Safehouse

Unit-E, being a sub-branch of the Defence Intelligence Agency that Agent Fowler had worked for prior to his demise, was an organization that had, as a contingency, put together a number of 'safe-houses' across the nation. The original Unit-E base, outside of Jasper, Nevada, had been destroyed in an attack carried out by Megatron and his Decepticon forces about a decade ago. As a result, the Autobots and their human allies had taken to operating out of a hangar in Area 51, otherwise known as 'Dreamland'. Up until yesterday, that place had been Unit-E's headquarters. Now, what remained of the organization was scattered across the nation and very few of these safehouses, or 'replacement operating centres', were active in any significant fashion.

It had started raining in Carson City. A light shower, though the thick grey clouds overhead indicated it may increase in intensity at some later point in the day. In the northern section of the city, where the density of houses and other buildings thinned out until the desert properly reclaimed the land, were some more isolated properties. It was here that Ultra Magnus found himself, once again taxiing around Jack and Rafael. He was followed by Wildstrike, who in turn was followed by Deadeye, the pair spreading out across the vacant lot up ahead while Ultra Magnus moved to the grey warehouse further down the mostly empty road. As far as the Autobot Commander could tell, there appeared to be no one here. Only one car was parked on the street, outside a small house that was across from the warehouse. Even as he came to a halt, he felt that he was being watched, and not from the warehouse either. The sign out the front of the property indicated it as belonging to a branch of the Department of Health and Human Services. Rafael was quick to point out the lie behind that.

"This is it," he said. "One of Unit-E's fallback positions if Area 51 was ever compromised."

"There's no one here," Jack replied. Ultra Magnus was already in the process of scanning for organics, humans in particular. Aside from a stray cat that went running across the street, there appeared to be no one in the warehouse. The front gate was locked and the parking lot empty. Some distance behind them, further south, was the Carson City Airport. A light plane, mostly white in colour, was in the process of coming in for a landing upon the airport's single runway. Its twin engines droned audibly across the region.

"That doesn't matter," Rafael replied. "I just need to use the computers here."

"So we're breaking in?" Jack pushed open his side's door and Ultra Magnus swung open the other one. Both humans climbed out, stepping into the rain. A cool wind blew through the street, kicking up some paper litter from the gutter close by.

"Wildstrike and I will watch the perimeter," Ultra Magnus said. He pinged her comms, receiving a confirmation ping in reply. He spoke again, this time into his comms: "As for Deadeye, you keep an eye on the street. Alert us if you see anything suspicious."

Ultra Magnus started off the road, going around the warehouse perimeter. Naturally, it was fenced on all sides. Wildstrike went down the opposite side and the pair met up on the dirt road at the rear of the property. Beyond that were the open and mostly dry plains of Nevada, covered in some sporadic clusters of vegetation. The rain that currently fell would likely help to add some more greenery to the vista before them.

"Sir, I don't think there are any other humans around," she said. "I'd like to stretch my legs."

Ultra Magnus had scanned the warehouse and found nothing, so he figured that it was safe for the pair of them to transform. Deadeye would keep watch out the front and though he did not have his guns with him, he would be sure to chime in over their comms and alert them to any new arrivals in the area.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," Ultra Magnus said. "Just stay off the street when in biped form." He transformed at the same time she did, flexing his arms as he stood tall in robot mode. Wildstrike worked her knees a few times.

"You think they'll find anything, sir?" Wildstrike asked suddenly. Ultra Magnus assumed she was referring to their two human friends.

"Maybe. I hope they do. We've spent long enough as it is on the run. We need to catch some sort of break."

"This Taskforce is one thing. Decepticons are another. Could they be really working together?"

Ultra Magnus could only shrug. This was part of the reason why he hoped Jack and Rafael would be able to uncover some helpful information through their trip to the safe-house. At the moment, he knew very little as to why the events of the last forty-eight hours had occurred. He knew he was a fugitive on this world, he knew that Decepticons actively hunted him and that humans did the same through a belief that he and the others had killed their President, but beyond that? He actually knew very little. It irritated him a great deal. Going into combat uninformed and with bad intel was bound to cause disaster. So far, the last day or two had been a disaster in a very literal sense.

