. He could already guess that the peddler didn't have much, so he decided to take the only thing he had.
"I want you to stop selling things," Swindle said. "If I win this little gamble, you are to stop being a peddler."
Pedott nodded. "I agree. And if you lose, I want you to find someone, any person that you find deserving, and give them my suitcase."
"Your suitcase?" Swindle said, an eyebrow rising. It was strange request, he had expected something more of what Swindle had told the peddler, but who was he to argue with such an easy request, but just to be sure: "That's all? No money or trinket of desire?"
"I have no want for those things, not anymore," Pedott shaking his head, sadness twinkling in his eyes.
"Fine," Swindle said, risinig to his feet. "I accept."
Pedott and the hologram shook hands. As Swindle watched the old man close his suitcase, Swindle couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. One thing that he despised was amateur competition; the annoyance of their persistence and constant idiocracy for something that they barely knew; peddlers were in that group. If he was able to get one of the job, then any loony bet was worth the effort. He laughed inwardly. Effort? To sell something in one week was nothing.
Pedott handed the suitcase to the hologram, frowning as he entered his jeep. Before he left, he called out the window: "I'll be back soon to tell you what I sold." If the Autobot didn't want to show, then he didn't see the need to be there wasting time. Pedott watched the Transformer burn rubber down the road. Pedott took a seat on the empty bench, running his hands over his lap. His suitcase was never a burden to carry around, he had grown accustomed long ago to it's weight. Without it now, the was feeling was uncomfortably foreign.
Another man approached him, but even without his suitcase and it's clairvoyance, he already knew who it was from an earlier meeting.
"Good evening Mr. Pedott," he greeted, not looking up from his dark ledger that he busily continued to scribble in.
"Good evening Mr. Death," Pedott greeted back, glancing up to see the dark suited gentleman with the stony disposition.
Mr. Death clicked his black ballpoint pen, placed it neatly in his front pocket and continued onto business.
"Mr. Pedott, you have completed your appeal on schedule," he reported as enthusiastic as a tax collector. "We must begin your departure."
Pedott, had regretted this meeting all day. Before Mr. Death had showed up by surprise, unexpected. He never figured that the man writing in the ledger in the cafe was in fact the Grim Reaper. He was too normal and human. Pedott wasn't sure what the record was for postponing death, but with the completion of his appeal—Unfinished Business of a Major Nature, Mr. Death had so professionally called it—he knew that there was no way to stop it now.
"Are you satisfied with the completion of your appeal?" Mr. Death asked as they walked side by side. "Were you able to find the one who needed the most help?"
"I'd say so," Pedott said, nodding, twiddling his fingers together nervously.
Swindle walked down the purple halls of the Nemesis to his room. Pressing the open on his keypad, the doors hissed open and he entered. Strolling over to his desk he began shifting through the tower of data-pads neatly stacked on the table. He looked over them briefly, most of them were old invoices of past sales that were needed to be filed away, he was more interested in notes. Swindle had made it a personal habit to write down a brief description of his comrades personalities—research he called it. The best way to stay ahead of the competition was to be informed, the more informed you were the better chance you could supply what the client wanted. He set a couple of data-pads aside, easy fish that he could hook in without effort from the much harder group to persuade into buying things from him.
As he continued to sort things out, he soon found himself thinking. What a strange chain of events. First the Autobot Smokescreen never showed up, then the 'conversation' with the teller and the little girl returning the doll. Then there was that look he gave to them all, that strange look of seriousness. Not to mention the bet that he made with him.
Strange fleshy.
Swindle shook the thoughts from his processor, he knew the longer he continued to try and diagnose the human the more it would give him a processor-ache. He placed the data-pad of Thundercracker in the harder persuaded group and froze. He stared at the picture, he wasn't sure what was keeping his optics glued to the blue Seeker, but as he continued to stare at Thundercracker, an image of large metal instrument dropping on top of him, knocking him down to the ground into stasis lock. He wasn't sure what spurred the image, but it made Swindle feel... nervous. He didn't hate the Seeker, nor did he have a grudge against him, there was no explanation of why Swindle would picture that.
Swindle shook his head and rose from his chair. Perhaps he was running low on energy; it had been awhile since he last refueled.
Exiting his room he walked to the Mess Hall to grab an energon ration; the image of Thundercracker still playing in his head like a slide-show. He tried to think of something else, but he couldn't do it.
