Spitfire

Chapter XXVI

It was weird, sitting inside of someone.

Pilar sat in the center seat, her arms clasped around her legs, her chin resting lazily in the slope her knees created. She was trying very, very hard not to move or touch him anymore than she had to, unsure of whether or not fidgeting would be uncomfortable for him to experience; she even attempted to keep herself still when he rumbled around sharps bends in the dusty, desert road.

She supposed that she ought to be sitting in the driver's seat, pretending to turn the steering wheel of the immense blue Peterbuilt, pretending to press the brake and the accelerator, pretending to flick on the blinkers at the appropriate times. But, for reasons that were obvious yet too uncomfortable to voice aloud, she couldn't bring herself to do it, to be Optimus Prime's puppet-driver.

He didn't seem to mind. He hadn't said a word of protest when she had climbed into the passenger's seat instead, nor did he appear worried that they would be stopped by some baffled police officer. His windows weren't tinted, so she didn't think he was able to hide the fact that he was driving himself, but perhaps he didn't need to. With the Autobots no longer in hiding, the semi with its extravagant flame decals was no stranger to Mission City's citizens.

As she collected her thoughts, she tried to sort them into the explanation she wanted to give, and into the questions she wished to ask. She didn't know how, exactly, to put what she felt into words without possibly offending Optimus Prime. She didn't hate his soldier, Jazz, and she certainly did not want to sound as though she did. It is just that…

Her heart skipped a few beats as her guardian unexpectedly pulled up alongside the long, empty stretch of road, bumbling off to its side. Before them stood the hulking, shadowed forms of Mission City's highest towers. Pastel rays of sunlight peeked from between the buildings as the massive star sank beneath the line of the horizon, casting the endless sky, the broken cityscape, the rolling sand dunes and distant mountains into a diffused amber glow.

The silence that settled between them, interrupted only by the soft clicking of Optimus's engine as it cooled, wasn't uncomfortable, merely heavy with curiosity and question.

Pilar finally cleared her throat, gradually easing herself out of her tight position. As her sneakered feet brushed the floor of the cab, she ducked her head, loops of raven hair curtaining her expression. The tips of her fingers fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

"Do...do you understand why I was angry with you?" she asked softly. Her onyx eyes bore into some indivisible spot on the wrinkled denim of her jeans. "I know that you said you did, but...do you?"

The Peterbuilt shifted uneasily beneath her. "Yes, I do," he replied. "You feel as though Jazz is not fit to care for your daughter, as his spark was once nearly extinguished. You feel as though he is...too weak."

Pilar opened her mouth to oppose the word choice, but after a bit of deliberation, she realized that there was no better to way to word it. Despite how harsh it sounded, that was exactly how she viewed Jazz: weak. Her lips slipped shut again.

Optimus Prime continued, his deep voice soothing, but determined. "It is true that Jazz was unfortunate enough to cross Megatron's path. That does not mean that he is an unfit soldier. In fact, he is one of those whom I trust the most." He paused. "There are many reasons as to why he is my second-in-command."

Pilar was silent, her expression still hidden beneath a curtain of ebony locks. Her fingers had stopped their fidgeting, her hands lying motionless in her lap.

It was obvious, by her lack of response, that his short explanation was not good enough for her. His word alone would not relieve her of the doubt she had placed in the slim, silver mech.

But how much more can I possibly tell her?

He couldn't tell her everything without confusing her, worrying her, scaring her, angering her. There were tens upon tens of possible reactions that could follow the sharing of his soldier's quiet secret with her, and he could not risk allowing something to occur that would gradually shift their relatively safe, if not comfortable, situation. Moreover, he could not risk losing Jazz's trust in him, because that, above all, was what he needed most from his comrades.

That is what I need from her as well.

Nothing good would come out of explaining to Pilar why Antonia needed to be Jazz's charge, and him her guardian, so he would not share it with her. He hoped, however, that what he could share, little though it was, was enough.

