A/N: In the real world, a lack of air conditioning has produced a lack of sleep which, in turn, has caused a lack of literacy. I apologize for any increase in typos due to my negligence, but I figured it was more important that the story continue to be posted than be most thoroughly proofread. I am still proofreading, but probably not in a very effective fashion. Thank you for your time, and I hope y'all continue to enjoy the story.


"I'm telling you, Prime, there was no car," Fowler insisted.

He was very much displeased to learn that Jack and Arcee had been slinking around secretly, and he was especially miffed to have been called at four in the morning. He did not appreciate coming down here in what he felt was the dead of night, to discuss the misbehavior of one of Optimus' Autobots, only to have it turned around on him. And he really didn't appreciate finding out that he had not been told everything, such as the fact that Bumblebee had pushed a car, rather than a body, off a hill.

"There was when I was there," Optimus said mildly.

"Not when I got there," Fowler told him, "And that man didn't die in a car crash."

"He didn't?" Jack interrupted, looking from Autobot to man and back again.

Optimus must have been startled by this revelation, but he neither said anything nor did anything. He simply waited for Fowler to speak, to tell what he knew.

"According to the team who did the autopsy, our victim was struck from the left," he gestured to his left hip, "Hit hard enough to knock him down, whereupon his assailant presumably drove over him, and then came back for another go 'round. The car rolled over him diagonally, both wheels, crushing the pelvis and ribcage, and bursting a number of internal organs. The man was dead by the time he went down the hill, those injuries are all postmortem."

Jack winced at the picture Fowler painted, glad that Raf wasn't here. But he knew he must speak in place of Raf, for someone had to say what the boy would have if he were here.

"Bumblebee didn't flatten anyone," Jack said firmly, "You'd know that if you'd been looking at the crime scene more closely. Nobody was flattened. A car was pushed off the side of the road, after having come into violent contact with another car."

"The victim was killed earlier, then transported to the scene," Fowler said with a shrug, "So the bug wanted to cover his tracks, make it look like an accident instead of straight up murder."

"No," Jack protested, though he could barely choke out the words, "That's not what happened."

"Look, son, I'm sorry, but that's how it looks," Fowler said, "The victim was deader than Elvis when he hit the bottom, but somebody ran over him before that. Twice. And the Scout's our only suspect."

"Bee's not a killer. Not like this," Jack insisted, swinging to face the Autobot leader suddenly, "Tell him, Optimus, tell him he's wrong!"

"I fear I have made a grave error," Optimus said in a low voice, tinged with horror, "I permitted emotion to cloud my judgment and in so doing may well have unleashed a monster to wreak havoc upon all of humanity."

"You're not seriously buying this scrap, Optimus," Arcee said, crossing her arms, "You don't really believe Bee's capable of murder, do you?"

"I did not believe Megatron was capable of ravaging our world until there was no life left in it. He was my friend, and I did not see until too late the beast which dwelled inside of him."

"You're equating Bee with Megatron?" Jack gasped in disbelief.

"I must consider the possibility. The consequences for my rushed decision may be fatal."

"I don't believe this," Arcee snapped, her eyes flashing angrily, "I can't believe that you would even consider that Bumblebee intentionally ran over someone."

"Because I did not consider Megatron in the light of reason, I did not see his treachery until it was too late. My misplaced faith in him has prolonged this war. My lack of suspicion was what gave him his power. I will not allow that to happen again. Never again."

"But there was a car," Jack protested, "You saw it."

"There wasn't any car," Fowler argued.

"Whether there was or was not a car is of little significance at this juncture," Optimus said.

"Really?" Arcee spat, "Because I think it's the only thing of significance. Earth cars don't just up and walk away. Only a Cybertronian could do that."

"Unless there was a reason to keep the car hidden," Fowler pointed out, "If your Scout got it from a junkyard, we'd find out on closer inspection. He may have brought it to the scene to convince Optimus, then returned to remove it later, before my guys could get there."

"I do not believe so, Agent Fowler," Optimus disagreed, "Bumblebee would not risk returning for any reason. Aside from which, he had sustained heavy damage from another vehicle."

"So he didn't flatten anyone," Arcee said.

"Not necessarily correct. It is possible there was an altercation. Perhaps your Scout bashed this guy around in his own car, then backed off until he got out to call for a tow, and then WHAM! Finished him off," Fowler theorized.

"That makes no sense," Jack protested.

"None of this makes sense," Arcee added.