Ultra Magnus turned to head back to the eastern perimeter of the warehouse when he heard Wildstrike follow him. He turned around, seeing that she had quickly closed the distance between them.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" He asked. Rainwater was trickling down her frame, as it was on his own. He saw that she seemed sheepish all of a sudden, judging by the anxious smile that crossed her face.

"Sir, I know it may not be appropriate, but part of the reason I volunteered to come to Earth was to make sure you were safe," she explained. "I mean, I don't think I could have lived with myself if anything happened to you and I wasn't there to do something to stop it."

"What's inappropriate about that, Lieutenant? You do your duty and you do it well."

"I mean, Commander, that I was genuinely afraid for your safety. Not just in the 'fellow soldier' sense. But I mean, well...I mean..." She trailed off, struggling to form a cohesive sentence. Ultra Magnus found her sudden uncertainty somewhat amusing but he kept a straight face. He did not want her to feel uncomfortable, certainly not in their current situation. However, he had never seen Wildstrike quite like this before. She was normally confident, even headstrong. Perhaps too much so in some regards, so her anxiety now was certainly odd.

"Speak your mind, Lieutenant," Ultra Magnus said.

"It's inappropriate, sir," she said, looking up at him. "You're my superior officer. I never should have brought it up."

Ultra Magnus leaned his head forwards slightly, keeping his expression neutral. He did have a good idea as to what Wildstrike was trying to get at, but he felt it would be better if she got it out on her own time.

"Brought what up, exactly?"

Wildstrike clasped her hands together, unsure as to where else to place them.

"I have feelings for you, sir. I'll understand if it's not mutual..."

Ultra Magnus interrupted her by placing a hand to her shoulder. It was a reassuring gesture, a sincere one at that.

"Why are you bringing this up now?" He was simply curious. Wildstrike shrugged, uncertain of that herself.

"I've been keeping them bottled up for a while. I just didn't know what you'd think." She paused and their optics met. "Looks like you don't think much of them..." She appeared disappointed, if only fleetingly, before Ultra Magnus simply shook his head in response.

"No, no, Lieutenant. It's best this sort of thing is out in the open. Bottling it up inside doesn't do you any good." He paused, giving himself a moment to consider his response. He would be lying to himself if he did not admit that he felt something for her. Such personal feelings he had often brushed aside, instead setting his mind firmly upon the tasks at hand, and there were many for someone in his position. "There isn't a lot of time for something like this for me. I have a lot of important work I have to do. But I'd be lying if I said the feeling wasn't mutual. It is, Wildstrike. We've been working together for some time now, you've always had my back and it looks like that isn't about to change anytime soon." He took his hand from her shoulder and grabbed both of hers in his own. His bulkier hands cradled her slimmer ones gently. She smirked at him, although she did appear relieved that her spilling her spark out to him had not backfired.

"What now, sir?" She asked, half-jokingly. "I mean, I was almost expecting you to tell me to 'stow it'..."

"We can't do much about it now," Ultra Magnus said. "We get through this, and maybe we can arrange something when we get back to Cybertron."

"Arrange what?"

Ultra Magnus cracked a smile then, the first one in a long while.

"What do you think?"


Jack came to the gate of the compound, a solid metal one with a large padlock in the centre, keeping both halves of the gate firmly closed. By now, the rain had started in earnest, a light spitting at most. He did not fancy getting caught out in the rain, yet it appeared that getting into the Unit-E safehouse would be tricky. The whole place was very obviously deserted, at least from outside. He did notice a surveillance camera over the gate on the left, one that had sight of the entire driveway. Rafael stood nearby and he lightly rattled one half of the gate. There would be no budging it. As for climbing over, Jack figured that the rolls of barbed wire atop the perimeter fence would make that a painful affair.

"Looks like nobody's home," Rafael said. He looked through the gaps at the gate, surveying the front of the large warehouse. "There are no cars, no guards, nothing."

