William Fowler shifted nervously in his cushioned seat. It was considerably more comfortable than being in a Beoing-17, but he sat with the restlessness of a soldier, braced to jump to his feet at a moment's notice. In his Ranger days, he had seen his fair share of action: being behind enemy lines, jumping out of airplanes, and flying a Raptor way too close to the ground. But he knew how to respond accordingly.

However, being surrounded by top government officials, several of them being his superiors, Fowler found his palms sweating. At least Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox was to his right, under the same scrutiny, and that they sat at a conference table. Instead of a defense table on trial.

To Fowler's left was his superior, a man in his late forties with a number of ribbons that put his own collection to shame—General Bryce. But instead of directing his attention at him, his focus was on another figure. Directly in front of the federal agent, pinning him down with piercing stone eyes, was the Secretary of Defense.

Salt-and-pepper hair, defined features, back straight, and his glare undeterred by wiry glasses, the man looked an experienced general. Former one, at least. The Secretary carried himself with the authority of the head of the United States military.

"Thank you for coming in on such short notice, gentlemen," the man said. As if they had a choice. "General Bryce, I understand you are in command of NEST?"

"Yes, sir," the general hummed obediently.

Spending most of his time confined to a desk instead of a field, the man was more on the plump side, but he still held himself tall and proud. No troublesome hair, broad shoulders, stern features. The Secretary squinted at the piece of paper in his hands.

"Who is the field commander of operations?" he interrogated.

"I am, sir," Lennox spoke up. "Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox."

The Secretary's gaze reminded Fowler of a hawk at it settled on him. "And you would be…?"

"William Fowler," the agent introduced. "I liaise between the U.S. government and the Autobots."

"So then, would any of you know about the arms deal bust last week, where we discovered thirty million dollars worth of alien tech?" The man dropped the file on the table. "Well, black market price, anyway."

Fowler gulped, painfully. He subtly looked to his partners. Lennex had a solemn expression, but was wringing his hands in nervousness. Bryce looked like a stone statue.

"According to the Alien-Autobot Cooperation Act," a second voice spoke up, "we share intelligence and tactics, but not their weaponry. Mind explaining that to me?"

Fowler glanced to see a man sitting next to the Secretary, dressed in a flashy black suit. His pitch-black hair was cut short and wiry glasses balanced precariously on his nose. The liaison remembered his name. Theodore Galloway, National Security Advisor to the President. Or, that was what he was supposed to be. It was Bryce that answered.

"NEST is a joint military force made up of U.S. military and the Autobots," the general explained. "There has to be a degree of trust between us. But the Autobots will not share their technology, because its way more advanced than ours… and destructive."

The man pointedly cut it off at that. Fowler remembered Prime's comment once, that he would not hand over their weaponry because he knew there were humans thatwould abuse it. The alien may have had respect for the significantly smaller and younger species, but he was not blind to mankind's destructive nature. Galloway's jaw clenched, revealing that he did not agree with the sentiment.

"Don't you think that's a little unfair?" the man accused. "They have all the big guns, and we have nothing to defend ourselves. And obviously they are violating the act, because how else would the weapons get in possession of the extremists?"

"Sir," Lennox dared to speak up. "You forgot about the… other faction."

"Right…" the Secretary mused as he picked up another random file. "De-cept-i-cons? Led by "Megalord, or something."

"Megatron," Lennox corrected quickly. Heaven forbid a human muddled a Cybertronian's name.

"According to our files, Sector Seven labeled him 'NBE-1' as part of their… 'Project Iceman,'" Galloway reviewed.

Fowler felt Lennox tense beside him at the name of the shadowy organization. The agent couldn't blame him. In the colonel's eyes, Sector Seven was responsible, albeit indirectly, for the three hundred soldiers whose lives were lost. Sector Seven could have warned that the Earth was slowly being invaded by hostile aliens, but kept those secrets for themselves.

"Sector Seven was disbanded, sir," Lennox grounded out.

For a good reason. Sector Seven had been hoarding Cybertronian relics for decades, including the Lord of the Decepticons himself, reverse-engineering their technology in the name of the 'advancement of mankind.' Even the Autobots were abhorred by the experiments, which was the worse than torture in their point-of-view. Not only were they done on troublesome Decepticons, but friendly Autobots.

