Unit E must have scrambled to find a place to stash an alien robot on short notice, because the warehouse was actually a warehouse , stacked high with goods on wooden pallets. Still in vehicle form, Knock Out rolled into the shadow of a mountain of shrink-wrapped boxes, half expecting the humans to attack or pursue him. But they just watched as he rolled to a stop. Their mirrored goggles gleamed in the dim light.
"Knock Out, are you okay?" Raf said. "Sorry—of course you aren't—but Ratchet's been teaching me some Cybertronian first aid so maybe—"
"No worries, I'm fine." It wasn't exactly a lie. A broken light, shredded tires, and a couple punctures—hardly life-threatening. Yes, he ached. But he was still going to get out of this miserable situation. Somehow.
Raf was petting his seat, like he was a turbohound. "It's gonna be all right. The transmitter got fried, but I'm pretty sure I can fix it. And then we'll call for a rescue."
"Of course." Knock Out didn't have the heart to tell Raf how unpleasant he found his little organic servo. The gesture was kindly meant, he knew. Besides, there were bigger things to worry about.
First order of business, checking out the surroundings. Knock Out's flared his headlights and brights, causing the humans to shield their optics. He resisted the urge to charge them—no front tires, idiot—and instead performed a wobbly circle, taking in his surroundings. In addition to the soldiers who'd pushed him down the ramp, more uniformed fleshies were patrolling from high catwalks. Their weapons tracked him as he moved.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, cutting his lights. Before the humans could adjust to the change in illumination (he hoped) he rolled backwards and wedged himself into a narrow space where the boxes overflowed from two aisles, a little cul-de-sac of cardboard.
"Isn't this kind of like the place where they attacked you?" Raf asked with barely restrained panic in his voice. "Really confined?"
"Yes, but they won't try it again." He hoped they wouldn't. The humans already had him where they wanted him, right? Anyway, it provided good cover. With a click he popped his trunk and tilted his back seats down. "Get out."
Raf balked. "W-what?"
"Get out," Knock Out repeated impatiently, "because if they use that taser while you're in my chassis, I'll go unconscious but you'll probably die."
Raf's eyes grew round behind his glasses as he nodded. Pulling the broken transmitter to his chest, he pushed his way behind the back seat and into the trunk. The diminutive human slipped down to the concrete floor with a barely audible thump, scrambling into the stack of boxes.
Knock Out waited until Raf had disappeared completely before creeping out of the cul-de-sac. Belatedly it occurred to him that the Autobot thing to do, as laid out in Ultra Magnus' handbook, would probably have been to urge Raf to run away and save himself. But it was too late for that and . . . truthfully . . . Knock Out didn't want to be alone in this shadowy place, surrounded by enemies with dark glass eyes, like the optics of the dead.
He wobbled away from Raf's hiding place, drawing the soldiers after him. He hoped Bumblebee would understand.
Raf waited two minutes, then took a deep breath and scuttled to the nearest aisle of boxes. From the minute he left his hiding spot he felt horribly exposed, but there was no buzz of a taser, no shouts. Wedging himself behind a shrink-wrapped palette, he took a moment to catch his breath before peeking out.
The soldiers' attention was fixed on Knock Out, their weapons trained on him as he nosed at some boxes. But some of the tension had gone out of their vigil. They'd gained confidence now that they knew their tasers worked on the alien robot.
They had an air of patience, too. Like they were waiting for something. Raf didn't like it.
He had to get out of here, he decided. But first he might as well see if the warehouse had anything that would help him. Raf examined the scuffed black print on the box he was hiding behind.
"Meal, Ready-To-Eat," he read. Military rations. Not what he needed right now, with his stomach feeling as anxious as the rest of him. He took a few anyway, just in case.
Turning away, Raf scanned the warehouse until he spotted a vent set low on the wall. The searing brightness visible through its slats suggested it led outside. The boy glanced back, to make sure the soldiers were still watching Knock Out, and crept towards it. The screws were so rusty that he didn't bother unscrewing them, instead using his (comically small) screwdriver as a lever.