"You sure this is the right address?" Jack, as he asked this question, glanced over to the sign by the gate. 'Department of Health and Human Services' it read, and underneath: 'Closed For Renovations. For Inquiries, Call 1800 555 777'. This was likely just a front and a quick glance would reveal that there were no renovations going on, at least none on the outside. Jack may have called the number, had he had his phone on him. Thinking about it, he realised that calling the number would likely redirect him to the real Department of Health and Human Servcies, not Unit-E and certainly not the Defence Intelligence Agency that had been in charge of it.

"I'm sure," Rafael replied. He turned to face Jack. "If I wasn't sure, I'd never have got us to come here."

"What do you think? There'll be the computers you need inside?"

"Probably."

"So we break in." Jack looked over to Deadeye, who was parked in his vehicle form further down the street. "We get one of the Autobots to break this gate open. Then, we walk on in and get what we need."

"And you'll probably bring the local police down on us, at least,' Rafael countered. "If this place is empty, there'll be security systems switched on. We could trip something and sound an alarm at some faraway compound. Then your Taskforce will know we've come here."

"It's not 'my' Taskforce," Jack said. He did not try to hide his annoyance. "They've tried to kill me more than once already."

"You worked with them for six months, Jack," Rafael said. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze a scrutinising one. "Did you not notice anything suspicious with them?"

"You think they'd let me in on the 'suspicious' stuff?" Jack did not like Rafael's accusatory tone. It had been subtle, but it was there, he was sure of it. "I didn't think they'd try to kill me, if that's what you're wondering. They were perfectly legitimate. They still kind of are, they just want to kill us. And that's half the problem, because they've got the authority and the support to do just that. But I didn't see anything immediately strange. If I did, do you think I'd have stayed with them? I'd spill the beans on the whole thing. And that's what we have to do now." It was an idea that had only recently developed, one that might lead to more chaos but it was his best bet to rectify the situation that he, Rafael and the Autobots had fallen into.

"We expose the Taskforce. We expose their lies about the Autobots. We expose the sort of black ops stuff they've got going." Jack knew it sounded crazy. The Taskforce had gone to significant lengths to keep its operations secret, relying on benefactors in the government to pay the bills required to cover up a mission that may have happened in a public space.

"You think that'll be enough?" Rafael sounded unconvinced, but neither he nor Jack had any better ideas.

"It'll be a start."

"Won't that just cause more trouble?"

It was a valid question. As much as Jack would have preferred clearing his name in a manner not as blunt, he had since reached the point where he was willing to go to whatever lengths to see the Taskforce and their Decepticon allies get brought down. Exposing them to the general public would be a good start.

"Maybe. But we won't be able to do anything unless we have some hard evidence. That's what you'll get off the computers, Raf. Actual hard evidence we can pass on to the media. And we'll dig up whatever information we can about what they're doing, about what Colonel Carver's planning, anything that'll give us an edge."

"I don't know about this, Jack," Rafael said. His voice was laced with uncertainty. "We've got to be careful. This could blow up in our faces..."

"It already has," Jack interjected. "They burned your house down, Raf. They killed Fowler. They've got Miko and I don't know where they've taken her. If that isn't 'blown up' then I don't know what is." He could not contain the passion he felt regarding the matter, his tone becoming increasingly frustrated as he spoke. "They've smeared our names, they've killed the President. I still don't believe Bumblebee did that. Do you?"

Rafael shook his head.

"And we'll find out who really did it."

Before Jack could add anything more, the sound of a phone ringing interrupted the conversation. It was coming from somewhere further down the street, at a phone booth about fifty metres away, right at the end of the road. Here, there was a dead-end and a ditch overgrown with dry grass. Paper litter and a rusted washing machine had been dumped there, along with numerous empty cans and bottles of booze. Jack looked to the phone and then to Rafael. The pair exchanged bemused looks while the phone continued to ring, over and over again. Finally, Jack mustered up the courage to turn in the phone booth's direction and start walking towards it.

"Jack, are you sure...?" Rafael trailed off as Jack strode away. His question unanswered, Rafael quickly followed after him.

Jack came to the phone booth, where the phone continued to ring. There was no one else on the street save for them. A few houses were across the road, but they appeared to be deserted.