He entered the Mess Hall, the doors sliding behind him. He entered in silence, grabbed his energon and headed to the table farthest in the corner for solitude. His fingers gripped the edges of the energon cube, continuing to think about the slaggin' image. Why couldn't he get rid of it? His optics darted around the room. He observed Wildrider and Drag Strip talking at a table, Ramjet and Brawl conversing by the door and Starscream reading a data-pad in his usual spot. Swindle rose to his feet and left, he wasn't in the mood for energon anymore. It was driving him slagging mad! Swindle needed to end this.
"Hey Starscream," Swindle said as he walked over to the table. "Where is your wing-mate Thundercracker?"
"How am I supposed to know?!" Starscream said, his screechy voice thick with irritation.
"Easy 'Screamer it was just a simple question."
"Do I look like I care about your questions?" Starscream snapped.
"Sorry," Swindle said, withdrawing from the conversation. Swindle turned his back to the Seeker and began walking towards Ramjet to see if he knew Thundercracker's whereabouts, but suddenly stopped in his tracks.
It was happening again, he glanced back at Starscream. A strange image flashed-- this one about Starscream. Swindle pushed it aside and walked towards Ramjet and Brawl's direction.
"You guys seen Thundercracker?" he asked them.
They shook their heads, another dead end. Swindle frowned and walked out the twin doors.
Swindle continued to pace the Nemesis in boredom. Trying to configure the images that kept flashing in his processor. As best as he tried to supress them, they wouldn't leave him alone. It was frustrating, and it wasn't just with Thundercracker and Starscream.
There was one with Hook, slamming his hands against the table in frustration, slited optics on the device in front of him.
What did they mean? What were the significance of these random pictures?
Swindle passed by the Med Bay and stopped, realizing that he had already passed by the doorway. He was going in circles around the base because of these pestering images! He opened the Med Bay doors and walked in. Thundercracker and Skywarp were seated, Thundercracker on the medical berth and Skywarp by the door, awaiting his examinations no doubt, all the while watching as Mixmaster, Long Haul and Scrapper were pulling a large instrument to one of their shelves high on the wall with a pully system. Swindle froze, deja vu sending shivers through his circuitry.
Thundercracker and Skywarp watched as the large device dangled high above their helms.
"You sure you don't need help with that?" Skywarp asked, anxiously watching as the three Contructicons struggled against it's weight.
"Slag off, we got it," Mixmaster grunted.
An audio damaging snap rang. All the mechs looked up to see the pulley break and the device come tumbling down. Swindle's optics flashed to Thundercracker, without thinking Swindle bowled himself into Thundrecracker, knocking him off the berth, to the ground and out of the way of swinging object that smashed into the berth like a giant pendulum. Skywarp teleported as it came in his direction. It smashed into the wall and landed in a piling heap as the three Contructicons released the wire.
Skywarp teleported by Thundercracker and Swindle's side, both stiff from the sudden near-death experience.
"You alright TC?" Skywarp asked, helping Thundercracker to his feet.
Thundercracker nodded, placing a hand on Skywarp's shoulder for reassurance. Swindle rose to his feet. Looking at the device that layed in the heaping pile of scrap. He scanned every possible thing about, but no matter how many times he scanned it over he couldn't shake the fact that the device looked exactly like the one that he had imagined. Swindle blocked out the verbal storm that erupted in the Med Bay as he exited, he went back to his quarters to think.
Swindle lay on his berth, his hands underneath his head, trying to make sense out of it. Everything that had occurred was so precise and clear to the image that he had, it couldn't be coincidence. The incident was more logical that it would be a coincidence, but it still didn't make sense to him. There was something off.
He stared at the small leather suitcase that lay on his table, as if seeing if there was a connection with it, after all this had all started when he was given that from the old man. He must have a glitch, or perhaps it was not being able to find an answer that would lead him to assume that the briefcase was somehow connected.
"There must be some answer, it can't be just coincidence, " Swindle said outloud ot himself. "Everything was so detailed, it was so correct. It couldn't be coincidence."
Swindle huffed out a frustrated sigh. Removing his hands form behind his head he sat up and leaned against the wall. He dimmed his optics, can't help but thinking that this had to do with the old human. He hit his helm against the wall, cursing in Cybertronian.