"Pilar," Optimus began once again; she glanced up at him, her eyes searching to find, without success, his own bright blue pair. "I need you to understand that I cannot share with you the exact reasons as to why Jazz is the perfect guardian for Antonia. There will come a time, I imagine, when he will either provide an explanation himself, or allow me to tell you. That time is not now. All I can promise is that Jazz will do everything in his power to protect your daughter. He will push himself to limits that are far beyond what any other Autobot is capable of because of the very reasons that must remain secret. He will, in effect, be a better, more suitable and capable guardian for Antonia than I, or anyone else, could be. What he needs from you, as well as from the rest of us, Autobot and human alike, is the space to understand what he is currently experiencing and the belief that he is just as strong as the rest. Stronger, even."

He paused again.

"I am requesting much from you that perhaps you are unwilling to give. But I need you to trust me, that I have made the right decision with Antonia's best interests in mind. That, above all, is what I need right now. Your trust, as my charge."

Upon his words, Antonia's small, sweet face popped into her mind with what seemed to be a perfectly audible click. She watched the memory of her daughter slowly lift her head, her wide, brown eyes meeting her's; she watched her smile twitch into a cautious frown.

"Do you believe me now?" the memory questioned, her daughter's voice tight and desperate. "Because...out of everyone else, I need you to believe me. Just you, Mama. No one else matters."

That, above all, is what I need right now. Your trust, as my charge.

Her trust? In him, a being she had met for the first time only hours before? How could he possibly ask so much of her, to trust him, that he had made the right decision by placing her daughter's life in a weakened soldier's hands?

Perhaps because he has no other option, her conscience whispered in reply. He has obviously weighed his decision carefully, and there is no question that he knows his own troops, and their limits, better than you do. Besides, he would not place Antonia with an incapable guardian, as he certainly doesn't want the All Spark ending up with any Decepticons.

It would be best to do as he asks, to trust his decision, whatever it may be, because, in all honesty, you do not have enough information to form your own.

"All right," she mumbled after a few moments' time, pulling her legs back against her chest as she forced the words from between her lips. Clasping her arms around her knees, she desperately tried to tie herself into the tiniest knot possible, pressing her face against her legs. I have no other choice. "I trust you."

Pilar jerked slightly as the Peterbuilt beneath her rumbled to a start, its engine growling hungrily, its headlights flickering on and chasing away the growing desert shadows. Her seat belt slipped around her waist as Optimus Prime pulled back onto the dirt road. It fastened into its lock and tightened protectively.

"Thank you."

"It's a little dark in here - OW, Tyler!"
"Sorry, ginger! My chair has a life of its own!"
"No, you're just being a jackass, aren't you? And stop calling me ginger."
"I think it's a cute nickname."
"Thank you, Mikaela. See, Gingerspice? It's cute."
"I don't want to be cute."
"Too late."
"Hold on, everyone. Just stop for a sec', okay?...I need to find the damn light switch..."
"'When this hospital goes dark, we're all dead...'"
"Telebot, we're fine. No need to be scared."
"Sam, why are you going in that direction? I believe it is over here somewhere..."
"Well then, 'Bee, how 'bout you look? I'm not the one with Lite Brites for eyes."
"Yes, yes. Looking!"
"Whoa! Who's grabbin' my ankle?"
"Sorry, Jazz. It's Mikaela, I, uh...I just...the dark freaks me out, I'm sorry."
"S'okay, babe. Just watch the wires, that's all. I'm a little sensitive down there."
"Mikaela, if you're really scared, you can come sit on my lap. I wouldn't mind wheeling you around."
"Tyler?"
"Yeah?"
"You will not touch my girlfriend."
"...Can I touch you?"
"Wait until later, honey."
"But we're already in the dark..."
"Which reminds me. 'Bee?"
"I am trying - Oh! Found it!"

The long, gargantuan hallway flooded with florescent light, revealing twenty air-tight, closed doors, ten on either side; a comforting hum rumbled to life within the walls as the generator started up. Zachary blinked, rubbing his squinting eyes with two fisted hands, and Antonia shifted uneasily within Jazz's cupped palms, creases appearing on her forehead as she fought consciousness. The silver Autobot gently clasped his fingers over her, creating a make-shift barrier that protected her from the bright light. Within seconds, she stopped fidgeting.