He entered the phone booth and somewhat gingerly grasped the phone, pulling it from its housing before placing it to its ear. As one would expect, there was a fair amount of crude graffiti scrawled about within the phone booth. No surface here was clean either, with dirt clinging to most.

"Hello?" Jack said. He could hear some heavy breathing on the other end. He half-expected the caller to hang up at that moment. However, they did quite the opposite.

"You want in on the warehouse?" The voice asked. It was a man's voice, deep but rough-edged. Stern, authoritative.

"Who is this?"

"I'm asking the questions here." The voice took on a no-nonsense tone. He apparently did not want to waste time. "Now turn around. To your right."

Jack glanced at Rafael, who was standing just outside the phone booth. Rafael simply shrugged and Jack turned to his right, facing the houses across the street.

"I thought it was you, Darby."

"How do you know who I am?" Jack frowned. He hated being in the dark like this. The caller had an advantage over him and was most certainly watching him now, maybe with a rifle pointed right at his chest. He might even have been in any one of the three houses across the street.

"Come to the front door. The house in the middle. Approach with your hands up. I'm not taking any chances."

The caller hung up then, abruptly ending the exchange. Jack placed the phone back upon its housing and turned to Rafael.

"Did you hear that?" He asked. Rafael nodded in the affirmative. "We might have a friend. Or a whack-job. Either one will do."

"You really just going to go along with what he says?"

"You have a better idea?" Jack asked. "I'll take my chances. Just get Deadeye up here."

Rafael nodded before he turned and started to walk away, heading for where Deadeye was parked. Jack began heading for the house in the middle; it was a small, mostly brown brick-and-mortar home. The front lawn was overgrown and the shrubs along the edges had long since gone well out of control. The curtains was drawn across all the windows, although as Jack crossed the street he thought he saw one of them waving slightly, as if someone had been peering through before quickly backing off.

Jack made his way along the cracked, disjointed footpath that lead down the middle of the front lawn and to the steps before the front door. He raised his hands as he had been told, able to feel his .38 revolver sitting snugly under his shirt at his belt. It was in easy enough reach, although its shape was visible with the way his shirt clung tightly to his stomach. Hopefully the mystery caller would not take him being armed too negatively.

The front door swung open as Jack approached. A tall and broad-shouldered African-American man in grey trousers and a blue shirt appeared in the doorway. He had a chrome-plated pump-action shotgun clasped in his hands. He had a thick black moustache under his nose and a stern expression on his face. His dark brown eyes fell upon Jack as the younger man stopped a few metres before the door.

"Where's your friend?" The man asked.

Jack looked back to find Rafael come walking into view, followed by Deadeye who remained in vehicle mode. The man with the shotgun gave the car an extended gaze.

"How many you got with you?" He asked.

"What?"

"Cybertronians. How many you got with you?"

"Three. There are more elsewhere..."

The man motioned to him with one hand.

"Just come in. Your friend as well."

Jack shook his head. The man glared at him with noticeable hostility.

"Hang on a minute. I'm not just going to walk into a stranger's house. Especially into the house of a stranger with a gun."

"I ain't gonna kill you." The man used one hand to fish around in a pocket on his shirt. He pulled out an ID, a Unit-E one at that, and he stepped forwards and handed it to Jack so he could take a close look. "I'm on your side. Current circumstances have encouraged me to take extra precautions."

Jack examined the ID. The man's name was Jacob Williams.

Jack handed it back to him, feeling significant relief as he did so. As long as this was not some kind of sophisticated trick (and one could not be too careful), Jack could feel somewhat safe here. They had come looking for a Unit-E safehouse and they had apparently found one, just not the one they had been expecting.

"How much do you know about what's going on?" Jack asked.

"Enough." Williams again motioned for him to come into the house. "I even got a call last night telling me to shut everything down."

"Did you?"

"In my own way. Now come inside and we can talk."

Williams disappeared back into the house. Jack exchanged glances with Rafael once more.

"You think we can trust him?" Rafael asked.