"Haheheha," a voice laughed in his room.
His optics lit with alarm. He jumped up from his berth to his feet, whirling around looking for the source. He found nobody. The voice laughed again, this time Swindle noticed how feminine it was.
"Where are ya?" Swindle called out, twirling around his room.
"Over here," she taunted.
Swindle followed the voice to his table. He didn't see anything, just his data-pads and the briefcase.
"Where? I don't see ya!"
She giggled again. "In here."
Swindle's optics darted to the small suitcase on his table. Confused, he stepped towards it. He brought his head until he was eye-level with the suitcase, staring at it, trying to figure out who could possibly fit inside something so small. His large metallic fingers lifted the lid of the briefcase very delicately, as if he was performing some sort of mini operation.
Nothing.
There was nothing but the junk that the peddler had collected over the years in the suitcase. So, where was the voice coming from? His optics fell upon the plastic doll that lay on top of the suitcase. With his index and thumb digit, he lifted the doll by it's leg out of the suitcase, bringing up to his face and scanning it. It was nothing but a piece of junk.
The upside-down dolls head turned in his direction.
"My name's Talky Tina, and you'd better put me down."
Startled by the toy's unexpected command, he flung it as far away as he could. It skidded across his table and into a pile of data-pads. Swindle stared at the toy as it lay motionless. Swindle soon found himself smirking. Dolls couldn't talk, there was only one explanation, one that seemed to tie everything together.
"This was a setup." He shook his head. "That fleshbag! He knew the Autobots."
He reached over and picked up the doll, dangling her upside-down once more. "Your nothing but some little spy invention aren't you? Probably made by Wheeljack. This whole meeting with Smokescreen was a set-up to get you into Decepticon Headquarters."
"What's an Autobot?" Talky Tina asked.
Swindle laughed out-loud. "Oh you're a riot." Swindle walked over to his personal waste can. Her head turned to it.
"What are you doing!"
"Putting you where you belong," Swindle said, lifting the lid and disposing her in it. "Do some reconnaissance in there."
Swindle shut the lid and exited his room. An aggravated smile on his face. That sly old man, he should have seen it coming when he gave him the suitcase. How could he be a fool?
However, even though the doll had answered the fleshy's strange behavior, it didn't answer why he had predicted the Contructicon's Electric Detector falling on Thundercracker's head. He groaned, he was right back in the same position he started when he left the room, and now he had returned to pacing for an answer in the halls of the Nemesis once again. He passed by Soundwave's room, the door open. He looked down to see Rumble and Frenzy exiting it. When they saw Swindle, they paused and exchanged grins with each other.
"Hey Swindle, how was your meeting?" Rumble snickered.
Swindle also stopped, staring down at the two cassettes. How did they know he had a meeting today?
"You know, the one with Smokescreen, wanting to know what the guard shifts were for the Space Bridge," Frenzy continued while Rumble covered his hand over his mouth, trying to hold in his laughter.
"How the slag do you two know about that?" Swindle demanded dangerously.
"Ya' like the hologram thingy we gave ya Swindle?" Frenzy asked, smirking. "You know what's great about it... you can look like anyone you want."
Swindle narrowed his optics disdainfully. "It was you two?! Disguised as Smokescreen on that vid!" Swindle frowned. "What did you take from my quarters?"
It was only possible reason why the little slaggers would pull something as elaborate as this to get him off the base. Frenzy and Rumble crept back into Soundwave's quarters. Swindle, tightened his fists and charged after them, but stopped short when he saw Soundwave, preoccupied at his desk look up and stare straight at the Combaticon. He froze. It was happening again. He stared at Frenzy, images dancing in front of his optics. Frenzy was creeping up the hallway, some sort of blunt tool in his hands, a strange small humanoid shadow at the end of the hall. Swindle dimmed his optics and brightened them, jerking his head as if trying to get static out of his audios. Forgetting where he was at the moment, he saw the twins and remembered.
Rumble and Frenzy laughed quietly from behind Soundwave's legs. Swindle huffed and turned, walking away from the two and back to his quarters.
As soon as he entered his room, he immediately began searching for anything missing. Approaching his storage closet he scanned over his stuff, not noticing the small plastic doll that watched him from the desk.
"What are you looking for?" Talky Tina asked, giggling.