"And God said, 'Let there be light!'" Tyler boomed, his voice echoing as he observed the locked doors with interest.

Sam smirked at his comment, Telebot still resting against his thin chest, though his hold around Sam's neck had loosened considerably. The teenager shifted the tiny television set to a more comfortable position and then set off, leading the odd group down the hallway with their footsteps reverberating loudly against its metallic walls.

Tyler rolled along between Mikaela and Zachary, Sam a few steps ahead, Bumblebee, Jazz, and Antonia a few steps behind. "What's behind all these doors?" he asked.

"Bedrooms, mostly," Sam replied loftily. "I don't remember what the Autobots call 'em...something weird. But, y'know, there's one for Optimus, 'Bee, Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet. Me and Mikaela each got our own for those first few nights when we were asked to stay here in case anything happened. Now, most of the time, we sleep at home." He glanced over his shoulder at the others. "'Cause most of the rooms have already been converted into something else, you guys have to bunk with us. Hope you don't mind...I mean, they're pretty big, so we should be fine, and - "

"Did you hear that, ginger?" Tyler squealed ecstatically, sounding so remarkably like a young girl that Sam, Mikaela, and the two Autobots jumped, gaping at him with surprise. Tyler, meanwhile, swept Zachary into a tight hug, causing the young sophomore to gasp with the force of it. "We're going to be roommates! Slumber party!"

"God help me - "

"Hey," Mikaela interrupted, one manicured eyebrow raised. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Tyler replied, turning to face her, Zachary still wriggling in his hold. He blinked when he noticed that he was, suddenly, the center of attention. "Give a hug?"

"No! That...voice, you - "

"You sounded like a chick, man," Jazz laughed, giving his visored head a shake of disbelief.

"Oh." He smirked, finally letting go of his younger friend to shrug. "It's nothin', I just - "

"He does voices," Zachary wheezed in explanation, trying desperately to de-wrinkle his shirt. "Really well."

"Can you do another one?" Mikaela requested, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Who do you want me to do?" Tyler asked, still grinning foolishly. He loved showing off what his mother called his "circus trick". "Give me the name of someone I'd know, though. I can only do voices I don't know after hearing them once or twice."

Sam ran his fingers through his short crop of hair thoughtfully. He wanted to think of the strangest voice he knew, an obvious challenge. "How 'bout...Elmo?"

Tyler let out a snicker, but nodded in acceptance. He pressed the pad of his thumb against his Adam's apple and rubbed up, rubbed down, digging his finger into the soft skin of his neck; he cleared his throat once, twice, three times.

"Elmo says, 'Come play with me!' Ha ha ha, he he he!" Tyler mimicked, his tone obnoxiously high-pitched and unmistakably that of the odd, red puppet.

Sam let out a surprised squawk, exchanging a delighted glance with Mikaela. Bumblebee, meanwhile, leaned in close to him, his circular mouth-guard nearly brushing the tip of Tyler's nose.

"Astounding!" the small, bright mech whispered, anxiously prodding the teeanger's throat with his pointer finger; Tyler made a small gagging noise as he leaned away, rubbing one hand protectively against his Adam's apple. "How did you...! What was that thing you did moments before you spoke, that caused you to change the pitch and tone of your voice? Do human beings have a...a control switch for doing that?"

"Not that I know of..." Tyler replied slowly, eying Bumblebee with a trace amount of suspicion. "I found out how to do it when I was younger, just figured it out one day. My mom took me to the doctor when I was a little older, and he said that my vocal cords were disfigured, had weird bumps and stuff in them. He said it wasn't harmful, so I decided to keep it the way it was. It's kind of a cool trick, you know?"

"Kind of?" Sam sputtered, shoving Bumblebee's helmeted head away as he squeezed himself between his guardian and Tyler. "That's an awesome trick! Kick-ass! Can you do another? Just one more?"