"Who can we trust?" Jack was having a hard time bringing himself to trust anyone anymore. The Taskforce had betrayed him and anyone they met could easily inform on them. That was the problem with being a fugitive. In the end, the only people you could trust was yourself, and your fellow fugitives.

"Hey, you two," Deadeye called from the street. "What about me?"

"Keep guard out here. And if you hear shouting, don't be afraid to smash your way into the house." With that, Jack followed Williams into his home, with Rafael a short distance behind. Hopefully, Williams would actually prove helpful and maybe, for once, they would be able to shed some light on the situation.


The house was fairly small, a modest affair at most, filled with a fairly dusty smell. As for dust itself, there was a healthy layer of it on most visible surfaces. The front door opened directly onto a narrow hallway that ran the length of the building, with an open doorway on the left leading into a living room and another door on the right opening onto the kitchen. With all the curtains drawn, the house's interior was fairly dark. Jack found that it felt practically cosy, although he would have preferred it to be tidier. There was clutter here and there, papers and such scattered about. The television in the living room was switched on and several DVD cases were stacked near it. A significantly younger Clint Eastwood was currently on-screen as the film Magnum Force came to an end.

Williams closed the front door and moved into the living room. He switched off the television before retrieving a carton of cigarettes from the table by the sofa. He pulled out one, stuck it in his mouth and picked up a cheap plastic lighter from the same table. Jack followed him into the living room, unsure of what to make of the place now, especially with the stench of tobacco stuck to everything.

"You need my help," Williams said, turning to face Jack. He lit the end of his cigarette, stowing the carton and lighter in a pocket at his trousers.

"Can you give it?"

"Maybe. That depends on what you want."

"We need the computers that are in that safehouse." Jack figured it would be best to get straight to business.

"That's all?" Williams raised an eyebrow.

"They'd be powerful enough for Rafael to get into the Taskforce's systems. We need to find out where they're located." He paused for a moment, some nagging questions coming to mind. "Are you the only one here?"

"I've been the only one here for a while," Williams replied. "The safehouse doesn't get much use. And like I said, last night I got a call from someone telling me to shut the place down. It was on pretty short notice."

"Did they say who they were?"

"No. They gave the proper clearance codes, but no names." Williams puffed on his cigarette, letting smoke waft forth before it faded as it neared the ceiling. "They were probably from the Taskforce. I've heard about those guys, through the grapevine. Black ops. The sort of people you don't want to mess with."

"They're trying to kill us," Jack said. "Me, Rafael, the Autobots. They even killed Fowler."

Williams frowned when he heard this.

"They killed him?" He did not sound surprised. "Shit, and I thought you two would get it first."

"What do you mean?" Jack could not help but sound somewhat offended at the remark. Williams only scowled and took a step forwards, nearing Jack. They stood at about the same height, yet nonetheless Williams made for an imposing figure.

"Look at you. I doubt you've ever had to fire a shot in anger." He kept the cigarette in his mouth, the tip letting forth a small puff of smoke that floated across Jack's face. The smoke at this proximity was enough to sting his eyes.

"I've had to do just that in the last twenty-four hours," Jack replied. He stood his ground and kept a straight-face. Williams was likely just weighing him up, trying to figure out whether he was worth helping or not. By harbouring him here, he was already aiding a fugitive. He could very easily pick up the phone and tip off the authorities if he wanted to, although in that case the Autobots would be beating that door down before he could finish dialling their phone number. "I've fought tougher opponents. I've gone up against Decepticons."

"Don't get cocky," Williams countered. "The Taskforce is black ops. That means they're the real deal. They'll kill you and anyone else who gets in their way, and they'll have the resources to cover it all up."

"Unit-E could do the same, if it wanted."

"Unit-E doesn't exist anymore. The whole thing's been shutdown. I suppose you missed out on that memo?" Williams sounded as if his patience was wearing thin. He did not come across as a particularly welcoming individual. Regardless, he had taken Jack and Rafael in, so there was likely some desire to help them buried underneath his hardened demeanour. "The Taskforce were the ones that called me last night, as you'd expect. I heard from someone over at Dreamland that they came in and took all the computers, all the hard drives and any interesting bits of alien technology from the base last night. They're likely going to do that here today."

