Fallout: Apocalypse
Chapter 24
By Nan00k
Hey, guys, as a quick notice: I apologize if this story seems so overly dark and depressing that it's difficult to continue reading at this point. The only thing I'd like to point out (aside from the title, which clearly reads, "apocalypse") is that the pacing of this story drags a lot of the drama out and I'm sorry about that. We're only halfway through the story, mind you, so don't give up on me/the story just yet. Yes, there are more depressing things that await us (particularly in chapter 26 coming up), but this story was never about happy endings or Hollywood action flick plot-lines where the heroes are invincible. It's about survivors of the apocalypse finding a second chance to fix things, or fail again trying.
And, of course, never forget the core series theme as I have mentioned before: "Never let go of hope." :) That's not just directed at the characters.
ANYWAY! Today, Kass does some networking and Sam makes a big, big mistake. :D AWWW YEAH. I'm excited, guys. Thank you so much for editing this, Shantastic!
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Warnings: character death, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, theoretical science, and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story.
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NEST Compound
Plumas National Park, California
"If ya got somethin' t' offer, all I ask is that ya make th' offer once."
Jazz's plea had been simple and straightforward. Kass couldn't argue with the logic that they had to at least make a small gesture of support toward NEST in this time of need. Everyone was counting on the Autobots and NEST to succeed in this war, so Kass couldn't find it in herself to sit on the sidelines when she could be giving them some form of aid.
At first, she wasn't sure what that meant for her personally; all of their weapons had been taken from them when they arrived on the base, and it wasn't like they were facing off against the Decepticons in a literal battle now. They were still stuck in this limbo of non-action until they could validate more intel or until the Decepticons made their next move. However, the more she thought about it, the more she'd realized that she did have a skill worth mentioning, to at least one mech on the compound.
The med-bay was located in Hangar C and wasn't that large. Only three moderate-sized mechs could fit in there at a time and there was only one examining table. Kass had only seen it in passing when she had gone with Bluestreak for his incoming check-up from the Autobot medic, Ratchet. The mech was… intimidating and Kass had walked away from that encounter wary of approaching him—ever. Jazz had made a point to assure all of them that Ratchet's "bark was worse than his bite," especially when it came to humans, so Kass knew she didn't have any excuse not to slip away from her group that day and talk with him.
She wasn't entirely sure if she was really allowed to walk around alone, but it didn't matter because she didn't run into anyone—Autobot or human. She had decided not to bring any of her mech friends along, simply because she wanted to avoid any appearance of aggression or confrontation in the tiny med-bay. Ratchet already seemed volatile enough without adding in the presence of a mech he might consider to be an enemy. The whole base was quiet, which wasn't surprising when she considered what had happened a few days ago. Their own group was still quietly and uncomfortably working through the aftermath of the latest "incident" between Rachel and Jazz, which had been sparked by the loss of Optimus Prime.
The med-bay door was open and even from a distance Kass could hear both the heavy sounds of a mech's footsteps and the lighter clatter of mechanical tinkering filtering out of it. Upon reaching the threshold, she saw Ratchet first, moving around the examining table, muttering short things to himself. He sounded grumpy, but then he always did, Kass realized. She saw a mech lying on the examination table – it was the Autobot that had been damaged in Mexico.
Standing there awkwardly for a moment, Kass braced herself.
"Hello," she said, as loudly as she thought was needed. The room was rather tall, so she was afraid her voice might not carry as far as the mechs at the table.
Thankfully, it seemed like it was enough. Ratchet flinched and turned around in surprise, while Hound continued to lie on the table. Seeing the dark optics, Kass realized the mech was offline, probably so that Ratchet could work on his injuries more easily, without causing him undue pain.
Ratchet stared down at the human in the doorway, at first surprised, and then suspicious.
"…Kassandra Hall," he stated. He tilted his head at his unexpected visitor. "What can I do for you?"
Stomach full of butterflies, Kass tried to smile back politely. "I…" she began, voice wavering. She cleared her throat and walked into the med-bay properly. Acting scared was silly. "I wanted to offer my assistance."