Despite the fact that he was tired, and growing increasingly so, Tyler nodded indulgently. "Yeah, one more. Who?"

"Surprise us," Zachary suggested, watching through squinted eyes as Mikaela yanked the hem of Sam's t-shirt, pulling her boyfriend back a few steps so that Tyler had a bit more breathing room. He then turned to Tyler, along with Sam, Mikaela, Telebot, Bumblebee, and Jazz, all of their gazes locked on his absent expression as he repeated the strange actions he had done before, rubbing the bump of his Adam's apple with his thumb. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat, delight sparking within his eyes as he shifted to face his expectant audience.

"I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots!" he rumbled deeply. Though the voice lacked the Autobot's mechanical hum, it was still a close enough comparison that his listeners jerked with both shock and delight, all eyes and optics wide, bright. "I decided to follow the All Spark to Earth, accompanied by my noble soldiers, and look at what it got me: a smart mouth from Sector Seven, an all-American G.I Joe, some twitchy goofball, his hot human girlfriend, two Spanish chicks, a gingersnap, a cripple, and a whole helluvalotta trouble!"

Giggles broke out even before he had finished his impersonation, so unlike that of Optimus Prime's quiet personality. Sam had choked on 'some twitchy goofball'; Mikaela bit her lip, though her snickers ultimately slipped through. Zachary attempted to look affronted at 'gingersnap', but was unable to keep a straight face for very long. Bumblebee giggled from behind one hand, his door wings twitching, and Jazz chuckled, appraising Tyler with one optic ridge raised. "I dare ya to talk to 'im like that, kid!"

Tyler smiled slowly at the hilarious idea, but before he could dwell on it, Zachary tugged on his wrist, glancing blindly around at the others. He had regained his composure, stoutly unwilling to encourage Tyler's nicknames.

"If we're just about done here, I'd really appreciate getting some sleep," he stated, a jaw-cracking yawn puncturing the end of his sentence like a period.

Sam blinked, as though suddenly remembering why they had ventured down the hallway in the first place. "Oh, right! Sorry, just got a little distracted..."

He placed Telebot down on the ground, nudging the tiny transformer towards Mikaela, then stood up and walked toward a door on their left. He punched a quick number code into a keypad beside it, and there was a soft hiss as the door slid open. He beckoned to Zach and Tyler. "C'mon, our room's here. The girl's room is across from our's."

"Any particular reason the bedrooms have code-activated locks?" Zachary questioned, following Tyler in as the blond teen rolled along behind Sam. "Should I be scared?"

"Depends," Sam replied, a grin blooming on his face. "Are you scared of unexpected Decepticon attacks, or getting stuck in here with Tyler?"

Zachary's answer was lost as the door shifted shut behind them, though Tyler's offended squawk and the resulting boyish laughter could clearly be heard just before the lock clicked into place.

In the silence that followed, Mikaela glanced between Bumblebee and Jazz, though her gaze landed on Jazz and stayed there. "I guess that's my cue to get to sleep too..." she said, her eyes lingering on the slim, silver mech's cupped hands. "Do you want me to...bring her in with me?"

Jazz stiffened, though quickly regaining himself, he nodded, carefully handing Antonia over to Mikaela. The small girl did not awaken; she merely shifted so that her forehead rested against Mikaela's shoulder.

At Mikaela's feet, Telebot let out a soft click of recognition, his small optics peering at Antonia's sleeping form from beneath his helmet. However, he remained silent, conscious of the fact that his "mother" was not awake, and therefore, should not be disturbed.

"Is there something you want to - " Mikaela began, only to stop mid-sentence as Jazz turned away, his expression hidden. Her brows furrowing together in confusion, she watched the second-in-command turn the corner and disappear, his footsteps fading from her hearing range.

She glanced up at her guardian, whose optics were locked on the corner, as though expecting Jazz to peek out from behind it.

"Did I do something, 'Bee?" Mikaela asked, despite the fact that she knew quite well that she had not done anything wrong.

