Chapter 7
Ratchet crept silently through the dark alley. Swirls of oil spiraled slowly in puddles of water in pot holes in the pavement. Trash cans varying in size shape lined both sides, paired gargoyles standing sentry at each rusted door. In the distance, a frightened cat yowled and streaked off into blackness, and a horn blared as it sped across a dimly-lit street. The stars above were mostly obscured by smog reflecting the light from street lights on the opposite sides of the brick buildings.
The red chevron on his forehead caught a line of clothing hung from one of the towering apartment buildings, and he reached up and delicately removed the string from the point. Even though he would be easy to spot in the darkness, a shimmering white and red figure, there was nobody to do so. The humans were all in their beds, sleeping soundly, aside from a few night owls. According to his internal clocks, it was one hour after midnight, local time, on Sunday night.
He sniffed and frowned, his olfactory sensors capturing an unpleasant malodor emanating from nearby. His face scrunched, and he waved his hand in front of his nose, dispersing the scent. "I don't understand how they can live like this. It'd rust even the likes of us," he said silently to himself.
No time for exploring, he thought. The rendezvous was fast approaching. Optimus, Jazz, and Ironhide would be on their way if not already in waiting in Archer's local junkyard. Bumblebee and Prowl would be surveying the area, searching for the source of the signal that had interrupted the transmission being overheard by the bounty hunter Lockdown. Ratchet hoped that any humans targeted by Lockdown would be safe. Lockdown was ruthless in his pursuit of his targets, and there was no reason to assume it'd be otherwise here.
Either way, Ratchet thought, he needed to find a disguise, and fast. He didn't like the idea of hiding in this place. It wasn't just the fact that he wouldn't be hard to spot- this place reminded him of the backstreets of Iacon, back before the War had broken out.
Back then, he was studying the mechanics and functions of the Cybertronian body and systems at Iacon University. He had memorized every detail, every crease, every shard, slab, sheet, and plate in the entirety of every Cybertronian's being. As a result, he had become renowned as the single greatest med-bot on Cybertron. He wasn't much of a fighter back then, but training under Optimus Prime had proven useful, and it wasn't rare for the Autobot medic to use a medical tool or two to sever a Decepticon limb.
He felt the kick to his back almost as if it had just happened. Ratchet collapsed in his mind, slammed to the ground under the weight of another Cybertronian. His superstructure groaned under the pressure.
Perceptor gasped. "I knew we shouldn't have come here!" he shouted, before a hand lifted his by his head from the ground and tossed him into a wall. The purple hand seemed familiar to Ratchet, but he couldn't place it.
"You nerds shouldn't have come here. Everybody knows Blitzwing's territory, and everybody respects Blitzwing," the attacker growled.
"We… we don't have any money!" Ratchet cried.
"Oh, I don't want your money. I'll take my payment from your exoskeletons!"
In the present, a woman screamed. Ratchet's head jerked up, alert, and he took in the scent of the area, detecting pheromones, hormones, and molecular residue. His audio sensors indicated fright in the cry. His scanners worked, analyzing every aspect of every object in his field of view. A cat yowled and darted off, leaping out of a trash can and disappearing into the darkness. But there was no sign of the endangered woman.
Ratchet groaned. What would Prime do? he wondered. What would Optimus Prime do in a situation like this?
Perceptor groaned, pinned against the metal wall. Ratchet couldn't move. Blitzwing growled above, hunched over the white and red medical student. Perceptor's black hand grasped at Blitzwing's thick, light brown arm, pathetically attempting to pull it away.
"Wh… what are you going to do to us?" Perceptor rasped.
The scream came again, and Ratchet was again firmly on Earth, in the present. It was coming from somewhere up ahead. Acting quickly, Ratchet leapt into the air, landed on his hands and vaulted across the open road, rolling nimbly into the next alley. Again the scream came, and Ratchet stood hunched, and hurried lightly toward the source of the sound. He could hear sirens in the distance.
Perceptor's answer came promptly. "Nothing, if I have anything to say about it." Blitzwing was effortlessly tossed away from the two victims by a well-placed kick, slamming against a wall, bounced against the opposite, and hit the ground hard. Megatron stepped into Ratchet's view. Ratchet was lifted to his feet by another being, and then Orion Pax stepped over to help Perceptor up.
"I don't know what you two were doing here, but you must leave immediately," Pax suggested politely. "Megatron and I will handle this."
Dazed, Ratchet nodded, seeing Blitzwing climb to his feet and rush Megatron. Megatron easily side-stepped and tripped him, allowing Pax to tackle him and restrict his movement. "You are nothing but a bully," Pax declared. Blitzwing struggled to escape in vain.
"You're not going anywhere," Megatron added. "Not until the police arrive. You're going to be put away for quite some time."
Blitzwing only growled in reply, and clawed at the ground, squirming. Megatron lifted his foot and placed it firmly on the back of Blitzwing's head. He turned and flashed Ratchet a kind smile, and Ratchet took comfort in it. Those two could handle it. Ratchet nodded and turned to Perceptor, gesturing that they should leave. Perceptor nodded in reply, and the two turned and ran back down the alley.