To learn what secrets Sector Seven was hiding, and to prevent a full-scale war, Congress signed an act to force the organization to hand over all their intelligence and their "borrowed" weaponry. It pleased the Autobots enough for the extra-terrestrials to agree to a peace treaty, but unfortunately the other set of aliens were not as forgiving.

Still, Fowler doubted the Decepticons would willingly trade with humans, even outlaws. Megatron's bitter hatred towards mankind was no secret. Plus it was not in his nature. He chose war over peace any day.

"Replaced by Non-biological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty—NEST," the Secretary recalled. "And according to the treaty, the Autobots are only to cooperate with U.S. military forces, they are not to interact with any civilians." If only they knew that went out the window real quick. "They are to assist us in eradicating any Decepticons, but not to surrender any of their technology or weaponry."

"And we have been successful with that, sir," Lennox defended before there would be any accusations thrown. "In the last three years alone, NEST has responded to eighteen Decepticons incursions."

"Pardon me for interrupting," Galloway interjected, leaning forward, with a hasty tone that told he was not sorry. "When NEST was originally founded, you reported there was no threat to the human population. No Decepticon to speak of," he added, cutting a hand through the air.

Fowler wanted to interject himself, correcting the advisor misread the report. When NEST was formed, the Decepticons were still licking their wounds from their humiliating defeat. They were quiet for the first few months. Planning a counterattack.

"Two years ago, you had two Decepticon incursions within a six-month period," Galloway continued. "Correct?"

"Correct," Bryce nodded.

"And now, in the last year alone, there has been twelve confrontations between our U.S. forces and this menace." He fixed the NEST representatives with a demanding glare. "Why is that?"

"Megatron," Lennox answered. "The last time U.S. ground forces encountered him was in Mission City. An air strike I called in—"

"An air strike in civilian air space."

Lennox swallowed. "…Yes. The air strike and suppressive fire from the Autobots left him critically damaged. He disappeared from all surveillance, and so did the Decepticons. Without their leader, the 'Cons were left unorganized and scattered." The colonel explained it slowly and clearly, like he was introducing a concept to children. Or he was tired of repeating the same script for the umpteenth time. "In the winter of last year… he came back. Ever since, attacks on human facilities has significantly increased."

"I don't understand," Galloway squinted, not digesting a single word that the colonel had said. "Why would he just up and leave Earth… and then 'come back'?"

Fowler could see Lennox reaching for patience.

"He was critically dam—" the colonel repeated, only to be cut off.

"No, no, I got that," the security advisor snapped, shifting in his seat in agitation. "Why did he return to Earth?"

It was the NEST representatives' turn to stare. Fowler knew Megatron had fled to deep space after his retreat. While the agent wanted to remain optimistic that was the end of it, the Autobots suspected the warlord was planning a counterattack. When they found remnants of his followers on Earth, Optimus was convinced that the Decepticons never left the planet at all. Fowler opened his mouth to say such, but never got the opportunity.

"There's only one clear conclusion," Galloway claimed. "The Autobots!" When he only received dumbstruck expressions, he elaborated, "The Decepticons are here only because their sworn enemies are here. They are here to hunt Autobots."

Fowler immediately bristled at the venomous, accusing tone, and he felt Lennox and even General Bryce was sitting a little straighter. They hadn't been called here to give an explanation. They had been called her to find someone to blame.

"With all due respect, we have been fighting side-by-side with the Autobots for years," Lennox grounded out defensively, but kept his voice level and calm.

"Lieutenant colonel, you've been paid to shoot, not play poker with your space buddies."

Lennox's jaw clenched, muttering under his breath, "Don't tempt me…"

"At this point, this… Meg-a-tron has done more for us than the Autobots have!" Galloway said, leaning back in his chair while waving a hand. "It was reverse engineering his schematics that advanced our technology to become the modern world we know today. And the Autobots? They refuse to trade anything. They have given us nothing, but dead soldiers."

Never in Fowler's entire life did he want to punch someone. Galloway had become security advisor to the new president after the Act had been written. He was reading words off of documents, most of them written years ago. He had no interest in reading up-to-date reports, or even eye-witness testimonies. He had been sent to read the facts, and determine if it was a threat to national security. But he was reading the wrong facts.