Swindle stopped when he heard the childish voice. He looked behind him and jumped slightly when he saw that she had escaped the cylindrical prison that he had put her in.
"How did you get out!" Swindle questioned.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she sarcastically sung.
Swindle took a step towards the edge of the table, walking around it and inspecting the doll, her beady little eyes following him as she turned her head along with is movements.
"So if you're not an Autobot, then what are ya?"
"My name is Talky Tina."
"I know what your slaggin' name is," Swindle snapped, his hands shaking at the sides of his heads in annoyance.
Swindle groaned in frustration when he heard a knock at at his door. He opened it to find Thundercracker on the other side.
"Hey Thundercracker how are you," Swindle greeted dispiritedly.
Thundercracker nodded, shuffling his feet he awkwardly said. "I… just wanted to thank you for earlier today, and… Starscream said you were looking for me earlier?"
"You don't have to thank me," Swindle said dismissively.
Swindle was somewhat surprised that Thundercracker was at his door thanking him. Although he knew that Thundercracker was the more 'courteous' of Decepticons when it came to his comrades, but he was still a Decepticon and didn't expect him to even say anything. However, there was no slagging way that he could tell Thundrecracker that he had imagined the incident before it had happened, so he went with a lie.
"I forgot what it was for, it was nothing important."
"Alright," Thundercracker nodded, not totally satisfied. "It's just strange."
"What is?"
"I don't know what it is," Thundercracker said, shaking his head. "It happened so fast and you seemed so… prepared for it. Like you knew it was going to happen. I know it sounds like a stretch but I can't register it. You were precisely at the right place, and precisely the right time."
"Coincidence," Swindle blurted, the only thing he could think to say. Awkwardly, he shut the door.
Swindle pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor with his forefinger and thumb, sighing.
"Heheheha," the doll laughed in amusement. "You're funny."
"Why?" Swindle asked, snarling at the stupid toy that continued to bother him.
"You haven't figured it out have you?" she chided.
Swindle straightened his posture, walking over to the table with a distrustful stare. "Figured what out?"
"That the suitcase let's you see the future."
Swindle guffawed. "I? See the future?"
"Why are you laughing?" she scolded. "It's true."
Swindle's laugh came to an end, her words starting to sink in. He sulked when he realized that it made the most sense out of the things that he had come up with. Everything that happened with Thundercracker seemed to fit, as well as the other images. Something about them seemed so certain, not to mention that this whole thing seemed to start when he acquired the cursed carrying case. Not to mention that it wasn't as far from the ordinary compared to him having a conversation with a human toy.
"I…" Swindle whispered, seating himself on his recharge berth. "How? And you—" he turned towards Talky Tina— "How are you… alive...? You're a toy, a piece of plastic that the humans made—and why am I talking to you!"
"Some things are better left being accepted then being explained," she said, showing a clear dislike of their current topic.
"I can see the future," Swindle said, beaming. "I know what they will need before they need it."
Swindle stood, he finally understood why the old man was as strange as he was when customers came by, because he could see their futures! He had a talent that nobody else had. His smiled broadened. "That old fool. He had a million dollar talent… and now it belongs to me."
Swindle would fulfill that bet, he had no intention of giving up this opportunity.
Over the next few days Swindle found himself sitting by himself in the Mess Hall. Lack of recharge tiring him (exited over his new gift) but nevertheless at full alert for any sort of visions that he would get from watching the other Decepticons entering and exiting.
He could see the future… he still couldn't believe it, but it all fit perfectly together. No wonder why the peddler gave away things for free. Odds are he was probably so rich he didn't need to price the things he gave away. Still, Swindle couldn't help but wonder, why would he give it away? Was he bored of it? It didn't matter, all that was important was that he, Swindle, now had it and he would defiantly use it for financial gain as the human did. All he had to do was wait for a useful vision. But nothing was happening! He had been sitting in the Mess Hall all day and nothing had happened. He had scanned his fellow Decepticons as he had done yesterday, all it had took was merely a glance to spark his clairvoyance, but today he couldn't even get a hint of what was to happen. How did the human slagging do it?!
