Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers.
Nods to His Dark Materials series and MGS4.
Other Side of the Mirror
4
The boy tried keeping his eyes open, but it was so hard. The mist was everywhere, and it beckoned them all to sleep, lying to them, promising peace if they would just succumb and shut their eyes. There were screams, and shadows, and sounds of charge weapons futilely trying to cut through the misty haze of airborne drugs. His father was half-pulling, half-dragging him along, and when the boy's legs would no longer move, his father picked him up and ran with the rest of the people. "We're going to be okay," were the words his father had said before the boy dropped into a sleep-filled oblivion, just as their trapper intended.
When he woke up, he was no longer in his father's arms.
They were kept in cages, some on shelves and others hanging overhead, the metal wires criss-crossing so closely that the boy could barely fit a hand through the squares that the wires made. Apparently, their captor learned that leaving big gaps in the cages would lead to humans fitting their heads through them and, using the wires, snapping their necks in order to escape the inevitable.
Songbirds. Decorations. Guard dogs. Pretty assistants. Lap pets.
They were sedated most of the time, so that they didn't make any trouble or noise for the dealers, and were kept as wild as possible for the customers. Patrons would not think kindly of a dealer who had already started the breaking process, and Cage was a professional. Cage's pet shop was filled with the sounds of steady breathing, and the occasional moan as his captives tried in vain to awaken.
Children younger than five were kept in the same cages as pregnant women or mothers. It was the most popular section of the pet shop. They huddled in the furthest corner of their cages, trying as hard as possible to stay away from prying optics and prodding fingers. The boy was half-lying, half-sitting, with his arms firmly around Hannah, the woman who was taking care of him and a handful of other scared and parentless children, and who was a few months pregnant.
"Ah, greetings," said the voice of their captor. Speaking in the aliens' harsh language, Cage still managed to make the words sound smooth. "Here for another toy for your little creations? I trust you were pleased with what you bought last time?"
"Affirmative," said another voice, cold and monotone. "Previous purchase: adequate."
The boy woke up to these voices, trying to gather his doped wits. The sound of him stirring caught someone's attention.
A shadow fell across his vision, and he looked up. Burning red looked down at him. It was small for an alien; it was just a head taller than his father. Because of its size, it had managed to make its way over to the other side of the bars. It had crouched down to above eye level, looking at him with its head tilted to one side and something like a smirk on what was probably its face.
The boy whimpered. Hannah's arms held him tightly, and she whispered, "Look away." He did as he was told, burying his face in Hannah's rags.
But it was too late. "What lovely eyes," the alien said almost sneeringly in its scratchy, clicking language. Then, aloud, it said, "I want this one."
The youth affectionately nicknamed Bumblebee exited from what used to be an almost finished clinic, looking carefully around before exposing himself to the surface. The meds that he came for were in a pouch strapped around his thigh. Though travelling lightly was important, he had taken more than Daniel would need, just in case another child became just as ill. Even though a combination of their implants and technorganic armour protected the adults from diseases that ravaged their ancestors, their children were still very vulnerable, especially the W.B.I.Cs.
He viewed the area around him. "Beautiful," he said sadly, softly, not even aware that he had said anything. The razed city was grey and crumbling and eerie…but still beautiful, no matter what was done to it.
The area where the clinic was located was known as Bolvangar—the land of the dead. It used to be a city, before the Decepticons razed it nearly one hundred years ago. He made his way through the rubble, claws half extended and spurs at the ready.
It had deceived humans before with its barrenness; humans who had not taken account the weak land surrounding the city. Bolvangar used to lie in the middle of a giant body of water, water that eventually became buried under dirt and debris.
It had taken so very little effort to cut Bolvangar off from the rest of the land.
Ever since then, the resistance had abandoned the hopes of setting up a permanent camp. They were safer living nomadically, underground, and in secret.
The youth stuck close to the debris and the scattered pieces of building material, taking his time and unwilling to expose himself even in this seemingly benign area. Skeletons of what used to be buildings still loomed, and the remains of vehicles that humans used to get around littered the streets.
Pausing in his trek, he placed an armoured hand on the remains of a car. All the glass had been shattered and swept away by wind and rain. The paint, which had once been bright yellow, was faded now.
It was useless to scavenge metal from this. It was just another remnant of the past, another reminder of what once was, of what could have been, and now, what could never be.
