AUTHOR'S NOTES:

ANOTHER SPECIAL THANKS TO ZAK SATURDAY!

I do not own anything but the plot.

Chapter ten-

AFRO, Pseudonyms, and Plots Afoot

Sari paced in front of the six humans.

"OKAY, PEOPLE! LISTEN UP!"

"She sounds like Sentinel at Autoboot camp." Bumblebee whispered to Bulkhead from his desk across the room. Prowl had his face buried in his hands while Blurr chattered to him about something unintelligible, his paragraphs broken by enormous gulps of air.

"WELCOME TO A.F.R.O.! THE ACADEMY FOR ROOKIE ORGANICS!" She yelled, walking with a yardstick in her hands, which were clasped behind her back.

"YOU AUTOBOTS HAVE BEEN TURNED INTO HUMANS, SO YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME!" She shot disapproving glances their way as she talked.

"Since you FAILED the intro class, your first lesson will be on eating!" She snapped her fingers, and six drones came and set covered plates in front of the "students". Said humans eyed them warily.

On cue, the drones pulled off the covers. On each plate was a pile of green beans, a bowl of soup, a piece of steak, and a slice of bread. Next to them were a spoon, a fork, a knife, and a napkin.

"There will be NO food fights, and the first person to throw their assignment at another person will have to eat three pounds of over-cooked spinach. Is that clear?" The Autobots nodded.

"Why did I agree to this again?" Ratchet grumbled. Luckily, Sari didn't hear him.

"Watch me eat and try to copy what I do." She demonstrated how to dip the spoon in the soup. Nobody was paying any attention. Bulkhead shoved all his food in his mouth at once and Optimus was using his hands to put his food on his fork and cutting his bread with his spoon. Bumblebee had discarded the utensils and was eating with his fingers (with no regard to the napkin what-so-ever), and Prowl was observing every possible aspect of each bite before putting it in his mouth and chewing at a speed that would make a snail proud. Blurr, on the other hand, was stuffing his face as fast as he could shove stuff in. Sari gently explained to him the concept of choking. Upon hearing this, his eyes bulged and he groped frantically for his glass of water. He ate at a slightly more normal pace after that.

Worried about having a repeat of the earlier disaster, Sari told them to stop.

"You pass! You pass! Lesson one over!" She said desperately. She collected the plates (some finished and others nowhere near) and addressed each of their problems.

"Bulkhead, make your bites smaller, Optimus, spoons are not used for cutting, Prowl, chew less, Blurr, just plain chew, and Bumblebee, forks are there for a reason. Moving on, we're going to have to come up with some pseudonyms for you guys."

"Pseudowhatsits?"

"Fake names. People don't just go around calling themselves Bumblebee or Prowl. You've gotta blend in."

"Fine." Ratchet muttered. "I'll be Dr. Leave-Me-Alone."

"No. Too obvious. How about Dr. Robert?"

"Whatever. If you need me, I'll be in the rec room. Doing what you humans call SLEEPING." He left. The door swung shut behind him. Sari ignored him and moved on.

"Okay Bumblebee, you're next."

"But I like my name!" Bumblebee whined, emphasizing it with a pouty face. Sari ignored him.

"You look like a Benji." She stated. The other Autobots nodded.

" A BENJI?!" "Benji's" eyes widened.

"We can always call you Bob." Sari suggested. Bee shrunk back.

"Actually, I rather like Benji! It sounds…uh…bouncy! Just like me!" He said nervously. "Just not Bob. Anything but BOB!" Sari smothered a giggle.

"Now that that's settled, Optimus can be…"

"Orion." Optimus interjected. He sounded very confident.

"Points for creativity." Bumblebee muttered. Sari wrote it down anyways.

"I'llbeBlaze."

"Say no more, Blurr. Please. But what about Prowl? Or Bulkhead?"

"How about Bruce?" Optimus suggested. Sari contemplated this for a moment before writing it down as well.

"But what for Prowl? Something that starts with a 'P'."

"Umm…let me think…I got it! Pikachu!" Bumblebee offered with enthusiasm.

"WHAT?" Everyone chorused. Bumblebee kept going.

"PETER PARKER! PRINCESS PEACH! PORKY!" By now the Autobots were thoroughly confused. Sari, familiar with the cartoons and being the one who educated Bee on the subject, wasn't fooled.

"Um, no. How about…Percy?"

"I'm not Perceptor."

"Pierre?"

"I'm not French."

"Payton?"

"No."

"Paul?"

"No."

"Pete?"

"No."

"Pierce?"

"No."

"Philip?"

"No."

"Percy?"

"I believe we have already discussed this."

"Patrick?"

"I have no intention to hear Bumblebee singing the SpongeBob theme song." Sari face palmed.

"Why do you have to make this so difficult?! Fine, then your name is Prentice."

"No it's not." Prowl crossed his arms. Sari sighed, looking very worn down.

"Whatever. When you think of something you like, let me know. Class over."

The Autobots hurriedly got up and, tripping over desks and chairs in their haste, ran out the door. Sari sank into an empty chair. Her dad walked in.

"So. How did it go?" Sari sighed.

"Acting like a grown-up is harder than I thought. After learning first-hand what it feels like to be a teacher, I have a newfound respect for Tutor-bot. It needs a vacation."

"Nice try, Sari, but you're not going to get out of study time." He patted his daughter on the shoulder. "Why don't you go rest?"

"Yeah," she yawned. "I'll do that." She wandered to her room, settled down in her bed, and was soon fast asleep.

West Antarctica

Angry Archer flashed across the screen, a large sack slung across his back.

Another successful heist.

The man tapped his fingers together. He had heard rumors about Detroit being one of the country's hardest cities to rob, protected by massive robots large enough to squash criminals underfoot. And here was a mere novice, able to make off with over two hundred grand without a scratch.

"Curious." He murmured to himself. It seemed that Detroit was unprotected. The only robots he could see were brainless police drones, too busy malfunctioning to pay attention to the steadily rising crime rate. Either the locals were even dumber than he thought, or something was very off. He mulled over this idea. The most prominent possibility was that it was a trap. But it could just as well be opportunity knocking, and all he would have to do was open the door. Tempting, he thought.

He ran through every aspect of his plan with a fine-toothed comb. His banishment had given him over five years to perfect it, and as a result, it was absolutely foolproof. The only iffy thing was enlisting the help of three certain buffoons to use as bait.

There was something in Detroit. Something that he really wanted.

And he was going to get it—no matter what.