That earned her a strange look. "What?" Ratchet asked, baffled.
Kass laughed and clasped her hands behind her, trying to keep from fidgeting. "I know quite a bit about mech repairs, although I'm sure they're all rudimentary concepts," she said simply. "Jazz asked us to offer to help NEST in any way we could. Aside from fighting, my only useful skill is basic field repairs, so I thought I would talk with you."
She didn't have any talent at strategy or war plans, and her art wouldn't help anyone on a battlefield, but she could certainly do repairs. That had been her job for years with her friends, and considering how many mechs they had running around now… well, she had a feeling they would be needing more medical hands.
They would always need medics in a war, after all.
Ratchet frowned, however, and Kass's stomach dropped. "I already have an assistant in training," he said, turning away again. While not cruel, his voice left no room for an argument. "Don't trouble yourself."
Kass hesitated when she realized that he had dismissed her without even a thought. Clearly, he had immediately decided that her offer was rubbish, and put her out of his mind; he probably planned to ignore her until she went away. That wouldn't do. Even if this was an easy way out (it wasn't like she hadn't tried), Kass didn't want to go back with nothing to tell Jazz. And she knew that she could do this, that she could help him save lives.
"It would be more troublesome to do nothing, sir," Kass said, causing Ratchet to pause again, both of them surprised at her tenacity. "My mother taught me how to repair machines. Wheeljack taught me how to apply that to mechs." She looked up at him plaintively. "Please. Let me do something."
That at least bought her more time to argue her case, and a little interest on the medic's part. "How much do you know?" Ratchet asked, glaring. He gestured down at Hound's leg. "Do you know how to repair energon lines?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Kass moved a bit closer, folding her hands together again. "It's not exactly the most fun job. And if I had to do that, that meant Wheeljack was busy with more severely injured people, so that was never a good sign for us." In fact, the less she'd had to do it, the better.
"Hm." Ratchet continued to work on the mech's side. "Damaged plating connectors?"
Kass moved even closer to see what he was doing. "Soldering. It's not that different from working on automobiles."
Ratchet's engines revved loudly and he seemed irritated. "It's entirely different. Our exostructures are made of a—," he started.
"Non-biological coagulating metal that acts like a self-repairing epidermis," Kass interrupted. She smiled pleasantly at his surprise. "Wheeljack taught me well."
The medic stared at her with a squinting expression that reminded her of how Arcee would look at Wildrider when he was being particularly obnoxious. Blushing, Kass held her ground. Ratchet glanced back at his patient and back at her.
"How would you go about fixing this injury?" he demanded gesturing at Hound's leg.
Kass blinked in surprise and got closer. She couldn't quite see the wound from her angle, so Ratchet (with a heavy sigh of disdain) offered his hand. Being picked up by an unknown mech was rather unsettling, but Kass was trying to be professional.
"Shrapnel needs mini-mag tools to get the smallest bits out," she replied, peering down now at the unconscious mech. The plating had been removed by Ratchet obviously, but she could see tinier holes and pierced tubing on the inside, so it had to be shrapnel. She smiled up at Ratchet. "Or gloved human hands."
Ratchet's sour expression returned. "Clever," he said sarcastically. He gently put her down on the end of the exam table however, so Kass was hoping that his mood was, as she heard Jazz describe, normal.
"Sorry," she said anyway, standing back to let him get to work. He obviously wanted her to watch if he had put her on the table instead of the floor, so she felt comfortable standing in silence.
"If you want to help, you're going to have to get in line," he said suddenly, causing her to look up. Ratchet did the mech version of an eyebrow raise. "Mikaela Banes already signed on for apprenticeship."
Ah, yes, Mikaela Banes. Kass wasn't too shocked by that, from what she knew of the other young woman. Jazz had always spoken fondly of her and said that his Mikaela had been a field medic. And during the attack on the base over a week ago, Mikaela had seemed very capable under stress. Kass certainly didn't want to step on any toes by offering her help, however.
