AUTHOR'S
NOTE: Well, I think the worst is past us. This is mainly an
"autobots" chapter, which I'm actually kinda glad for. I like
writing scenes with the Autobots and other characters. Here's my
only tribute to the US military for my story. :] And yes, I think
that's all.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the Transformers,
or Sam Witwicky, or any other minor characters. I just write the
story.
----------------
The third day of Sam and Optimus' disappearance came, and it was nearing noon before the Autobots made any effort to begin a search. They all sat in the conference room, with the exception of the empty chair at the head. If someone were to look at them adjacent Prime's seat, from left to right it would be Mudflap, presumably Arcee's seat which wasn't taken either, Sideswipe, Ironhide, Optimus' chair, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Jolt, and Skids. They were quiet and listening, hoping for the sound of someone coming through the entrance corridor. The room was dimly lit, almost sinister, as if awaiting grave news. After half an hour of waiting, someone decided to break the silence.
"They're
not coming." Jolt said. Underneath his polished blue armor, optics
narrowed warily. "Something's wrong."
"I agree with Jolt.
There's something fishy here." Sideswipe added, leaning back in
his chair. The chairs were big enough for all of them without the
need to wear sythoplasm.
The Rescue Ambulance nodded, lacing his fingers together in front of his face with caution, "Yes. I agree. I've tried locating Optimus several times, even sent out frequencies to him, but I'm met with nothing but interference. There is a problem although I'm not sure what exactly it is."
"Where could Sam be then...?" Bumblebee asked, his voice feeble and concerned. He looked worn, like a mother panicking over the investigation of her missing child.
"The Decepticons?" Skids suggested. It was the most likely option, but the other Autobots didn't want to assume the worst quite so soon. They hoped it didn't come to that, although everyone knew it quite possibly could.
"They got 'da kid with 'em too, right? It's gotta be those Decepticon punks." Mudflap added. "It don't make sense any other way."
There was an uneasy tension in the group, as if they didn't want to admit that the Twins had the best idea as to who the culprits could be. Ironhide spoke, "Look, I'm going to contact NEST and see if they can try and find him through a satellite or something. It shouldn't be hard to spot an Autobot, especially with the rads we give off."
--
Will rested his head down on the counter of his station and allowed himself to doze. The hangar was quiet except for the noise of clacking keyboards and the occasional footfall. He didn't have any leads to investigate, and the only sighting they had received was of a "Mustang Police Cruiser disappearing past Princeton University" which turned out to be a dead end. Where he worked was sectioned off so that he was by himself, surrounded by every piece of technology a soldier may want or need. Screens lit up with new windows, little pieces of machinery beeped behind him, but he'd grown to ignore it after a while. As he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, a voice snapped him awake with abrupt velocity.
"Hey, Lennox, we got an incoming signal." Epps was stationed at a console nearby and shouted to the Special Forces captain. The other soldiers at their posts looked over with intensely curious fascination. "It's from the Autobots."
Lennox jumped over the railing that separated his workspace from the others, leaning over Epps' shoulder to check the screen for himself. It had been a while since he heard from them—what did they need? "All right, open a channel. Let's see what they want."
Ironhide came onscreen, a serious frown plastered to his cat-like face. It didn't seem like good news, Lennox could tell. The technical sergeant got up from his seat and allowed Lennox to take over. Behind Ironhide, Will could see others sitting around an inhumanly large table anxiously.
"Yeah, 'Hide?" Lennox couldn't help but sound a little longing—he missed his Autobot friend. He and Ironhide were like brothers on the battlefield and he couldn't help but feel close with him after shedding precious blood and metal together.
"We think we have a problem and we need your help." He replied curtly. "Can you connect to a US military satellite from HQ?"
"Yeah,
of course we can. Why? What's wrong?" Will asked, taking the seat
that Epps offered him.
"I need you to locate Optimus via
satellite. Can you do that?" Ironhide continued.
The idea took him back slightly, but he didn't question it. Will nodded, "Yeah, it shouldn't be hard. But..." He couldn't help but blurt out the question, "why isn't he with you?"
"We lost him." Ironhide sounded almost ashamed of it.
That wasn't good. The Autobots were like chickens running around with their heads cut off without Optimus around. Will cleared his throat and opened a new channel to General Morshower. Even though he was captain, he needed to get an okay for a request like tapping into a satellite.
The General appeared onscreen in a window next to Ironhide's, looking bald as usual. His uniform was a tan brown and tidy as it should be, and he looked drained as he spoke. His eyebrows were pulled down out of habit, "What is it, Captain?"
"NEST requests immediate connection to one of our satellites, General." Will said in a serious army tone he'd learned so well over the years. "We believe it may help investigate a lead on Megatron." After a couple more minutes of playing messenger from Ironhide to the General and explaining the severity of the situation, Morshower considered the options. His face was full of contemplation and he stroked his chin inquisitively after discussing it with another high-ranking officer nearby.