"No," the small Autobot scout replied firmly, turning to face her. "There is something going on right now, Mikaela. Something...odd." When she attempted to interrupt him, he held up a hand to silence her. "When I am allowed to explain further, you will be the first one I come to. But, for now, you must remain oblivious. I am sorry."

"It's all right. It's not your fault," Mikaela responded quietly. Hefting Antonia closer to her, she nodded her head toward the door's keypad, her lips pressed into a thin frown. "Can you punch the number in for me? My hands are a little full."

"Of course." He flipped open the pad and did as was asked, all the while keeping his optics focused on her absent expression. Just as she was about to step into the cool darkness of her bedroom, Bumblebee gently snagged her shoulder, turning her toward him.

"Please do not be angry with me," he whispered, his short antennae pressed against his helmeted head in despair. "If I could, Mikaela, if I was allowed, I would - "

"'Bee." She rested her slim hand against the tip of his finger and gave him a soft smile. "I'm not mad. I'm just trying to figure out what's happening on my own, that's all. That's allowed, right?" She paused. "I'm sorry if I seemed a little pissed."

His expression softened. "It is all right, and...thank you for understanding. If I may give one more word of advice, leave whatever problems we are having alone for a little while and get some rest." He dropped his hand away, and leaned down so that they were more or less eye-level with one another. "Have a good night, Mikaela."

"You too, 'Bee. Tell the others I said good night," she replied, giving her guardian a quick, friendly kiss on the pointed tip above his mouth-guard. She then ushered Telebot into the bedroom with a nudge of her foot before stepping inside herself, Antonia in her arms.

"If you need anything," Bumblebee said softly, his optics bright from the unexpected smooch he had received, "you know where to find me."

She was still nodding as the door began to slide shut, and the last thing Bumblebee saw before it closed completely was a quick flash of his charge's sweet smile, her teeth sparkling against the darkness like pearls.

He grinned. Despite how goofy it felt to do so, he couldn't help it.

As he did so, Sam listened to the soft breathing of those who surrounded him. Tyler was a mound of muscle and blanket to his right, splayed out across the floor. After a lot of cursing and mumbling, he had managed to find a relatively comfortable position in which to sleep, even with his heavy cast. Zachary was curled into a tiny ball beside Tyler, his shoulders hunched around a single blanket, a pillow tucked beneath the messy crop of his red hair. He was turned away from them both, facing the closed doorway.

They had not been exaggerating when they'd explained how tired they were. He, Sam, was the only one still awake, even though he had been tired enough himself. He just kept thinking about how much everything had changed in the past few hours: the All Spark had returned in the form of a girl, Scorponok was dead, but Starscream and Barricade were still very alive, and...well, he actually had other teenage guys to spend time with.

In his mind, that was the most important change; the fact that he had male friends who were in the same position as he was, friends he could relate to.

It was true that Mikaela, 'Bee, Optimus, Will, Simmons, and the other Autobots were absolutely amazing, but they did not take the place of Miles, who had been his best friend when his life had still been normal. There were certain things he couldn't explain to them, there were certain jokes they wouldn't get. These things, the ones that they could not do, were what Sam had missed the most out of everything else he'd noticed in Miles's absence.

Staring off into the darkness, his eyes gradually becoming unfocused with exhaustion, he wondered if, maybe, Tyler and Zach would stick around long enough to become the friends he had wanted so badly since the day this mess had begun, nearly a year before. Maybe...

His lids slipped shut, his muscles loosened, and, finally, Sam Witwicky fell asleep.

She placed Antonia atop her bedspread, heard the quiet thump of the younger girl's light weight pressing against the mattress.

Taking a few steps back, she stood, watching her, and she saw Antonia for what she was: dark, olive skin; thin arms, gangly legs; locks of choppy, black hair, a white bandage wrapped around her wounded head; tattered, dirtied clothes; scratches and bruises etched here and there, on her cheeks, her wrists, her knees and ankles; deep rings of purple exhaustion circling each eye. Her expression, even in sleep, was thunderstruck, her features contorted in defense, as though she was fighting some mind-demon away from her dreams.

