"How do I look?" Miko asked, coming out of the bathroom in a three piece suit that technically 'fit', in the sense that it wasn't actually falling off.

"You look like you had your arms chopped off at the elbow," Jack said, giving a pointed look to the sleeves engulfing her hands. "Didn't they have anything smaller?"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Jack," Miko said, folding the cuffs back and stuffing a pillow down the shirt to plump it up.

"That's great, Miko," Jack said. "You look,er—"

"Weird," Raf said. "Like a paunchy middle-aged guy with really short arms and a girl's head."

"Weird? How dare you!" She whipped out a gun.

"M-Miko! Where'd you get that?" Raf hid behind a chair.

"Gotcha!" She smirked, bringing her arm up and waggling the firearm. "It's a squirt gun! I pried the orange plastic thing off the tip. Pretty convincing, huh?"

"If you fleshies are done fooling around," Knock Out's voice grumbled from the depth of Jack's neckwear.

"Is it time, K.O.?"

"Well, Miko, the view is not exactly great from the garage so it's hard to tell. Send someone down to 'drive' me up, please."

"I can do that, Knock Out," Jack said.

"No, you stay behind the curtain. You can't miss your cue."

"Er, there isn't really a curtain," Raf polished his glasses on his shirt. "It's just kinda a platform with a podium and a microphone? And a bunch of fun fair stuff setting up. And farmer's market stuff. And a guy selling baskets."

Raf paused. He didn't know much about corporate dealings, but he was pretty sure bigwigs usually didn't usually cordon off an entire city block and surround themselves with fried food stands, ring tosses, and organic produce. There was an elephant ear booth setting up next to a guy selling kale. That was just wrong. "Knock Out, how much do you actually know about business?"

"Lots. Tons." Raf could hear the careless shrug, which was doubly impressive since not only was Knock Out on a comm, but he didn't even have visible shoulders at the moment. "I'm rich, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Jack questioned. "Considering you can't access your money?"

Knock Out growled. "Shut up and change into the orange pants, Jack."

"But they, uhhh, they don't fit and—Wait a minute, how do you know I'm not wearing them?"

"Because I know you, coward."

In the end Miko was left to bully Jack into the rest of his outfit and Raf came scampering down to the garage.

"All right, get in." Knock Out opened his door to allow Raf to climb into his driver's seat. "And remember you don't actually have to hold the steering wheel. Or touch me in any but the most minimal of ways."

"O-okay." The boy hovered his hands over the steering wheel. "Is this all right?"

"Fine, fine." That level of compliance was definitely not what Knock Out would have gotten from Miko. She probably would have slammed down the gas pedal and rammed him into a wall.

You see? Raf IS the older of the two, I was right all along, he thought, vindicated, as he eased out of the garage.

The level of human activity now surrounding the hotel surprised and delighted him. Banners, balloons, and passersby gawping, their interest piqued. Perfect. Of course this was how business was conducted: with style and showmanship. Swindle had really come through.

Maybe I'll tip him. Well . . . let's see how it goes, first.

Admittedly, the sprawl of human merriment did make it hard to find a good lookout point. Knock Out had intended to park in the plaza itself, which had a driveway looping through it in front of the hotel. But it was blocked off with orange cones.

"We could just barge through those," Knock Out said thoughtfully.

"But don't you think the hotel's security guards would . . . do something? Um, I don't know if you know this, but I'm not old enough to drive."

"Now Raf, I don't want to put any undue pressure you, but the fate of my entire species does hang in the balance. Would it really be soooo bad if you were held in custody for a few hours until we bailed you out? I mean, they'd leave me where I needed to be."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure they'd tow you."

"Oh . . . oh, I see. Well, let's keep looking then."

The more he circled around, the more Knock Out wished he had thought to park before the street vendors set up. Oh, there were a few free spaces here and there but none that fulfilled that all-important requirement: line of sight to the center of the plaza.

In the end the best he could find was dark, narrow alley looking out on the street fair, though he mentally winced as he backed into the cramped space. The smell was more organic than even organics cared for, as evidenced by Raf wrinkling his nose and going "Phew!" But Knock Out could see the plaza, platform and all, if he stared between the twin obstacles of a hot dog vendor and a fresh orange juice stand.

"Well, this will have to do," Knock Out grumbled. "Now go on, get back there."

"Oops, sorry. Sure."

The boy sounded . . . contrite. He often did. "There's nothing to be sorry about," Knock Out said. "You can stay if you want, I just thought you'd be eager to get back to your friends."

"Aren't we—? I mean, uh, I figured Jack and Miko would have it under control. But if you want me to go—" He reached for the door handle.

Knock Out gave an irritable sigh and flexed it out of Raf's hand. "I'm not shy about telling people to leave me alone, now am I? If I wanted you to leave I'd be dumping you onto the pavement right now. So believe me, it's your choice."

"Yeah." Raf actually smiled a little. "I guess that's true. Okay. Thanks."

"Plus you should be on hand to help if anything breaks down," Knock Out added quickly. There was no need to make it seem like he was going soft.