Finally, the man sighed impatiently and waved halfheartedly. "Fine, I give you the go-ahead."
"Thank you, sir." He nodded to Morshower before the General disappeared from the computer screen eagerly. "All right, 'Hide, we're going to tap into one as soon as possible. Hold on."
Epps was working away at another station, going through several online checkpoints before actually accessing the satellite. Meanwhile, Will tried to keep Ironhide busy with small-talk which didn't seem to interest him much at all.
"Hey, Will, we got a problem." Epps said, beckoning him over again. "You see this?"
On the computer was an outer space view of Earth, sure enough, but the screen constantly fuzzed into static unsteadily. Epps scowled and handed Lennox his headset, "Listen to this too." The instant Will put the headphones on, he heard a deafening screech of metal, a high-pitched frequency. "We've already got people tracing its source. It's coming from the satellite."
"You mean...there's one up there hacking us?" Will said, trying to be soft enough so that Ironhide couldn't hear. He didn't need any more troubles than the ones he already had. "It's been tampering with a US military orbital satellite?"
"That's the only answer that makes sense, doesn't it?" He began to speak in a conspiratorial whisper, "Anything we do, he's going to see it and tip the others off. If we're going to find Prime, we're going to have to get rid of him first." He paused and wrote something on a piece of paper he had in front of him that read: I'm not so sure that he can't hear us right now.
"Talk to Morshower, Epps. Get that thing grounded or off our satellite. I don't care how, just do it and do it now."
-----
"Pull it tighter, Starscream," Barricade shouted to his partner in crime, who stood above him in the rafters, hands held tight on the ropes suspending Sam. The pilot pulled on the rope, stretching Sam's arms higher and higher. "Not yet; keep going!"
"Got it." Starscream worked the machine that pulled the rope higher, tighter, lifting him several more feet off the ground until the only thing pulling against him was the ropes wrapped around his feet. Sam felt like he was going through a taffy puller—his body was being pulled past its natural means, and the soreness ripped through his body like a knife. He was already screaming; the pain was unimaginable. What more could they do to him that they hadn't already?
"Almost..." Barricade yelled and laughed when he heard the outcry of agony from their victim. The human's left shoulder jutted out underneath his skin, completely yanked out of its socket, and the other was displaced. "All right, you got it."
Optimus was awake, watching lifelessly, his systems running at only 25% capacity with his energy as low as it was. He couldn't do anything—what was the point of struggling, attempting to save Sam, when he knew it was futile? Instead he simply watched and sagged against the links that held him. He was drained, broken inside. After a while of listening to Sam's screams, he shut off his audio receptors. Prime didn't want to hear them. Not now. Megatron hadn't looked very happy since the day before, although Optimus couldn't seem to figure out why. Instead he sat on his throne, like a statue, watching his lackeys do as they pleased to Sam. He didn't laugh, snort, or growl. He was stoic, still resting his head in one of his hands.
Sam caught his breath and tried to ignore the sharp, gnawing agony that spread from one shoulder to the other, burning a trail in his skin as it went. He knew that Prime was just as aware of their impending death; Sam unluckily got the short end of the stick. What better way to kill time than torture the fleshling? They're easily breakable. At this rate, he wouldn't last much longer anyway. Well, so much for beating up the goddamn fleshling.
His head had sunk low between his shoulders, looking more pathetic than usual. What would everyone think when they found his corpse, if they ever found it? Barricade shouted something back up to Starscream, but Sam didn't hear anything over his own thoughts. He heard a quick snip from above, and the area around him suddenly came crashing down. No, wait, Sam thought. The warehouse wasn't falling. He was. His hands suddenly became looser, light, no longer tied above him. Unfortunately, the fall automatically resulted in him landing on his broken legs, and he quickly fell over from the stabbing pain. The floor felt horribly ice cold against his skin and he wrapped a hand around his stomach, taking advantage of the fact that his arms weren't bound anymore.
Starscream jumped down from the rafters, a jump that would kill any normal human being, to join Barricade. "You're pathetic. Just look at you." He said, stepping on Sam's free hand, rubbing the sole of his shoe down hard until the scrapes on his skin began to bleed. Barricade snorted a laugh but said nothing. Sam didn't cry out, or moan, or whimper, or anything. He just gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, ignoring the knives that ran through his entire body. Well, he wasn't tied up anymore, but he sure as hell couldn't run anywhere. Wasn't it the third day since they were captured?
"Leave the boy alone for now," Megatron's thick voice ripped through the air. Starscream's foot lifted from Sam's hand, and the boy rolled over onto his back, exhaling sharply from the agony. Megatron came into his view, looking down on him as if he were a dog that should've been put out of it long ago. "Let him wallow in his misery. He has to last until tomorrow, you idiots. Starscream, Barricade, come with me." He was serious, his red optics unrelenting on his cohorts who stared in confusion.