"Oh, I don't want to shove anyone out of the way," Kass replied, holding her hands up weakly. "I just want… I'd like to help when I'm needed."
Because if she had to sit there helplessly and do nothing, she would go mad. She had the skills to offer and these people were going to need the help.
Ratchet hummed thoughtfully. "That's acceptable." He suddenly laughed shortly, surprising her. It was a grim sound. He focused on his work. "Who knows? We may need you sooner than later."
Kass wilted a bit, both in relief that he wasn't shoving her away, but also in mild despair.
"I'd rather you not need me at all," she admitted, glum.
Turning, Ratchet looked at her, and then looked back down at Hound in silence. "Even worlds without war need medical care, Kassandra."
Kass nodded and sighed quietly. What was there to say? She hoped they wouldn't need her, or even Mikaela. She knew that was a foolish hope.
Instead she watched him as he quickly and efficiently removed the shrapnel from Hound's side and started patching tubes. She found herself intrigued by what he was doing. He was using a lot of different tools she didn't recognize, though that wasn't very surprising. Wheeljack had never been a real medic, despite how much he had helped them all in the long run, so Ratchet must have had a lot more gadgets to help him fix even the most minor of injuries. Somewhere in NEST's confiscated supplies were Kass' soldering tools, so she wondered if she could ask Ratchet if she could finally have those back. Maybe they might have been a bit pathetic compared to his tools, but if they could improve them—
A long clanging sound caused Kass to jump. Even Ratchet flinched and turned around to seek out the source of it. Kass saw another mech at the door with a raised fist, so he must have been knocking—
And then Kass stopped. Everything stopped, when she realized who it was.
"Ratchet, I just decoded Perceptor's report from the Galaxus, and you'll never believe what's his readouts are saying!" Wheeljack—not theirs, but the new one—exclaimed excitedly. He rounded on Ratchet, who glanced furiously between him and the exam table where Kass stood watching. Wheeljack went on, oblivious. "The gamma ray burst he was tracking has quite possibly the most intricate leveling I have ever—oh."
He finally spotted her. It was almost humorous how quickly Wheeljack's glee melted to at first horror and then an awkward expression more suited for a man who just walked into the ladies' lavatory. Kass fought a laugh, which most likely would have been just a tad hysterical, as the masked mech seemed to literally take a step back and make as if to rush right back out the door.
It might have been simpler to just let him run, but Kass… Kass had had enough nights to think this confrontation over.
"Ah, wait," she called out, causing Wheeljack to flinch, halting, and Ratchet to look worriedly back at her. Kass forced herself to smile, trying to let them both know she wasn't about to have a fit. "You don't need to run away every time you see us."
While it might have been easier for him to do just that, it wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault—any of it. She couldn't begrudge him for something that was beyond his control. None of her group should do that, she had realized soon after Danny's break down. It was only fair that she let him know that, too.
The tall mech across from her had such a wounded look to his optics. Kass could easily read his emotions through them and his earfins' low glowing. It pained her terribly to have to look at that same face, knowing the person behind it was so very different than the one that had meant so much to all of them, but…
It wasn't his fault.
"I'd prefer to leave than cause distress," Wheeljack said slowly. He looked to Ratchet for help, but the medic said nothing, probably opting to see how it played out.
Kass clenched her fists briefly to brace herself further. "…It's okay," she said. She cleared her throat again and said louder, "It's not your fault."
He looked at her, at first surprised, and then with muted curiosity. He needed to hear that from one of the refugees, Kass knew, otherwise he'd probably go around thinking he was some sort of monster. She knew how her Wheeljack thought—always putting others above himself—so this one must be similar. In that way, she couldn't help but feel guilty about making him act so shyly around them.
Ratchet rumbled lowly, distracting Wheeljack with some unheard command. Both mechs turned back to one of the work tables against the wall. The silence was deafening, but Kass didn't mind. She took the time to look at the other mech closer, cataloguing just how different this mech was from the one she knew. He was a lighter shade of blue and had more decals. He was the same height though and the earfins were hauntingly familiar.