When the Decepticons had first landed, they had used alternative forms of human vehicles to blend in, to perform sneak attacks, and to generally mess with the humans' minds. Wasn't that car parked down the street a second ago? Did that car just drive by without a driver?
Which was a Decepticon, and which was just an ordinary car? The Decepticons still used alternative earth forms, even years later, as if to remind the humans that they were in charge of the planet.
He went on his way, sticking to the shadows and to the debris.
The grey-white mass of the bridge was a smudge in the distance when he heard a strange, low hum, followed by a series of clicks, then a loud roar. His breath caught in his throat.
Drones.
"So much for deserted," he muttered to himself. He could wonder why the drones were here later; he needed to get out now. He ducked into the next building, his heart pounding and hands curved stiffly, fully extending his claws. Soon, he heard the faint sounds of the drones, leaping and crushing debris, and knew that they were coming closer. He debated whether or not he could use his sonar system safely. It would allow him to spot drones from a distance, and figure out where they were and how many, but it did make the faintest of sounds that the drones had a good chance of picking up.
But it was either that, or he could stay where he was until they were on top of him, ripping him into little pieces…if he was lucky. If not…
He shook his head sharply, bringing himself back to the matter at hand.
He turned on his sonar, and caught a glimpse of many hulking shapes in the distance. They were right between him and the bridge.
He gulped. He was not going to try and make for the bridge. With what light weapons he was equipped with, he could take at most five drones, and that was if they came at him one at a time. He didn't want to wait for them to pass, either; they'd probably catch him. The only other alternative now was to make for the only other bridge, a whole day away, without being seen.
He slipped out, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
He had covered three blocks when a sharp snap sounded behind him. He turned around, claws drawn and cackling. His armour was built for close combat, and if the drones were equipped with blasters…
He thought that he had caught a glimpse of something bright, perhaps something yellow, and no drones were painted yellow…but nothing was there.
He went on his way, still sticking to the shadows. The area he was coming across was dense with torn machinery and fallen buildings—better for him, as humans had the upper hand in close quarters combat. It would also alert him to any pursuers.
Another sound again. He whirled around.
Nothing.
Were they toying with him?
His hand strayed towards his sonar system, and he had activated it before realizing his mistake.
The drones had heard him.
A loud blast sounded, alarmingly close, and he abandoned all cover as the thumps and growls behind him rose to deafening proportions. He tore through the littered streets, leaping and tumbling over the remains of cars and tanks and copters and jets.
He turned a corner—and found himself staring into the empty optics of a Raptor drone. It gazed at him, the sharp claws on its little hands twitching. It bared its teeth, and lunged towards him.
He barely evaded it as the drone's head changed direction and its jaws shut a hair's width from him. Behind it now, he quickly sunk his claws in its neck, and tore downwards, exposing wires and circuitry. It howled, but he took no notice and struck again, this time discharging a powerful voltage into the drone.
It went down, but at a high price.
More howls behind him, and already one of his five charge weapons was depleted.
This was bad. He needed to get across the bridge and back with the resistance members now.
He ran again, but the drones were close behind. He needed a hiding place, a safe bunker or…or something; a place where the drones would not be able to find him.
Raptors. Hard-hitters, but more for clean-up rather than combat. They're surface drones; great vision and great hearing but can't scan underground.
He needed a basement.
He forced himself to stay still for a precious second, taking into account the buildings around him. A collapsed building would be good, since it would make a thicker nest of concrete between him and the drones' scanners. Some of the buildings, though ravaged, were still standing, and the rest were rubble.
Except…
There was one there, looking more like a pile of debris rather than a former building. But the walls had collapsed in such a way, leaning against each other, that some of the basement still remained clear.
He dived into that one, scrambling through a barely visible hole and tumbling onto the ground, scrambling up quickly while checking to make sure that the meds in his pack had survived the encounter. He could hear the drones coming closer…then noticed that he wasn't alone.
He activated his weapon, but activated it too late. He found a blaster of silver metal, fully charged and barrel glowing, pointed right at his heart.
X x X
When they had first found out that the human resistance still existed in North America, the Autobots tried to bring the humans under their care. However, everything was working against them; even the humans themselves. There was a mist of hatred and suspicion and fear everywhere, and the humans would sooner attack them than allow the Autobots to come near their temporary campsites. Bumblebee and Optimus were actually chased out of human resistance territory, a truck and a VW Beetle tearing through what remained of roads. Charge weapons and bombs, weak but still potentially dangerous, rained around them, and it was only through sheer dumb luck that none of them hit their mark.