"Neither does Megatron's lust for unlimited power," Optimus said, "Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And we of Cybertron are undeniably more powerful than the people of Earth."

"And yet, we don't go around flattening innocent people," Arcee pointed out, "We control ourselves, we don't kill people. Not even accidentally."

"What if one of us did?" Optimus asked, point-blank, "What if the allegations are true? What if Bumblebee committed the crime of murder?"

"Then I'd say we hunt him down, put him down for good," Arcee replied without a moment's hesitation, "But not before we're sure. Not until there's proof. What's the Earth saying, Jack?" she hesitated a moment, "Until proven guilty, innocent?"

"Innocent until proven guilty," Jack corrected.

"Right," Arcee turned back to Optimus, "Right now, we have no proof. Only circumstantial evidence. We don't know what happened. We need to find Bee, and hear what he has to say. Something we ought to have done before now."

"That could be easier said than done," Optimus sighed, "A few hours ago, Ratchet informed me that Bumblebee's life signal went offline."

"That doesn't mean he's dead," Arcee said more fiercely than intended.

"No. But it does mean that we cannot find him easily. It also means that he has cut ties with the Autobots, that he has no intention of ever being found."

"If he was innocent, he'd have no reason to hide," Fowler pointed out.

"Unless he thought we believed he was guilty," Arcee said, "If he realized that he was being set up."

"Set up? By who? And how?" Fowler asked.

"That is one of many questions we must consider before taking further action," Optimus said.

Fowler's phone rang. He answered it, identifying himself in a crisp tone, then listening. It seemed as though he went pale, and he spoke hurriedly, then hung up.

"What is it, Agent Fowler?" Optimus inquired.

"We... we better turn on the TV," Fowler said in a slightly weak voice, "Things just got a whole lot worse. A whole lot worse."


It was dark. And damp, and dank. The room was small, cramped, more like a shipping crate than a room at all. The sound of unoiled gears grinding was deafening, echoing hollowly outside and reverberating inside. So loud, metal crunching and squealing against metal, tearing itself slowly to pieces, but not quietly. A horrible shrieking death of a lifeless machine.

The noise was maddening, all-consuming, relentless, endless. Moaning, wailing, screaming. The sound groaned on and on and on, never stopping, never growing quieter. So loud, so painfully loud. In the utter blackened darkness, it was possible to imagine the precipice of insanity. Looking down from a world of darkness into an ink-black pit of madness.

An involuntary, shuddering buzz escaped Bumblebee, and he tried to curl up into an even tighter ball. He hated this place. He hated that noise. He hated the darkness, the small room, the dampness which threatened to rust him, the machine that made the noise and everything. He wanted all of it to just go away, be gone forever, leaving him in blessed peace.

But it didn't stop. The claustrophobic container did not expand, the noise did not grow quiet, the wet did not dissipate. It just went on, and seemed to have been going on forever. No beginning or ending to this black night, this spark-shattering noise. But worse than the noise, he knew, was what would happen if the noise ever stopped and the door to the room was opened.

When the noise stopped, he would come. He would kill him. Just one circuit at a time. Ripping, tearing, cutting away at him, who he was. Gnawing away at him until there was simply nothing left. And then, after that, the program. Bumblebee shuddered just thinking about it. Rewriting his software, chewing him up inside, eating him, swallowing him whole. Slowly destroying him, piece by piece, leaving him empty. As hollow as the echo of the gears in their endless march to destruction.

He hated the noise. But worse than his hate was his fear. His fear sat like a big amorphous monster, he could almost feel it grinning at him in the dark. Madness. Descending into it, drowning in it. Consumed by it. Ceasing to be, being no more. He shuddered again.

He wished someone would come and find him. Not him, someone else. He didn't know who, couldn't possibly remember. That knowledge had already been taken away, deleted, erased. It was gone. But the feeling that someone was out there, still looking for him, hadn't gone away. Could not be destroyed.

Hope, glimmering faintly in this endless black hell, was all he had to hold onto. The only thing keeping him from falling forever into the black pit of insanity, keeping fear from completely smothering him. But each time he came, it got fainter. Hope was dying. Slowly, painfully, becoming bent and twisted from the torture it was being forced to endure. Soon it would be gone, and Bumblebee would be all alone with the Fear. And Madness. Bitter, maniacal, mindless, Madness.