Her thin chest rose and fell at a rate slightly faster than that of another human being; because of the essence that had embedded itself within her, because of the All Spark.

The shards in question flickered on, flickered off, casting blue light against the slopes of Antonia's body, the walls, the ceiling, and the blankets. The All Spark did not seem to care that it was running a small girl ragged with its needs, that it was putting millions upon millions of lives in danger, that it had restored hope and regret, destruction and war. That it was making them start from scratch, forcing them to try to destroy it yet again and end what had begun so long ago for good.

Mikaela climbed onto the bed beside her, and curled in on herself without bothering to change, her made-up eyes resting on the small face inches away from her own, one moment bathed in light, the next, cast into shadow. What are you dreaming of, kid? she wondered distractedly.

There was tentative movement, a disturbance, at the bed's edge as another person joined them. Mikaela watched as Telebot carefully navigated himself through Antonia's legs and came to a rest at her abdomen, climbing over her hips as he settled beside her.

The sparkling stared at his mother's face, then lifted a small hand and traced one finger down the hill of her cheek, replicating what he had seen Pilar do. At his touch, Antonia's features softened slightly, no longer as tense.

Dropping his hand away, he leaned down and rested his helmeted head against her chest, right above her heart. As he listened to its consistent, quick beat, his optics slowly began to close.

Mikaela felt a burn in her throat, her vision wavering with tears as she watched him. She longed to reach out to the tiny transformer, stroke the side of his smooth facial plate, reassure him that everything would be all right. Instead, she edged just a little closer, her lips trembling slightly as she opened them.

"You'll protect her, won't you, Telebot?" she murmured softly.

Telebot's optics opened again, focused on her, and he pushed himself up slightly, just enough so that his television screen of a chest could be seen from where she lay. There was a soft click, and it turned on, revealing a scratchy scene from a black-and-white movie: a man in a suit was sitting beside a pretty, young woman, who lay limply on a stark-white hospital bed. In his clasped hands was one of hers, and his expression was one of great sadness as he watched her, his eyes locked on her sleeping face.

"Oh, Molly," the man said softly. "You're in the one place I can't reach you."

Her dark sleep was punctured with bursts of light and color, snatches of voices, of faces. She knew those voices, those faces, but they were millisecond movies, none of which she could see nor hear completely before they were gone.

Then, there were small stretches when it seemed as though she had switched bodies with someone else, someone who was in a great deal of pain, none of which she could feel but only sense as it radiated from (him) in waves. One moment, she could see through (his) eyes, standing before a group of men in suits, each of their expressions just as mocking and as doubtful as the next, their gazes filled with disgust and dislike for reasons she couldn't fully understand. All that she knew was that she (he) had failed them, and because she (he) had failed them, she (he it's him it's -) had failed as well...

The next moment, she was stumbling through an alleyway, ankle-deep in tattered newspapers, broken bottles, and molding cardboard, her fingers grazing an abandoned apartment's wall as she passed; her fingers, stained maroon. Blood.

Oh oh oh Thomas what have you done what have you -

She blinked. The alleyway with its dirt, muck and trash had disappeared. In its place, a mechanical monster draped in midnight shadow clouded her vision. Her body was being squeezed between its clawed fingers as an ugly current of red static forced its way through their exposed tips and into her, eating her insides and branding her with stinking, bleeding burns. Her mouth was a maw, a black hole in which a scream born of pain, agony, and ultimate release clawed its way up her throat and into the cool, night air.

The creature, its claws clicking with delight, smiled.

Together, she and it created a deadly chorus consisting of a single, unbroken shriek and a cackling, mad fit of inhuman laughter, a chorus that echoed, echoed, echoed -

Barely a second passed, and the image disappeared, the image of a pointed silhouette surrounded by the looming shadows of abandoned buildings and the backdrop of starry, moonless sky.

Who? she whispered into the unconscious darkness left in its wake. Who was that, screaming?

There was a pause, before the All Spark responded in its soft, genderless tone: It was no one, Antonia.

Go back to sleep.

Because she had no other choice, she did as she was instructed.