They stopped trying to approach the human resistance after that.
But they would always send in units when they caught wind of a Decepticon hunting party. However, the human-hunters were reclusive, out of the hearing range of their spies, and did not gossip or brag, for fear of competition from other 'cons in the pet trade. Extracting information and plans was very difficult, and they always got there too late.
The Autobots tried taking in the survivors, tried caring for them, but after their first attempt, they swore never to do such a thing again…for the sake of both parties.
Bumblebee vividly remembered the aftermath of one raiding party. The human resistance had split up, and one of the groups was badly hit.
The humans were crazy with fear, accusing the Autobots of being Decepticons in disguise. They would not listen to reason; they couldn't be kept in the med-bay, couldn't stand having huge metal aliens around them. Though they attacked the Autobots, given the opportunity, they didn't seem aware of them half the time. It was as though their very sanity had died. They would not eat; they would not drink; they would not sleep.
The Autobots tried sedating them, to try and calm them down, but that just made things worse. Whatever awareness the surviving humans had in them, it went ballistic at the sight of a needle or gas mask.
Three of the humans tried offlining themselves right inside Ratchet's med-bay. Five had found some sort of tool, a piece of glass…something seemingly benign but dangerous in desperate hands, and had started cutting themselves, muttering to no one in particular, begging them to leave them alone.
One of the Autobots—Bumblebee didn't remember which—had remarked in a friendly manner to a young human that she had very lovely eyes, trying to charm her, to calm her, to make her feel better.
Later, they would all find out that Ratchet barely came in time to stop the girl from gouging her own eyes out.
They were so…so afraid. Afraid of the fates that the Decepticons had planned for them as songbirds, decorations, guard dogs, pretty little assistants, and lap pets.
So afraid that they couldn't identify a helping hand when it was offered.
After a lengthy discussion, they decided that releasing the humans back into the questionable mercies outside the Autobot base was ultimately better for them—for humans and for Autobots—than keeping them perforce inside.
The only thing they could do was to wait for the humans to approach them.
A few blocks from the humans' former clinic, Bumblebee paused to look at the area around him. The remaining buildings stood, proudly and pathetically. Shattered glass and rock were strewn everywhere, moved by the winds and rains of time. "Beautiful," Bumblebee said, softly and sadly. The razed city was grey and crumbling and eerie…but still beautiful, no matter what was done to it.
A chasm separated the area from the mainland. The two areas of land were joined together by a hastily constructed and now crumbling metal bridge. He knew from Tracks' information that there was one other bridge further down, about an orn's walk away. Other than that, the area was completely isolated.
The humans had wanted to set up a permanent clinic. They did it in the underground, in the middle of a long-abandoned city, hoping that they could hide safely inside its interior. It did, until, because of their stagnant position, Cage eventually found them, and used their location against them.
The chasm was made by endless bombardment. Given the geographic makeup, it had taken only a few hours and a few drones. He had isolated the humans in a circular area of land, toying with them before sending in his aerial drones to pick off their defences. Then his drones constructed two bridges so that they could cross and capture the humans for the pet trade.
Bumblebee carefully walked over to a fallen human vehicle, trying to make as little noise as possible, as though he didn't want to disturb ghosts. He placed a large metal hand on it, thinking of the humans that rode around in these vehicles, humans that soon learned to fear the very things that were once so common to them.
To this day, the Decepticons still used alternative earth forms, keeping the humans afraid. Like human pets, the alternative earth forms were their trophies, visible proclamations that they had razed planet earth.
The only reason why Autobots used alternative forms was so that the Decepticons could not single them out as easily; an alien vehicle stuck out.
Bumblebee curled his fingers a little, digging his fingers into the metal of the car. It gave way as easily as clay.
He moved on. He still needed to get to the clinic.
He could see the entrance, ravaged by Cage's attack, when he saw a dark shape step out into the shadows of the building before disappearing into the shadows.
Quickly, Bumblebee ducked behind some debris. He took a quick peek through a crack in the wall. It took a while for him to find the thing, and it was only in Bumblebee's optic screens for mere nanoclicks; but a nanoclick was all he needed.