He reflected back on the visions he had yesterday, trying to think of what was needed for the others. Thundercracker needed a push, and he gave him that. Frenzy carried a blunt tool in his hands while he was creeping up the hallway in his vision. But how could he convince the little Con that he needed something like that? The tool looked like nothing but a piece of scrap metal, he could never convince anyone to buy junk, easily obtainable junk at that. Another part of the vision bothered him... the shadow cast on the wall, it was a silhouette of something familiar, but he couldn't picture what it was. Then there was Starscream, crashing into the side of a frozen volcano. His engines sparking as he traveled through a gray fog, possibly volcanic ash. And lastly, Hook, frustrated over an invention-- he assumed-- that was not working, but again, there was no telling of what component Hook needed and besides he was busy away repairing and inspecting the Space Bridge on Megatron's orders and most likely wouldn't be back within the week.
What the slag?! These visions were useless to him! There was nothing to be gained, no money to rake in—nothing! Maybe this whole thing was some sort of cruel joke.
Swindle rose from his seat, knocking the chair over. He stormed out of the Mess Hall and back to his own quarters. When he finally entered, his optics immediately scanned for the infuriating doll. He quickly found her sitting comfortably on top of the suitcase as usual.
"You lied to me," Swindle said, pointing a large purple digit in her direction.
"My name is Talky Tina and I never lie," she calmly replied back.
"I don't think so, Doll Face," Swindle shook his head.
"What did you expect?" she asked. "Did you think that you would be able to just see the future just like that?"
"Isn't that what you said?" Swindle questioned, "That I would be able to see what people needed?"
"I never said that," she retorted. "I just said that you could see the future; not the future that you want to see, just the future."
"Then how was that old human that carried you around in that suitcase all the time able to sell things? Hmm?" Swindle pressed, his anger apparent on his faceplate.
"He didn't," the toy answered. "He wasn't greedy."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Swindle asked bitterly.
"What? You don't know what it means? A big, smart salesman like you?" she taunted.
Swindle shook his head, ignoring the laughter that ensued from the doll after she saw the disappointed look on the Decepticon's face. So what if the salesman never sold anything with his gift, how should that effect him? Swindle knew he was greedy, yes, it was built into his personality, but why should it matter? But then, Swindle carefully thought about it. What if the whole point of the gift was not to sell anything, just something to invest in and then give up all your hopes later on? Whatever it was, it was cruel. To be given something so extraordinary and not be able to use it. He did use it yes, to help Thundercracker and supposedly the others with their dilemmas, but what about him? Was there anything to benefit him? No, just everyone else, which is why he couldn't sell anything, why the old man never charged anything, because personal gain wasn't the point of the gift.
"Slag," Swindle cursed quietly.
Talky Tina giggled, causing the Decepticon's attention to turn towards her. "Shut up," Swindle ordered. Much to his disappointment and annoyance she persisted, laughing up a storm at him.
"Shut up!" He repeated, louder. She still continued, knowing that she was eating away at his patience.
"I said SHUT UP!"
With one quick swipe he batted the doll off the suitcase, out his open door and into the doll bounced off the purple walls of the Nemesis, silent and undamaged.
Swindle walked over and closed the door behind him. Returning to his desk, each hand resting as he leaned his weight on them, he tried to think of how to get rid of the slagging talent. Then it came to him' the old human had given it to him, so all that was needed was to give it to someone else. But who?
He looked down at his data-pads, a name from his list of recently sold items standing out.
Leaning in his chair, he watched as late night tourists took pictures in front of the dark metal gates that separated him from the outside world. As he watched them, he couldn't help but sigh; it was late and he had work to do. He heard a door open, causing him to turn in his chair. He was greeted by one of his staff, carrying an old suitcase.
"This just came for you Mr. President."
Let it be known that you can't change everyone, but you can certainly try to improve or help them see the error of their lives, even if they don't listen. Some are swayed to change and others aren't, it's just the natural order of things, even if you do have good intentions. But no attempt should be ignored, or considered too pointless. Every opportunity counts, especially in the Twilight Zone...
A/N: I know there was a lot of building up and the 'realization over one's fault' was kinda brief, but this chapter was getting long. I'm pretty sure that White House does accept gifts from people (to Obama) they just take a long time (probably shorter than the time it takes for me to update [ joke ] )and they can't be edible, or a threat national security. I googled it, but I'm sure I misread my facts. Anyways, thanks for reading and don't forget to review!
Next chapter: To Be Continued...