But he was still different. That… that would help. A lot.
"You're not Wheeljack," she said simply when he turned around. He stared at her, surprised; both ignored the warning glare Ratchet sent the other Autobot.
Wheeljack tilted his helm and his earfins dimmer even further. "I know," he replied, sounding guilty. "I already registered this alias, however, so I don't know if—"
All at once, Kass knew what to do.
"WJ," she said, surprising him again. "It's a nickname." Kass stood up straighter and cleared her throat before asking, "May I call you WJ instead?"
A name change was a small alteration, but with his paintjob and decals being so different… maybe it would be enough to make his presence bearable and the survivors' own presence not so distracting for the Autobots.
Ratchet stared between them, constantly seeking out any signs of distress from either party. Kass waited patiently as Wheeljack looked at her and she could practically hear his processor whirling as he went over what she had just told him.
"…an odd nickname," he said at length. Kass could hear a smile in his voice, however. "But if it pleases you, you may."
Kass nodded, smiling back. WJ would be enough. She was grateful he was going to oblige her request, because honestly, it made things easier even now to stare up at him. The tension in the room eased a bit, though she knew they had a long way to go before the heartache faded completely.
"I must say, your accent is very intriguing," WJ said suddenly. "You're from the British Isles, then?"
"My parents were from what was left of it," Kass said, not entirely comfortable with that line of conversation, but she sat down on the table and decided to endure it. "Though, yes, I am British."
WJ's earfins flashed brightly, the effect achingly familiar. "Fascinating! I suppose the same could be said of Bluestreak or Prowl's position as Praxian refugees, even though they were both raised there, albeit for a very short time period," he said. "The sociological attachment to state identities seems to transcend our species boundaries, regardless."
Kass stared at him and focused on looking at his differences. "…Yes," she said, polite. "I suppose so."
Ratchet made a sighing sound and none-too-gently pushed WJ toward the door, glaring. "Take your sociological ranting elsewhere, I need to work!" he snapped. He gestured at WJ, whom amicably chuckled and slipped outside. "Go harass Ironhide for once!" He turned to Kass with a slightly less lethal expression, though it was still enough to make Kass' heart jump a tiny bit. "And you. I expect full dedication to learning how to properly fix an injured mech. There are no short cuts in my 'bay, and you had better learn that this is my domain and you follow my instructions—understand?"
That was both more than she was hoping for and a little less than she feared. Kass smiled weakly and nodded.
"Perfectly."
0000
Tranquility, Nevada
When he walked back into his house for the first time in days, his father looked up from the couch and told him, "Welcome to the new world."
Sam couldn't really disagree with that statement. After everything that had happened and what was still happening all over the globe—it was a brand new planet, and he had to figure out his place upon it.
He had expected the panic, and boy, was there ever panic. He had numbly paraded through a bunch of social networking sites and had seen the hysterical comments, the staunch disbelief from those who called it a hoax, and the countless mentions of how scary the situation was. The religious community was throwing a royal tantrum, right- and left-winged conservative groups were denouncing the Autobots as terrorists, and apparently there was already a series of fake Transformers sightings over in Kansas. And then there was the conspiracy theorist community, which had nearly collapsed in euphoria.
Bumblebee had driven him and Mikaela home for the weekend. They were there to say goodbye to family and to pack for a far more permanent move than had originally been planned—at least in Sam's case. A lot of hard decisions had been made in the last week, and one of them inevitably came to rest solidly on his shoulders alone: school.
He'd walked in the door on Thursday night to find his parents talking about the news, his mother worrying loudly about whether Stanford would be a safe place for Sam to be in the midst of all of this. "I'm not going," he'd said, refusing to look either parent in the eye that night. He'd looked at the space between his mother and father and fought the urge to run away.
His father wasn't surprised at his decision, after all, he had already missed orientation and classes would begin the next day. His mother plainly didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified that Sam would instead leave the safety of home to be with the Autobots.