"This is it! This is . . ." June looked from the corndog stand to the pony ride. "This is something."

"Wow," Arcee said, wheeling along beside her. "Are you sure this is the right address?"

June let go of one of the motorcycle's handgrip as she double-checked. She was only holding on for show anyway, her grip loose enough that Arcee could swivel her front chassis to keep an eye on her surroundings.

"You want to tell us what's going on?" Bumblebee asked over the comm line, his voice slightly sulky. "Not getting a great view from three blocks away."

"And we gotta pay for parking and it's really expensive," Smokescreen added in a mutter.

"There's a lot of street vendors and stall games," Arcee said shortly. "And you two are too old to be pouting, so get over it. I'd love more backup, but—"

"But your alt modes are too large and conspicuous," Optimus Prime broke in. "As are all of ours."

"Ratchet's in there," Smokescreen complained.

"In but immobile," Ratchet said. June had driven him in under the guise of being needed for a human medical emergency ("Heart attack victim," June had said authoritatively to anyone who challenged her), and taken over an as-of-yet abandoned street stall.

Ratchet had no idea who had reserved the lot or what had happened to them, but now, according to the hand-made sign June had scribbled out in Magic Marker, it was a first aid station. "Unless Knock Out strolls right in front of me, I don't know how much use I'll be."

"Speaking of, any sign of Knock Out or the children?" Optimus inquired.

"Not yet."

"It is possible he may have other human allies as well—"

"Like this Swift guy!" Smokescreen said.

"I dunno," Bumblebee said. "It would be weird if a human actually named 'Aston M' was actually working with an Aston Martin. Like, what a coincidence."

"Maybe it's an alias," Bulkhead suggested from back at the base. "Like with rock stars."

"Or maybe he doesn't exist," said June, who shared Bumblebee's opinion. But she was going to keep her eyes open, just in case. They had to be ready for anything.

"So they think he's here somewhere," General Bryce muttered. He gazed down the street at the teeming, laughing crowds. Couples sharing tall cups of lemonade over crushed ice. Kids getting rainbows painted on their faces. And, for some reason, a dunk tank.

So many potential witnesses. Oh, his quarry was smart, very smart, to hide in the chaos of this . . . festival? But that would make the creature all the more satisfying to take down.

He drew back and ducked into a convenient coffee shop, his voice low as he radioed his men from a bathroom stall.

"Bryce here. I want Team 2 and 6 to change into civvies and converge on my coordinates. Disperse into the crowd and watch for the target. Report any sightings immediately. The rest of you, hang back and have your teams ready to rush in. And have a transport ready." Bryce allowed himself a smirk. "A big transport.

"What if the kids are still accompanying the target, sir?" a voice buzzed back.

"Get them away from the target if it's convenient," Bryce said. "But disabling the robot remains our top priority."

"Understood, sir."

Miko had put her hair in a sleek, tight ponytail and discarded the pillow that had formerly poofed out her oversize suit. Instead, she had tailored the suit with . . . scissors. Scissors and a lot of duct tape on the interior of the clothing.

"How do I look?" she asked, adding the final touch: mirrored sunglasses.

Jack stopped peering around the pillar they were hiding behind and assessed her new look. "Surprisingly . . . not terrible. Kinda like a skinny mobster."

"Good to hear that my sacrifice was worth it, 'cause this is nooot comfy." Miko made a face, shrugging her shoulders in a repeated, exaggerated motion. Stiff with duct tape, the entire jacket moved up and down, like a cork bobbing on the tide.

"Hey, this isn't exactly comfortable either," Jack said, gesturing to the feather boa that threatened to engulf his face. The electronic receiver under it had also been attached with duct tape. Some of it stuck directly onto Jack's skin.

A crowd was slowly pushing into the plaza, some people simply looking for a place to eat and others eyeing the stage with idle curiosity. This was worse than the time Jack had signed up for the school play to impress a girl. And then she ended up going out with Jean Valjean instead. Yeah . . . that hadn't been the greatest plan.

Miko suddenly pointed, grinning. "And theeeere's our guy!"

Jack looked to find see a lanky man in well-fitted business suit slowly making his way towards the microphone, looking around as he did so. He looked composed but wary, holding a briefcase as he made his way towards the podium and microphone.

Jack remembered what he was wearing and wilted.

"I can't do this," he mumbled, getting yellow feathers in his mouth. "That guy is the real deal and I'm—"

"Just Jack Darby, high school student?"

"Yeah."

"The guy who forgot all his lines in the school play?"

"Um, yes—"

"Who flunked Pre-Calc twice?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"Who's got the mom-bot as a partner?"

"Arcee is NOT the mom-bot!"

Miko's fingers dug into his shoulders, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Who helped save two planets?"

Jack broke into a sheepish grin. "I mean . . . the Autobots did most of that."

"Duh. But we helped." Miko rolled her eyes. "And now we're saving them again, right?"

Jack drew himself to his full height and gave a brisk nod. "Yeah."