That's the last time I'll ever take the back way, Ratchet thought to himself. The campus's Energon café wasn't worth getting pounded on by freaks like Blitzwing.
Fully confident, Ratchet returned his thoughts to the present. At the peripheral of a lit circle beneath a buzzing streetlight, a woman kicked and slapped at a man trying to abscond with her purse.
Ratchet leapt forward into the lighted area, revealing himself fully. His right hand folded under into his wrist, and a triangular piece of metal rotated forward, suspended away from his arm by two metal rods. The metal split into multiple segments along its width, spread out along its axis, and compressed into a single blade. The jigsaw began spinning, letting out an unworldly buzz that filled the air.
Both humans froze, gazing stupidly at this new development. "I believe the phrase is, 'stick 'em up'," Ratchet said.
Immediately, the criminal bolted, dropping the woman's purse and running to save himself. His figure quickly disappeared into the murk, footsteps drumming out a frantic rhythm.
Once the footsteps faded, Ratchet relaxed. "Go ahead, reclaim your belongings. The criminal won't harm you now. Call your local medical services and have yourself checked for damage."
The woman's eyes grew wider as she realized that this… this thing, this monster was speaking to her… in English. She dropped forward over her purse, grabbed it hastily and scrambled to her feet, and fled as well. Ratchet retreated into the darkness, and began to wait.
If the human female had followed his advice, a medical transport would be en-route at any moment. It would be his preferred disguise; not only did it match his natural coloration, it fit his function and background, as well.
The minutes passed quickly before Ratchet's audio receptors detected the sound of the siren present on most of Earth's emergency service vehicles. He activated his visual scanners, searching for the source of the sound, no doubt the disguise he'd picked before the Autobots had even landed. He crawled forward, avoiding the light, until he finally spotted it.
The drivers of the ambulance did not notice the line of green light that flashed over their vehicle, nor did they notice when another, perfectly identical ambulance pulled tentatively out of the alley, and angled its front axle in the opposite direction. The only difference was the red alien symbol painted on the roof, and another molded into the grill.
G. B. Blackrock yawned deeply, stretching his arms and legs, and downed a cup of black coffee. He glanced at his watch, which read in black digital characters, "1:24 AM."
"I understand, sir," Korosky said, speaking politely into the receiver. "Yes, sir, we're allowing him. Yes, yes, I know how important it is. Yes, I know- ye- yes. Uh-huh. Good night to you, too." Korosky sighed and hung up.
As he passed the long plastic table set up against the wall covered in a mocha-colored fabric, he grabbed a ceramic mug and filled it with the dark caffeinated brew. He sighed and sat at a chair across from Blackrock.
"The President can't be let out of his cabin at the back of the plane, and he's not very happy. If this gets out, it could be his Katrina," Korosky said.
"And it may well be my Exxon-Valdez," Blackrock replied.
Korosky cleared his throat. "I know. That's why Washington's mobilizing the armed forces and is allowing you to go to that school- what is it again?"
"Archer High School. It's a small town northeast of Los Angeles. Hell of a football team, though."
"I just hope to God we don't bring anything we don't want along with us."
Blackrock didn't reply, but yawned and stretched again.
"White's fine. The doctor says his hearing's coming back slowly. He should be fit to lead any military operations we might be forced into against these things, if necessary."
"Good. I just hope it doesn't come to that. My company would be devastated."
Korosky rolled his eyes.
"But what I want to know," Blackrock continued, "is why you're so obsessed with destroying these organisms, and why you're so sure they're all malevolent."
Korosky sighed and bent over to reach for a thick suitcase under his seat. "What you're about to see is classified above top secret. I've been put at the head of the unit investigating these things." He lifted the suitcase to his lap and flipped open the latches, and slowly opened the case.
Blackrock's eyes widened, he sat up straight, and his jaw dropped. Inside the suitcase, held in place by tight rubber restraints, was a head. The head was human-sized, faded-blue metal with red-tinted eyes and razor-sharp teeth. Two black, segmented metal antennae hung menacingly from the top. A faded purple insectoid face was printed between the antennae.
"We found this in Africa, near the fossilized remains of a very old human settlement. Scorch marks burned into stone around him indicate a very heated battle, and I mean that literally. It would've taken plasma to burn stone that darkly and deeply, yet the metal of this head is unmarked. When we analyzed a rogue F-22 that had transformed, we found that the exoskeletal structure is ninety-five percent identical."
"Okay," he stammered, "but why are you so sure they're hostile?"
"A few of these early humans were found with shattered bones or bones missing entirely- one had a hole in its skull, and we found more of this guy scattered throughout the village."
Blackrock's face grew grim. He gulped sharply.
"They've been here before, trying to exterminate us before we even began as a race. Now they're back, and they're much, much bigger. Seems like they've undergone some sort of great upgrade," Korosky explained.
"I see."
"We need you to go through your speech as planned. Do not give a single indication something may be wrong. As far as the American public is concerned, nothing is happening."
Blackrock nodded. He sighed, glanced out the window. "I am death, destroyer of worlds; look upon ye mighty, and despair."
"Indeed."
"I think I'm going to throw up," Blackrock groaned.