"Okay," Ron Witwicky had said, nodding stiffly. The gesture was obviously difficult, since a range of emotions flashed over his face; Sam picked up on the disappointment and trembled.
Maybe—maybe he would have the chance to go again, someday, when things calmed down. But he couldn't do it now. The Autobots couldn't spare a mech to wait around on him and be his safety net, protecting him from the Decepticon threat. And he wouldn't go without backup, would never risk the lives of so many other, innocent people, just so that he could attend an Ivy League college. Not to mention that it didn't feel right to spend thousands of dollars of his parents' money when he had credible information that his college would be pretty much shut down within a couple of years. A literal war of the worlds was starting, and his parents would need that money to get by, to survive what was coming. People were going to start dying; Sam wasn't stupid. He would be lucky if he survived as it was.
So instead of college, Sam would have his dream come true: he would live on the NEST compound either until they won the war or until more mechs arrived and Bumblebee could reduce his duties to the Autobots and simply be Sam's bodyguard. At that point they could leave the NEST base, and just… go somewhere else. Not home though. Sam would still refuse to stay at home, out of fear that the Decepticons would attack his family. Mikaela had similar worries for her father. She would be working for Ratchet on on base, though, so she had a role to fill. Sam had fleetingly thought that maybe he could learn how to help Ratchet too. It would at least give him something to do. He wanted to find something—anything—to make this hiatus worthwhile.
On Sunday, Sam had pulled his last load of clean clothes out of the laundry and finished his packing, was glad that his mother had finally backed off asking him questions ("Where are you going? I know it's a secret, but I'm your mother!"). His father was avoiding him as well, though Sam knew it was just how he dealt with emotional issues. Mikaela had said goodbye to her dad and grandmother that morning. That evening they'd head out, just Sam, Mikaela and 'Bee… and from there, they'd handle it step by step.
Mikaela had come over and was lying on the futon on the porch as he watched TV on the small box they had taken from the kitchen. She was methodically scouring the Web for any new reports on the aliens or any new amateur sightings that might actually have credence. Sam watched blankly as CNN covered more of the situation in Washington, as feeble old men tried to make sense of this global upheaval.
"Director of National Intelligence, John Keller, held another press conference earlier this morning to detail the alien-human alliance that Congress has been deliberating over for the last twenty-four hours," the reporter on the screen said in front of a D.C. backdrop. Sam marveled at her ability to stay so calm while talking about the issue at hand. "The so-called Autobot Army has been under US military supervision for several months, and along with the US military have formed a coalition known as the Non-Biological Extraterrestrial Species Team, or NEST, to confront any return visits from the alien faction we have come to know as hostile to Earth…"
When he had asked what the new alliance was, Bumblebee had just shrugged and reassured him it was the same thing essentially, with far fewer restrictions as to their own appearance, and what had to happen if humans saw them in root mode. They still had to play it safe and try to remain out of the public eye, just so they didn't cause mass hysteria, but apparently this was just for show and to make the public feel better.
They weren't feeling better, though, Sam noted, as he flipped through multiple channels of news that all had the same sentiments being thrown around: who are these Autobots? What about those Decepticon things? Why are they still here if the evil aliens have been defeated? What do you mean, the bad aliens are still around? Are we at war? What does that mean?
There had been new videos too, that the media was replaying over and over again. Three uniform, but unidentified F-22 Raptors had been spotted over Denmark two days ago and now that the world knew to that alien crafts could show up in a variety of different guises, they had smartly picked up on the clip as evidence of aliens elsewhere, beyond the States.
"Bee, I found another video," Mikaela called out, looking over Sam's shoulder toward the driveway.
There was a harsh sound of metal sliding over metal and Sam flinched. He looked over and saw Bumblebee crouching next to the porch—feet mindful of the walkway.
"You checked before doing that, right?" Sam asked, glancing around his empty, darkening backyard warily. It was nearly nine, but sometimes his neighbors liked to spy on people, just like his mother. The Autobots might have been exposed to the public (Prowl had looked positively unimpressed on TV during his brief stint over in Washington that morning as physical proof for the doubtful), but Main Street America would have a lot of difficulties accepting life with giant alien robots.