True, Megatron had been captive of the U.S. government for a hundred years, ever since Captain Archibald Witwicky discovered his frozen body in the Artic Circle, and then transported to the States thirty years later. He was Sector Seven's treasured "Project Iceman." Their understanding of the universe broadened greatly and technology have been advanced by fifty-to-a-hundreds years, maybe more. But the very thing that had created the human's modern day, was the very thing that could destroy it.

Megatron was nothing short of an egotistical megalomaniac. He was vengeful and held bitter grudges, that he didn't let go even after the debt had already been paid. He had every intention to make all of humanity pay for his humiliation, and he used it as another reason to crush the Autobots, who had allied with his captors.

"I mean, have we even bothered to communicate with these Decepticons?" Galloway inquired.

"Sir, you are not actually suggesting of negotiating with the enemy?" Bryce interjected, his tone filled with disapproval.

"Terms of surrender have to be written somehow."

The Decepticons? Surrender? Oh, Fowler could hear Megatron's bellowing laughter. That is, if the intergalactic warlord didn't destroy the entire envoy for utterly insulting him.

"Apparently someone else has already jumped the gun," the Secretary finally spoke up. He had watched the entire exchange with watchful eyes and attentive ears, but he was still not deviated from their original concern. "Is there any reason to believe the Decepticons would trade with humans?"

"Not a chance, sir," Fowler answered quickly, grateful to speak to another audience. "The Decepticons hate our guts with a passion. They would never share their technology."

"I don't want to believe NEST is at fault, but if I have to investigate." Fowler recognized that false polite tone that was used too many times by politicians being interviewed on live TV. "There are protocols in place that after an incursion, all Cybertronian salvage is removed from the premises. If there are alien relics on the black market, that weren't given to us, then I have to believe these protocols were failed to be followed correctly."

Fowler and Lennox exchanged uneasy glances. Fowler kept his mouth such as the lieutenant colonel dared to speak up.

"As field commander, I can assure you that all protocols were upheld when NEST forces are on scene," the man said, trying to word his explanation as carefully as possible. Apparently it wasn't careful enough, because Galloway jumped on it like a lion pouncing on a gazelle.

"What do you mean by 'when you are once scene'?" the security advisor demanded. Lennox swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable underneath the multiple gazes settled on him.

"The Autobots…" he started, less confident than before, "are like teenaged kids. They like to sneak out of the house every once in a while."

No one at the table seemed convinced. Fowler tried not to show any reaction. The Autobots were specifically instructed to keep the Pentagon up-to-date on their activities—it was why Fowler had his job in the first place. If possible, they were to contact NEST forces for support. However, sometimes the situation didn't always allow that, especially if time was of the essence. And the Transformers still didn't understand the nature of human bureaucracy.

Fowler told Optimus Prime to be more discreet, or at the very least, inform the man when there was going to be problem. Unfortunately, if the Autobot leader did decide to update the liaison, it was usually after the fact.

"You are in control of the Autobots, are you not?" Galloway interrogated Lennox.

The man grew silent, knowing if he said anything, it would incriminate him. It was harder to manipulate the conversation into his favor when several hard gazes were boring into him.

"Team Prime exists as its own independent entity," the colonial explained. "NEST was formed as part of the joint military alliance, but the Autobots are considered a foreign power. By the terms of the treaty, we are not to assume any command over Optimus Prime, their leader."

"So you don't have control over them," the advisor accused. Apparently that was the only thing he understood from that description.

"Well, we do, to an extent, but—" Lennox fumbled.

"Should an emergency occur," the authoritative voice of General Bryce interrupted, "the Autobots have the right to react in any way they see fit."

"Even if it means violating the treaty?" Galloway demanded. It was Bryce that opened his mouth to retort, but the man beat him to it as he turned to Fowler. "Your job is to monitor the Autobots and report directly to your superiors."

"I am a liaison," Fowler corrected. "I liaise. I don't spy on the Autobots."

"But you volunteered for the job! After they killed your brother, Anthony Fowler."

Something hot raced up Fowler's spine and for a brief moment he went stiff as red flashed across his vision. He curled his fingers into a fist until his knuckles became pale. Through the haze, he saw Lennox give the smallest wince and Bryce merely eyed him. Immediately the ex-Ranger tried to force the spell of rage down, pressing his hands to the table.