Jack looked over to Rafael, who was standing by the couch nearby.

"Sounds like they're cleaning house," he said.

"Unit-E was always the diplomatic arm." Williams walked over to the doorway, puffing again on his cigarette. "And the Taskforce, from what I've heard, has no interest in diplomacy. If they could, they'd probably take the fight to Cybertron." He looked back at Jack before he nodded towards the corridor outside. "If you really want to take them on, you're going to need a lot more than that pea-shooter." He looked down at the .38 revolver Jack had tucked into his belt, partially visible through his shirt.

"We have the Autobots," Jack replied.

"Maybe. But you're still going to need something you yourself can rely on. You can't hope that the Autobots are going to be there for you the whole time."

There was a brief pause. Jack considered what had been said and nodded in agreement. As much as he liked them, he knew that Williams had a point: he could not rely on the Autobots, not when they would likely be fighting whatever Decepticon allies the Taskforce had gained for themselves. And even he knew that the one snub-nose revolver would not be much help if he was attacked by an entire squad of Taskforce operatives.

"You said you want to find out where they operate from?" Judging from the way he had his eyebrows raised, Williams must have found this idea somewhat reckless. "That sounds like you're planning a frontal assault."

"Like I said, we have the Autobots."

Williams nodded. He left the room then without saying anything more. Jack glanced over at Rafael, who had been standing nearby and listening carefully. He shrugged, unsure of what to make of the man.

"He seems nice, I guess."

"His job must have been easier than mine," Jack noted. He stepped out into the corridor, watching as further ahead, Williams opened a door. He stopped by it and motioned to Jack to come over. He did so, with Rafael following closely.

The door had opened onto a stairwell leading into the basement. Even from up here, Jack could make out a number of cables snaking across the cement floor. Williams started walking down the stairs and Jack fell into step behind him, with Rafael tailing along at the rear. The basement was large, but cluttered, giving the impression that it was smaller and more claustrophobic than it may have once been. There were a number of computers down here, haphazardly set up on tables, often with cables strewn across them and interweaving. This created fairly tangled messes in some places. There were about four monitors and a few server 'towers'. A metal door was at the far end, partially open, with cables snaking through the gap along the floor. Jack realised then that this house was actually part of the Unit-E warehouse across the street, just not in a conventional sense.

There were a few light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They cast fairly subdued yellowish glows over everything. The air conditioner units in the walls were on full blast, the whooshing noise of cool air the loudest in the basement. Blue and yellow lights pulsed from the computer monitors, some flickering, casting sporadic and uneven shadows upon the walls.

"What kind of setup is this?" Jack asked.

"It's a 'safehouse'," Williams replied, the answer barely helpful. "The warehouse would be where the Autobots hang out. Down here is where the main work would get done. After the destruction of the original base outside of Jasper, Fowler had this place made the way it is. The obvious target being the big warehouse across the street. Since the place over in Area 51 never got completely dismantled, this safehouse has never seen real use."

"What do you do all day?"

"I'm only here three days a week. Custodial duties, mostly." Williams walked over to a large metal cabinet by the wall. He pulled a key from one pocket and jammed it into the lock, turning it as to open the creaky metal doors. Inside were several large black bags, one of which Williams pulled out. It must have been heavy, given the strained look he wore on his face as he hefted it towards the nearest table and slammed it upon its top. He unzipped the bag and rolled it over, spilling out the assortment of guns and ammunition contained within.

"Can't have a safehouse without some means of self-defence," Williams commented, taking note of Jack's surprised gaze as the armoury spread itself across the table. "It wouldn't really be a 'safe' house then, would it?" If this was a joke, he did not smile, even with the snarky tone he said it in.

"Are these computers networked?" Rafael asked. He had already made his way to the nearest one and had pulled the chair out from before it. Seating himself down, he watched the data feed of yellow text upon a blue background, trying to make sense of it.