There were no more nightmares.

"Do you have everything you need?"

Pilar nodded, placing the last of her bags into the passenger's seat. She had managed to pack their few belongings, besides kitchen appliances and the like, into four suitcases. They had never had much to begin with, so there was nothing incredibly important that she was leaving behind.

After she climbed into the driver's seat, Optimus Prime closed the door behind her, locked it, and once again slipped the seat belt around her waist. Pilar mumbled a quiet thank you, and then rested her head against the seat's headrest, closing her eyes. She did not open them, even as he began to rumble down the road, even as the apartment that had been her home disappeared around the corner. She had locked its door, and she had left it, not knowing whether or not she would ever come back.

Ten minutes passed in complete silence. He had questions, many questions, but he didn't want to begin a conversation if she didn't want to speak, and clearly, she did not. It was only when he focused his hidden optics on her, for just a moment, instead of the road, that he knew why.

She was crying, quiet tears slipping down her olive cheeks in slow, curving rivers.

She was crying for reasons he understood at once: the loss of her home, worry for her daughter, for her friends, for herself, and perhaps, for more reasons, reasons he did not understand, did not know of yet. But, he realized something else, something more. She was crying only because she did not think he could see. She had searched for his optics and she had not found them. Because he noticed this, because he had already begun to care for her despite the short time they had spent together, he did not let her know that he knew, and had seen.

Instead, he pulled her seat belt just the slightest bit tighter, the closest to a hug he could manage, and remained quiet.

By the time they arrived at the Autobot's base, Pilar had fallen asleep.

Each of her ten, thin fingers were curled delicately around her seat belt.

"These images...may disturb you," the news anchor sputtered, looking, sounding, incredibly hollow. "It would be best if all children were asked to leave the room..."

Primus, he thought, his optics focused on the huge screen. To disturb would be an understatement.

Scene after scene after scene appeared, flashes of bloodied, broken, human bodies; maroon hand prints imprinted on white walls; immaculate rugs stained with blooming, red flowers born from droplets of blood; broken desks, scattered books, shattered light bulbs, uprooted office plants lying lifelessly in corners, their pots of dirt smashed open, brown clumps of raw earth scattered everywhere; ripped curtains, cracked windows, huge holes punched into the plaster.

People. People without limbs, some without heads, those of whom could only be seen beneath white blankets. Hands, feet, legs, arms, torsos lying around like mismatched puzzle pieces.

A man did all of this destruction, Ratchet reminded himself absently. A human being. A man.

William Lennox and Reginald Simmons stood beside him, their faces pale and thin, as the three of them listened to the hurried, frightened, sobbing voice of the only man who had lived through the devastation.

"T-t-thomas j-j-just went crazy...There was...was something wrong with him...His face was...was...infected with s-s-something...I thu-thu-think he had a duh-duh-disease of some sort...Buh-buh-but uh-uh-uh-I just...juh-juh-just...I...Ah...Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyy..."

The man let loose a hysterical, strangled wail, and the connection was cut short.

On the wide screen once again was the face of the anchorman, his eyes staring without seeing. "The biggest manhunt of the century has begun for the capture of Secretary of Defense, Thomas Duke. The President himself has requested that, for the next few nights, citizens of Mission City and the surrounding areas stay indoors while members of the U.S army and police force hunt Duke down, and the streets will be patrolled twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, until he is found...But...you have seen what he is capable of." The anchor's left eye gave a twitch. "That should be warning enough."

Ratchet leaned forward and clicked the computer screen off with one push of a button. He then rested his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped as images ran through his mind at a speed that was frightening. Hand prints, scattered limbs, broken bodies...

Simmons took a step toward him. His features had hardened considerably. "Duke didn't do this all on his own, did he?" he asked, his voice hoarse with shock.

"No." The Autobot didn't look up, refused to lift his head, even as he spoke.

"I have a feeling that Thomas is no longer human."

A shooting star fell to Earth exactly three hours, twenty-two minutes and fifty-five seconds later, mere miles away from the Autobot base.

No one was awake to see it.