It was small, like all drones, and of a model that Bumblebee didn't recognize. He was still trying to figure out what exactly it was he was looking at when he heard a strange, low hum, followed by a series of clicks, then a loud roar. The energon in Bumblebee's wires ran cold.
Drones.
"So much for deserted," he muttered to himself. He could figure out what the drones were doing here later. He pulled his blaster from subspace. The first drone that Bumblebee had spotted coming out of the clinic paused, looking in the direction of the roar. Was it sending information to the other drones? It was small, so it was probably a scouting model, whatever it was. More importantly, which 'con was that information reaching?
Then the drone disappeared again, melting into the shadows. He tried scanning for it, but found that he couldn't. The drone had some sort of cloaking device in its metal. Bumblebee only had occasional visuals going for him. Soon, he heard the faint sounds of the other drones, leaping and crushing debris, and knew that they were coming closer.
He cursed himself for having let his guard down, but he had to move. Perhaps getting rid of the scout drone would confuse the rest of them enough for Bumblebee to make a quick getaway. The difficulty lay in finding the slippery thing and offlining the drone without it spotting him and alerting its fellows. If he could also get the information the drone gathered, it would probably help the Autobots in strategic planning. The information could tell them what the Decepticons knew about this place, and what they were planning to do with it.
He looked in the direction of the bridge, just a grey smudge against the grey sky, and knew that the drones were now right between him and the bridge. He could see that the drones had somehow infested the bridge that he had used to get to this area of land, at least a quartex ago.
He was not going to try and make for the bridge. With what light weapons he was equipped with, he could take at most twenty drones, and that was if they came at him one at a time. The only other alternative now was to make for the only other bridge, a whole orn away. But first, he had to deal with that scout drone.
He slipped out quietly, his spark pulsing loudly in his chamber.
He followed him from a distance, but the drone had stealth going for it. It was in and out of Bumblebee's vision, and was almost never picked up by his scanners. But Bumblebee somehow kept up with it.
Bumblebee was a scout, so he was much quieter than many of his comrades, but with the ground completely littered, he had to be very careful, or else he'd—
His foot landed on a pipe, snapping it in half. He ducked out of sight, blaster at the ready, hoping that the drone hadn't spotted him. It was a while until the drone started looked away from Bumblebee's direction and started moving again.
Bumblebee frowned, still following the drone and sticking to the shadows. The drone seemed very…intelligent. Whenever it was in Bumblebee's line of vision, it kept looking around itself, as though suspecting that it was being followed. The drone wasn't acting like most drones…but perhaps it was of a more advanced model.
The drone lead him to an area dense with torn machinery and fallen buildings—better for him, as drones did not do well in close quarters combat. As a mini-bot, he had the upper hand.
Crack.
Bumblebee whirled around, just in time to see a Raptor drone came towards him slowly, its jaws open and showing a double row of very sharp metal teeth.
Behind him, he could hear the drone he was tracking make a soft sound, possibly alerting the other drones. It had disappeared before Bumblebee could stop it, but now he had a whole new threat to deal with.
Bumblebee blasted the Raptor drone, sending it offline with a single shot to the processor, but at a high price.
More howls behind him.
This was bad. He needed to get across the bridge and back with the rest of the Autobots now.
He ran, vaguely noticing that he passed two drones fighting—over what, he didn't know and didn't care—looking for a hiding place, a safe bunker or…or something; a place where the drones would not be able to find him.
Raptors. Hard-hitters, but more for clean-up rather than combat. They're surface drones; great vision and great hearing but can't scan underground.
He needed a basement.
He forced himself to stay still for a precious second, taking into account the buildings around him. A collapsed building would be good, since it would make a thicker nest of concrete between him and the drones' scanners. Some of the buildings, though ravaged, were still standing, and the rest were rubble.
Except…
There was one there, looking more like a pile of debris rather than a former building. But the walls had collapsed in such a way, leaning against each other, that some of the basement still remained clear.
He dived into that one, barely fitting through the barely visible hole and landing ungraciously onto the ground. He picked himself up, retreating a bit away from the entrance, weapon at the ready. There was an agonizing silence, then the distant howl of a Raptor drone in pain, and then silence again.
Then…all of a sudden, Bumblebee was not alone anymore. Something small and dark grey-green slipped through the hole, landing on the ground right in front of Bumblebee.
He raised his weapon, but raised it too late. Bumblebee found a blade of black metal, alight with electricity, right over his spark chamber.