It took every ounce of his willpower to force out in a low, level tone, "The Decepticons killed my baby brother."

"Then how do we know your personal opinion isn't interfering with your judgement?"

Fowler opened his mouth to tell the cocky bastard off, but never had the chance.

The security alarm went off.

Jack sprinted down the maze-like hallways, Miko hot on his heels. What had been disorienting corridors before now were impossible to navigate. Especially as the shouts of furious guards echoed off the concrete walls. The teenagers had originally tried to go back the way they came, only to be halted by the stampede of boots on tile. They had been greeted with the same sound with every escape route they turned to, and the boy could hear the shouts drawing nearer.

"We are so fragged!" he gasped.

He didn't know if the police knew who they were looking for. Part of him doubted they knew they had been infiltrated by a couple of technology-advanced high school students. But security knew there was a breach, and by the sounds of it, they knew it was in the basement.

One too many times, Jack glanced down a hallway to see the silhouette for a frantic guard, and he prayed they didn't see him, even though he knew it was futile. He did not dare look behind him. One shout, that sounded particularly like a call of attention, sounded too close when Jack turned a corner. He had so much momentum, he slid across the ground, having to fall on all fours to catch himself, only to immediately leap back into a sprint.

Jack's instinct was to call Raf for a groundbridge—but he knew it was pointless. They were underground and surrounded by solid concrete—there was no signal, and the junior didn't want to stop and check. And by some miracle there was a groundbridge, there was a high risk that the kids' pursuers could see it, if they didn't fall through after them.

"Jack, look!" Miko's shout suddenly interrupted him. He skidded to a halt, following her pointed finger at a fire escape sign, with a stick figure running up stairs beneath it. Next to it, was a metal door, no doubt leading to a staircase. "Es-cap-eh."

Jack didn't hesitate to tear through the door first, throwing it open. He took two steps at a time, clearing the staircase in seconds. The boy forced himself to take a breath he did not he was holding to as he stepped onto the first floor—on the surface. There were no furious shouts of guards, but sirens still wailing. They were far from out of the woods.

The intruder took slow, cautious steps down the hallway, scanning back and forth for any threats. He tried to control his breathing, but every time he slowed his panting, his lungs demanded for more air. A gasping Miko beside him told that she was no better.

"Now where are we?" the Japanese girl panted.

"I don't know…" Jack murmured scanning his surroundings. Everything looked the same— "We have to find some place to open up a groundbridge."

He would take a broom closest at this point.

The boy glanced out the window to notice the late afternoon sun as it descended towards the horizon, blanketing the city landscape with a fiery light. Apparently they had come up on the west side. The army brat froze. Wait. The west side.

No, no, not here. Not here. Jack remembered how he and his friends were dragged along with the tour group. How quickly the bored and fascinated faces turned somber, while Jack had a full-out panic attack. He practically had to be carried to the nurse. He hated war, and he hated death even more.

"This is where the plane hit," he realized with horror, in a barely audible whisper.

"What?" Miko asked, not hearing. Even though, she stepped closer to her friend as Jack tried to control his breathing. His heartrate was already cranking up. He was already on the verge of hyperventilating, and he tried to pull himself from falling over the edge.

"My… my uncle died here," he forced out, unable to say anything else. He saw the girl's eyes widened, and he realized he never told her about that. How he hated this place. He shut his eyes tight and opened them. Spots danced across his vision. "We need to get out of here."

Without waiting for a response, he dashed away. Miko yelped after him before following on his heels. The boy sprinted fifty feet bloody roaring in his ears, until he forced himself to calm down. He slowed to a walk, Miko almost ramming into him from his sudden halt.

Shoulder heaving, Jack moved to step into another hallway, only to hear the pounding of boots and the rattling of gear. He pushed his friend back as he recoiled—just as a squadron of Pentagon police officers sprinted by. Apparently they weren't overseeing the race anymore.

The boy kept his eyes trained on the retreating forms of the guards as he stepped out of his hiding place, turning in the opposite direction. Only to ram into something solid and unmoving. Jack wheezed as he ricocheted back, holding his nose in discomfort. Miko let out a high-pitched squeak. The army brat glanced up at the obstacle, only for his heart to stop.