Bumblebee nodded and leaned closer to Mikaela. "What video?" he asked.
"There are a bunch of viral videos up on YouTube now," Mikaela said, clicking on multiple windows apparently as she skimmed. She bit her lip. "Just the same flier videos that we saw on CNN, but I think one was from a different angle."
"How's NEST holding up with this whole rogue video thing?" Sam asked, looking up at Bumblebee.
Now that the secret was out, people were actively looking for this kind of footage and posting it, and the government didn't have a hope of suppressing it. But Sam and Mikaela thought that maybe, through civilian sightings, they could finally find out where the hell Galvatron and his people were hiding. It had been unsettlingly quiet everywhere, and NEST was getting panicked over that. Or at least, the humans were. Sam had seen how collected Prowl and Ironhide were, so he had faith that the Autobots would keep their cool. They were in good hands.
The scout shook his head. "It's nothing we didn't expect, though the use of the amateur video might be helpful to locate Starscream or any other Decepticons," he said.
Mikaela made a tsking sound. "Did you guys see the one of the two mechs in Russia?" she asked.
"Yes, we got that this morning. Those hikers are lucky to have escaped," Bumblebee said, grim.
"And another thing just popped up in London," Mikaela continued, pointing at her screen. Sam leaned over and saw a grainy shot of a mech transforming and then re-transforming in what looked like a mall parking lot. "A security camera caught it."
Bumblebee rumbled lowly. "I hadn't seen it, but Ironhide just told me they received that as well," he said. He rested his arms on his knees as he peered at his two friends. "Thank you for investigating, both of you. If we miss anything ourselves, I'm sure one of you or the other humans will notice it on your media networks."
"Hopefully," Sam sighed, leaning upright a bit. His back hurt, as did his head, but they had a long car ride back to base in a few hours, so there wasn't much he could do about it.
The TV droned on and Mikaela returned to surfing for any signs of alien intrigue. Sam stared at the screen door for a long moment, trying not to think about how he wasn't going to be able to come home for a long time, if ever. There were worse things, though, Sam reminded himself.
After all, they had just had a funeral for the best secondary father figure he had ever had. Sam took several deep breaths and tried not to think about that either. He wasn't good at mental coaching, at all.
Untangling himself from Mikaela, Sam stood up. He wasn't going to be thinking about this now.
"I'm going to go take a shower," he announced, rubbing his face tiredly. They were leaving once his mother came back from the store, with snacks he told her they wouldn't need for the road. Mikaela made a sound of acknowledgement, not even looking up, and Bumblebee nodded.
"Perhaps you should take a nap," the Autobot said, looking at Sam, concerned.
Sam shook his head and stepped out onto the grass to pat Bumblebee's cheek. "Don't worry, I can always sleep on the way," he said, smirking. It would be a long drive, but there wasn't much anyone could do about that—
"Sam…?" he heard someone begin, before cutting themselves off with a sharp gasp.
Sam froze where he was and didn't turn around at first, because if his ears weren't playing tricks on him, and his mother's voice hadn't miraculously deepened within the last hour—
Oh no. Oh NO.
Slowly, with his heart pounding like a war drum, Sam turned. Parallel to him, Mikaela had turned a remarkable pale color and gazed out at the source of the voice with unadulterated horror from the futon.
Beyond Bumblebee's shoulders, Sam could easily see Miles Lancaster poised at the end of the driveway and staring directly at Bumblebee with a look that reminded Sam of a wild animal facing down a moving vehicle.
OH SHIT.
"Uh oh," an unfamiliar radio voice from Bumblebee's speakers rang out, the Autobot scout practically wilting downward as he looked back at Miles.
"Miles!" Sam squeaked, blood running cold.
Miles stared at Sam with the same deer-in-headlights expression and then looked up—at Bumblebee.
There was a long, excruciating pause. But Sam knew what was coming, even as a part of him died on the inside as Miles' face grew blotchier and his eyes grew even wider as his emotions finally spilled over.