The noise stopped. A terrible silence crept in, stealing through the darkness and sapping Bumblebee's strength. The silence was far worse than the noise could ever be. It closed in, making the room smaller and smaller, crushing him. It wrapped itself around Hope, squeezing it into nothing. It shattered Hate, leaving only Fear. Cold, biting terror closed in with the silence. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide. The silence and fear overtook him, claiming his senses, his circuits, his body, his mind. Slowly seeping into every corner of his being, eating him away. It was agony, slowly dying in the darkness alone. Crumbling, Bumblebee tried to cry out, but he couldn't make a sound. Inescapably, inexorably, he was fading away. His legs were gone now, but it didn't matter because there was nowhere to run. Then his body, his arms, his hands, his face, his eyes, all gone now. All that was left was a vulnerable, trembling Spark. And then, the darkness consumed that too. He was gone. All gone. Replaced with a ceaseless flood of Nothing. Blackness, like an ocean tide, flowing in the darkness, seeking escape from this Nothing. Nothing. Nothing was there. Then there was a light. Distant, faint. A dark red light, the color of human blood. Escape. Towards the light, go towards the light. Suddenly it was blocked, a terrible shadow fell across the light, spreading its wings. A shriek rang through the air, echoing endlessly, horribly. There was no light now, no Nothing. Just an endless void. Blackness.

Megatron!

{Awaken. See what your precious humanity has done.}

The voice of the Viper reverberated in his mind, and Bumblebee came to awareness, leaving dreams and memories to lie in their darkness alone. There was no machine, no tiny room. He knew who he was, and why he was alone. He was uncertain how he had gotten where he was, parked on the edge of the road in a rundown Earth neighborhood.

Crumbling buildings leaned against each other for support, peeling paint marred by messy graffiti. Four kids just a little older than Jack were hanging around. Two boys were circling him, one held a tire iron. A third boy was pinning a girl to Bumblebee's hood, he could feel her body heat. Salty drops of water splashed upon metal, slid down the yellow hood. She was crying. Why was she crying? The boys were all laughing, seemed to be having a good time.

But their laughter was cruel, like the mad cackling of Starscream.

"Let me go! Please, just let me go!" the girl choked out between tearful gasps.

The boys laughed more. And then the one with the tire iron swung. The iron crashed against the hood, inches from the girl's head. She screamed as it was raised. This time it cracked the driver's side window. The implement of destruction came down a third time. This time the glass shattered.

The girl let out a wail of terror as the boys forced their way inside the car.

The boy with the iron stepped back, allowing one of his companions to open the door and do a swift search of the car. Under the seats, behind the sun shades, under the dash. Searching, searching, not finding. He pulled out of the car, shook his head.

"We'll have to hot-wire it then," the boy holding the girl down growled, "No way we're leaving this beauty here to get stolen. It's ours now."

The other boy nodded, slid into the driver's seat while the boy with the tire iron opened the back door and stood back, giving the third boy room to maneuver the girl into the back seat.

Bumblebee felt violated. These people had broken his window, they were mucking about with his mechanics, grubby fingers prying wires loose, sparking them together, forcing their way inside, taking what was not theirs. And the girl, still screaming, writhing in the arms of her captors, crying out in terror, eyes wide like a frightened animal, breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, her face chalk white.

Terrified.

{So why not stop them?} the Viper asked, and Bumblebee could imagine the sinister grin that usually accompanied the sinuous voice, {There's no reason to hide from these pathetic creatures, scrabbling about in the dirt. They believe themselves powerful, but it takes three to subdue one frightened girl, smaller than any one of them. You could finish them all, barely even blink doing it. They deserve it. So why not?}

Bumblebee shuddered. He wanted to. He really wanted to. But he could not reveal his true nature. It was one of the rules he lived by. He could not interfere with human affairs. He knew what he should do. Just refuse to start, make them find another car. But he couldn't make himself do that.

He had to know what was going to happen to the poor frightened girl. He had no business knowing, but he could not ignore the fear in her eyes. He allowed his engine to start with a cough.

"Hell yeah!" The driver exalted.

"Woo!" the kid riding shotgun shouted, flinging his fists up like he was on a roller coaster.

"Let's get this shit going!" the third cried, "And hurry it up, before the cops show up. Won't be long before somebody realizes Cindy's missing the party!"

The driver obediently put the car in gear and jammed his foot down on the accelerator. Bumblebee shot forward into the road, the driver yanking the wheel just in time to prevent him from rocketing into the telephone pole on the other side of the street.