"They've got all the connections you'd expect for a Unit-E computer. DIA, DOD, CIA, NSA, the whole lot. From there, you could probably work your way into the Taskforce mainframe." Williams explained all this matter-of-factly. "They'll trace you, of course."

"They will?" Jack frowned. He had already been forced to make multiple escapes from the Taskforce. He had no desire of running away again. The whole idea of coming here was to get the means to take the fight to them.

"Depending on how competent your friend here is at hacking," Williams added. "As soon as you breach their mainframe they'll be onto you. You'll likely have ten minutes before they come rushing out here. Just don't take me word on that. I ain't an expert." He gestured to the guns that he had spread across the table. "And if you're going to launch that frontal assault, you're going to want to pick out some kind of arsenal for yourself."

"Why would you help us?" Jack asked. "There's not much in it for you. Unit-E's finished, like you said. That means you and I have no jobs."

"You need my help. You're in a bad spot. And my daddy always told me to lend a helping hand to those who need it. I'm not about to turn you guys away." He took the cigarette from his mouth then, dropping it to the concrete floor where he crushed it under one shoe.

"You think the Autobots killed the President?" It was an honest question. The fact that this was the narrative being pushed by the media made it even more so.

"I don't think so," Williams replied. He was blunt in his response, apparently this was normal for him. "I certainly don't think you two were involved. And the fact that the Taskforce killed Fowler? I ain't going to stand for that. If helping you and the Autobots can screw over the Taskforce, I'll gladly give you what you need."

Rafael had started tapping away at the keyboard of the computer he was sitting at. The display changed as he switched it to a fairly ordinary looking Internet browser. It appeared that he was getting straight to work. Hard evidence was what they needed, that way they could blow the lid on the Taskforce and hopefully prove that the Autobots, and the two of them, were innocent in regards to the President's assassination.

"You said they'll trace us?" Jack asked.

"It might take them a while," Williams said. "If your friend's good, it'll take them even longer."

Jack regarded the pistols, submachine guns and the semi-automatic shotgun that had been spread across the table in front of him. He took the shotgun, a Benelli 'Super 90', otherwise designated the 'M1014'. Williams went and got another bag from the cabinet, this one full of ammunition.

"Will you come with us?" Jack extended the retractable stockon the shotgun. Grabbing a handful of twelve gauge shells, he began to slide them into the weapon's magazine tube one at a time. "We could use the extra help."

Williams appeared to consider the possibility, if only momentarily, before he shook his head.

"I'm going to go my own way," he said. "There are others like me. Plenty of Unit-E operatives who are recently out of a job. They might help out. I'll be sure to leave a few surprises around here for any Taskforce guys who show up." He smiled, and though the implication here was clear, that he would likely leave some harm-inflicting devices around here if the Taskforce made an appearance, Jack found himself smiling in return. Had he finally become a killer? Taking delight in violence against his enemies was not something he wanted to make a habit of, but these people were out to get him and his friends. They had taken Miko and they had killed Fowler, and for that he would do whatever he had to in order to get back at them.

"What's your endgame?" The question broke Jack's train of thought abruptly. Williams was watching him, a stolid look on his face, his eyes watching him carefully.

"My endgame?"

"Yeah."

Jack had not given this matter detailed thought. He had ideas, but no real 'plans'.

"Expose them. The Taskforce. Get proof that the Autobots didn't kill the President. Clear my name and Rafael's. Find answers about why they did all of this."

"Sounds reasonable," Williams said. "And I hope you do it all. But I bet, and it's just a hunch, that what you're in right now, it's a lot bigger. There's more at stake here than your names, or the wellbeing of your Autobot friends."

"You're probably right," Jack replied. "But as for the bigger picture, I haven't much to go on. If the Taskforce setup the President's assassination, then what would they achieve from that? Except inciting fear?"

"What better way to keep a population under control?"

That suggestion did get Jack thinking. So far the Autobots had been painted as villains to the public, in the disclosure of their existence. What could the Taskforce gain from that? It would certainly make hunting them down easier. People would actually want them to do it.

"But like I said, there's more than that. And that's all the more reason to help out." Williams fished a pair of hand grenades out of the bag. "Where do you think I should put these?"