It was that lieutenant colonel Fowler was with. He stared down at the children with a cocked eyebrow in a twisted, puzzled expression.

"How the hell did you two get back here?" he interrogated, sounding more confused than hostile.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, to say something—to confess, to lie, to make up an excuse—anything. Instead, his throat closed up and no sound came out. He was rooted to the spot; Miko for once did not dare move. That was until a familiar figure slipped into view.

"Lennox, what is it?" Fowler asked, coming up from behind his friend. He stopped dead at the sight of teenagers and a flurry of expressions passed over his face in a single second—puzzlement, anger, annoyance, then straight-faced. Finally he settled on a long groan, slapping his palm to his face "I just can't get away from you, can I?"

"Wait, you know these kids?" Lennox asked.

"Unfortunately."

"We're not kids," Jack interjected, hating how the men were talking like they found a couple of lost ten-year-olds.

"Zip it," Fowler snapped. The boy quickly clipped his mouth shut. He scanned over them, then blinked and shook his head when he did a double take. "Wait, there's three of you. Where's the shrimp?"

"That's mean," Miko protested.

"Who?" Jack played dumb.

"The short one. Ralph—Raf!" Fowler recalled.

"He's not here at the moment," Jack quipped. The federal agent fixed him a hard stare.

"Where. Is. He?"

The high school junior thought quickly. He learned the best lie was one that had a fraction of truth. "At home."

"In Jasper, Nevada… two thousand miles away from here…"

The mention of the little town caught Lennox's attention. "Jasper as in… the Jasper?"

Fowler sent a warning glare to the lieutenant colonel, but Miko spoke up before anyone could, "Yeah, backwater desert town, entertainment capital of the world, secret underground base of the Autobots…"

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head in defeat while Fowler facepalmed with a groan. Meanwhile, Lennox looked like the Japanese girl had slapped him in the face. Instead of staring at her, he directed his wild look at the federal agent.

"They know?!" he exclaimed.

"A little," Fowler tried, only to again be interrupted by Miko.

"A little? We hang out at the silo everyday! We even have our very own partn—"

Her rambling was cut off with a yelp when Jack kicked her in the shin. Looking back at Lennox, the man looked like he had a stroke.

He was quiet for a full thirty seconds before he groaned, "General Bryce is going to kill you."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Fowler insisted.

"Bill, the Autobots in daily contact with children? That's a direct violation of the treaty!"

Jack had to bite his tongue to prevent correcting him as Miko chirped, "What treaty?"

The men ignored her.

"Which is why no one knows about it," the agent argued. He fixed Lennox with his own glare. "What? You're going to Bryce about it?"

"N-no, but—" the lieutenant colonel started.

"Good. Then drop it!"

"So what's this treaty about?" Miko repeated. Jack, who didn't dare say a word, wanted to snap at her to be silent before she got them arrested.

"And you," Fowler snapped, turning back to his prisoners, "have some explaining to do. What are you doing here?"

"Field trip," Jack answered quickly.

"Field trip," Fowler repeated skeptically. "To the Pentagon…"

"Yeah, for, uh, our American government class. We're touring the White House tomorrow."

It wasn't completely unfathomable. The Pentagon had opened up to public tours several years ago, school trips included. Jasper High, despite having a small population, did sponsor a few out-of-state events, including a trip to Washington D.C. For a science fair competition. But Fowler didn't have to know that.

The man stared at them, unconvinced. It didn't help the agent had been at Jack's house two days prior, and had an hour long conversation with his mother. Who no doubt didn't mention anything about school field trips.

"How'd you get back here?" Lennox questioned, calming down a little from his panic attack. He folded his arms, mirroring Fowler's posture. Miko, catching on to Jack's ploy, answered that one.

"We're looking for the bathroom….we kinda got lost."

Jack cringed at the lame lie.

"You two? …Together?" Lennox observed, eyes flicking back and forth between them.

"Yeah?"

The junior stepped in before his friend could dig them into a deeper hole.

"We got separated from the tour group," he explained. "We were looking for them when the fire alarm suddenly went off." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess we accidently went through the 'staff only' door."