"Sam, what the hell is this? !"
"Miles, wait—shit—WAIT!" Sam exclaimed at the same time as Mikaela leaped up from the futon, shouting, "Shut up! Shut up!"
With both Sam and Miles shrieking at the same time ("SAM, WHAT THE HELL—WHAT THE HELL? !" "MILES, SHUT UP! STOP SHOUTING!"), Bumblebee had quickly transformed back into his automobile form when a dog started barking down the street. That, of course, made Miles scream even louder, pointing at the Autobot frantically.
"YOUR CAR IS A ROBOT!" he yelled, starting to jump back more; fear alone was probably the only thing that was keeping him from running down the back alley. "SAM!"
"No, Miles, wait, stop yelling!" Sam pleaded, trying to do the same himself. Mikaela was unhelpfully standing there, hand clasped to her mouth, looking utterly speechless. "Just—!"
"Oh, GOD, you were right! It's Satan's Camaro! I didn't LISTEN!" Miles kept yelling, clutching at his face. His hysteria was contagious, even if it was stemming from an entirely different reason. "Ohmygod, Sam, what is that thing? ! Is it an alien? ! It's an alien, isn't it? !"
"Miles, hold on," Mikaela began, voice wavering, breaking her reverie. She looked over at Bumblebee and then Sam with a fearful expression. "I-it's not—"
"Ohmygod, SAM, she knew about the robot before me? !" Miles suddenly demanded, looking at Mikaela accusingly. He sent Sam a scathing look. "Dude, so not cool!"
Sam slapped a hand over his face, exasperated. "Just calm down!" he snapped, physically feeling ill from this. Oh, God, he did NOT need this, not now—
"Calm down? ! You have a giant robot car monster in your driveway!" Miles screeched, pointing now at Bumblebee again. "It's one of the aliens, isn't it? !"
Strangling on air, Sam looked back at Bumblebee, who was also quiet, but judging how tense the car was, the Autobot was probably already radioing the situation into his superiors.
Well, there went his internship at NEST, Sam thought, dazed.
"We need to bring him in," Bumblebee announced, causing Miles to choke on whatever other heated comment he had been meaning to throw out. "NEST will need to debrief him."
"NEST, what the fuck is NEST? !" Miles gasped, obviously having not watched the news recently.
"It's nothing bad, I swear!" Sam cut in, trying to keep his friend calm. He stepped closer, hands out in a placating way. "Miles, I swear, I will tell you everything you want to know. You know how I was going out to California? This is why. It's huge, okay? Big military and government business, but it's all a secret."
Miles gaped at him. "I knew you were lying," he said, causing Sam to wince. "This whole time—you were with the aliens?"
"I'm sorry. Dude, I am so sorry," Sam replied, shaking his head. He nodded back at Bumblebee. "Miles, this is serious. I mean it. You can't just meet one of these dudes and not get debriefed. NEST needs to make sure you don't go blabbing important details, okay? They're the good guys though, I promise."
His words, intended to be comforting, probably didn't do much to soothe Miles' paranoid fear. The blond man kept staring at Bumblebee in open horror. Sam swallowed hard and tried to keep breathing normally. He looked back at Mikaela, who just looked at him helplessly, and he knew they had to at least keep this from going any further. Sam had never wanted this, but what was done was done.
"…Then…" Miles started, clearly struggling as he looked over at Sam, imploring for answers. "Mission City…?"
As his father came out onto the porch to see what was causing all the ruckus, Sam laughed, hysteria and exhaustion hitting each other in his mind. "Miles," he began, shaking his head, "get in the car and I'll tell you everything about it."
This would be one hell of a long drive back.
.
End Chapter 24.
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Next, Jazz gets involved and then Barns discovers something particularly awful.
A/Ns:
-Yes, WJ is his official name now. He's the only one who gets a big name change, at least until much, much later in the story.
-I love Miles Lancaster and there's nothing you can do to stop me. (I swear, he has a point in all this.)