Where could they possibly be going, Sam thought. He didn't care. Those guys going out meant he had some time to himself to 'wallow in his own misery' as Megatron had put it. Without question Barricade and Starscream joined their leader, took on the form of their vehicles, and disappeared out of Sam's view. He heard the roar of engines and the screech of tires as, sure enough, the Decepticons left. What, was it a test? Where they trying to see if Sam would, despite being broken beyond repair, try and get up and run away?
"Optimus...are you there?" Sam said, straining himself with those few words. He heard a soft whirring as Optimus most likely lifted his head—he wasn't watching though. His eyes were fixated on the smooth concrete ceiling as his body simply focused on keeping him alive. He was slipping though; he felt it with every heartbeat, every intake of air in his lungs.
Optimus had turned his audio receptors back on when the Decepticons slipped away. "Yes, Sam. I'm here."
"I'm sorry." Sam whimpered. He felt tears welling up. The thought of his nearing death was beginning to make him hysterical. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I got us into all this trouble. I'm sorry for ever having met you—if you never knew me, you would never have gotten into this kind of situation."
"Don't apologize." Prime replied shortly. "I've told you before; our fates are intertwined."
"Not just for all this, Optimus. I'm sorry for getting mad about Bumblebee—"
"Sam, stop. We're not going to die." As much as he wanted to believe his words, Prime's optimism was slipping. It had been three days, and there was no sign of a rescue. Still, he had to say something to keep Sam going. If he didn't, Sam would just let his body quit and die right there. He wouldn't allow that.
"Did you ever think it would end like this?" Sam said after a long silence.
"I expected Megatron's involvement, I have to admit. But no." His vocalizers were cracking, most likely starting to break. He didn't have Ratchet around to fix him either. "Not like this."
"I wonder how long it'll take for the Autobots to find out we're dead."
"I have a feeling they know something's wrong. It's just a matter of time," He had faith in his companions, or was it hope that they would be found before it was too late? He wasn't so sure anymore. "They're looking for us. We just have to outlast."
---------
"Commencing missile launch in three, two, one," a soldier reported from his own computer. "Lift off. Missile launched."
Will awaited the outcome patiently, a view of the satellite clearly visible on one of his screens. Shooting a missile was the last option they had, but every other way of getting rid of the transformer didn't seem to work. They tried a frequency to mess up its systems but it retaliated with its own frequency that short-circuited one of their computers and made it catch fire. They tried communicating with it but received no response. Whatever was up there didn't want to come down. General Morshower didn't like the idea either, but Will convinced him it was for the United States' best interest.
"Okay, the dude's moved off of it. He smartened up; he disconnected from the satellite." Epps said and tapped back into the satellite for a 'bird's eye view' while cursing quietly to himself.
"Hone the missile in on that Decepticon's energy signature and get him out of our orbit." Lennox commanded to nearby soldiers monitoring the missile's path into outer space. "I want nothing left but shrapnel when we're done here. Take him down."
"Roger, sir."
He hadn't seen that Decepticon before; it was large, bulky, and blue. It took on the shape of whatever satellite it had grown accustomed to, and now it looked like a lanky five petaled flower. He caught a glimpse of crimson underneath a thick helmet-looking armor. He'd learned to recognize Decepticons by their red optics and Autobots by their blue, in case he was ever in a situation where two transformers looked too similar to one another. The missile came into view, moving in on the slowly floating hacker. It was moving entirely too fast to dodge; Will was sure that the robot would be nothing in a matter of seconds. He turned to another computer to contact Ironhide and fill him in on the situation. Dread sank into his stomach when a soldier spoke up, "Captain, the target has moved out of the missile's path. It's a miss, sir."
"What? That's impossible! We just had it!" He retorted, jumping back to Epps' side to view the screen. Sure enough, it had missed by fractions of an inch, barely grazing the side of the blue Decepticon before it imploded in the vacuum of space. "How is that possible? We were locked on his signature."
"We've confirmed that the target altered its signature a couple seconds ago and threw the missile off, Captain." Another responded.
"Hey, we got more news for you. I'm picking up a signature. It matches the truck, Captain," Epps replied, his face shining with sweat. "That hacker was using a cloaking program to hide him and scramble any signals. There was a signal sent out about three days ago, but I can't catch the message. I've also got a thermal signature—did they say he had anyone with him?"
Will breathed in slowly; the hacker wasn't a problem right now. They could deal with it later. "No, I have a good idea who's with him though. Give me the location. I'll pass it on to Ironhide."
--
The Autobots were inside the armory, suiting up for what the Twins called "Operation Save Their Asses". There was another tense silence in the air, only broken by a command or two on how to attach this cannon or that gun. Ratchet had answered Lennox's transmission since Ironhide had been too busy helping people with ammunition and other weapons. He came back inside, looking flustered, with a piece of paper in his hands.
"We've got Optimus' and the boy's location. They're in Brooklyn, New York. It'll take us an hour or two to get there." Ratchet already had all the weapons he needed equipped. The other Autobots finished adjusting themselves and Ironhide cleared his throat, assuming the role of temporary leader, "All right then. Autobots, roll out."