He tried not to cave underneath the scrutinizing gazes of the government agents. He wondered if they actually bought it or not. He doubted it, considering he had a strong suspicion each had their fair share of interrogations. If he and Miko were just a random couple of teenagers, Fowler might have accepted they were just dumb kids that had gotten lost. But considering that was not the case…

"The 'Bots put you up to this, didn't they?" the agent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, sir," Jack answered, grateful it was again the truth.

No, the Autobots didn't have anything to do with this. The 'Cons, however… The drive felt hot and heavy in his pocket. All his interrogator had to do was ask for his belongings, and it would be all over.

"Fowler, Lennox, what's going on here?" a smooth, authoritative voice snapped from down the corridor.

While Miko and Jack merely flinched as the bark, the government officials jumped to attention.

"Mr. Secretary, sir," Lennox greeted as he turned around.

A tall, lean man with salt-and-pepper hair in a flashy suit walked up in a brisk pace. His eyebrows were furrowed in agitation, which turned to suspicion as he noticed the huddling teens. Secretary? Who would— Jack's heart stopped as he realized the only secretary that would be in the building. The Secretary of Defense.

There was another stocky man beside the military head, who Jack automatically identified as a general. Complete with a plethora of ribbons and medals.

"Just a couple of kids that gotten lost," the lieutenant colonel explained.

Both teenagers stared up at him with wide eyes, surprised. A second ago the man was interrogating them for trespassing. Was he… covering for them?

"Is that so?" the Secretary replied, skeptical. He turned his attention to the prisoners. "What are your names?"

Jack was tempted to give false names, but realized with Fowler staring at him, that it was futile. He swallowed and answered thickly, "Jack Darby, sir."

"Miko," his friend merely answered. She crossed her arms and tilted her chin, defiant. Meanwhile, Lennox cocked an eyebrow at Jack.

"…Darby?" he murmured. "As in, Staff Sergeant… Johnathon Darby's kid?"

Jack flinched, violently, and stared at the lieutenant colonel with his own look of disbelief. "…You knew my dad?"

"I served with him," Lennox replied. He turned to the Secretary, who had not looked away from the children, as if he expected they would run away if he did. "Sir, I can vouch for them. The boy comes from a military family." When the military head only gave a hard stare, the colonel added, "His father was in Operation Desert Fox."

Desert what? The military brat looked back and forth between the two men before him, utterly lost.

"Desert Fox?" the Secretary replied, looking back to Jack in a squint. Lennox nodded and the man furrowed his eyebrows before he decided, "I don't have time to deal with this. Make sure they are escorted off campus immediately."

Jack almost collapsed to his knees in relief and Miko gave a small gasp of air. Lennox and Fowler, however, were still stiff as a board. The colonel hummed an affirmative and just like that, the Secretary and the general scurried down the hall and vanished from sight. Jack took his chance.

"So now that's cleared up—" he stated, daring to take a step forward. Fowler's glare put him back in place.

"I don't know what's going on here," the federal agent spat, gesturing between the two teens, "but one way or another, I'm going to find out."

Jack just hoped he could make it Mexico before the man could. With that last warning, Fowler volunteered to escort them out. Lennox offered to tag along, only for the federal agent to insist it was not necessary. The colonel had to return to NEST, anyway, since apparently their meeting was officially over. Without waiting for a word from the teenagers, Fowler stormed away, having them scurry after him. The federal agent all but literally kicked Jack and Miko out of the building.

"Uh, we were with a tour group," the sixteen-year-old tried.

"Believe it or not," Fowler retorted, "I'm not that stupid. I don't know what the 'Bots are up to, but you are never coming into my personal workspace again.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Miko quipped, even daring to give a mock salute.

The pair of teens fled from the federal agent's scathing glare.

For those wondering why I didn't put this story in the crossover-section of this site, is because it is still set in Prime. I merely borrowed the background from the Bayverse, and well, NEST. This is for several reasons, one of which is to explain Megatron's obsessive hatred towards humans.

And as for why Fowler let Jack and Miko go, it's because he under the impression they were sent by the 'Bots (as I hinted in this chapter, have a habit of breaking human laws). As suspicious he may be, he doesn't want the Autobots, or the kids, to get in trouble, especially when he's trying to argue for the Autobots' value as an ally.