As soon as he jimmied the grate loose, he dove through. No sounds of pursuit, but Raf didn't relax until he'd fought his way into the middle of an unmanicured shrub sullenly hunched and yellowing in the shadow of the warehouse.
Nestled in his new (if uncomfortable) shelter, Raf pushed a branch out of his way as he took in a wide island of asphalt with three warehouses lined up side by side. Once in a while a soldier marched by, patrolling, but thankfully they never looked towards his hideout.
The pavement smelled oily, like a gas station, and the vibrant Pepsi truck in which Knock Out had been spirited away sat, incongruous, alongside four semis with generic grey trailers. Two bulky armored vehicles flanked them, their silhouettes so familiar that Raf's heart leapt . . . until he saw they were painted in a brown camo, not a dusty green. Farther away was a dirty white dump truck was parked next to a concrete mixer.
Despite the industrial feel, Raf didn't see any other buildings or hear any traffic, aside from a soldier driving from one warehouse to the next in a Jeep. A hardwood forest rose up all around the lot.
"So I guess running for help is out," Raf muttered to himself, sitting back on his heels. He looked at the mess of charred wires and circuits in his hands. The taser discharge had done his invention no favors. But he had to get it working, he needed to radio for help.
Radio . . . a radio . . . Raf readjusted his glasses as he studied the armored vehicles sitting next to the trucks. Those would have radios.
He crouched in a parody of a runner's stance, waited for an opportune moment, and bolted across the open pavement.
The Autobots had performed a desperate circuit around the park while the humans, less noticeable, had peeked through windows, snuck into parking garages, and laboriously searched each booth of the still-in-progress fun fair for hidden Aston Martins.
Meanwhile the fastest bots, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen, had been assigned to watch the highways in case Knock Out had escaped from Unit E and was on the run.
They all pretended like that was a possibility. It made things easier.
"What now?" Arcee asked.
"We keep looking," Optimus said over the comm. "We will not rest until our comrades are safe."
"But where do we look?" Smokescreen wondered.
"Well, I can tell you one place you can strike off your list," Agent Fowler said, "and that's McKinley Base. They just ordered me there for a 'new assignment', and I don't think it's gonna be 'Wax this Aston Martin we just kidnapped.'" He made a face. "They're trying to keep me outta the way."
"Can't you just—demand answers?" June said.
"I've been demanding, they've been refusing." Agent Fowler shrugged helplessly. "And Bryce is a general. Bottom line, he outranks me. By a lot."
"Now you see why I never took that chain-of-command scrap seriously," Wheeljack commed.
"Wheeljack, kindly shut up," Ratchet said. He was parked at the end of the alley and, despite being in vehicle mode, he conveyed the impression of pinching the bridge of his nose. "Arcee, I can't help but notice Miko and Jack aren't present. Please tell me they're not doing something dangerous. Lie if you have to."
"It's fine. They're questioning that businessman, seeing if he has a way to contact Knock Out. I've got an optic on them."
"Do you think—" Smokescreen started, but his question was cut off by a new voice cutting across the comms.
"Hello? Guys?" came a familiar and welcome young voice.
"Raf?!" Bumblebee all but shouted. "Where are you? Are you all right? We'll come get you!"
"I'm fine. We're on some kind of military base but I don't know where—"
"Knock Out's there too?" Ultra Magnus broke in.
"Um, yeah. He's . . . he's kinda banged up, but he says he's okay."
June leaned over Ratchet's radio. "Raf, are you sure you're okay? We found blood—"
"Oh, um, that's not mine. Knock Out kind of . . . hit a guy? But he's not dead or anything," he added quickly. "They had a medic looking at him while they were loading Knock Out into the—uh oh."
All the Autobots tensed. Uh oh what?
"I gotta go, sorry, I'll-try-to-find-the-address-and-call-you-back!" The comm went dead.
Raf crouched low on the seat, listening to the soldiers ambling towards the vehicle he was hiding in. Were they on the right or the left? Their voices and footsteps were muffled, yet still too loud in Raf's ears.
There was a creak and thud as they opened the door of the vehicle parked next to his. The engine started, but the vehicle didn't drive off. One of the soldiers was reading a checklist off to the other, an inventory of lights and brakes.
How long before they finished with that armored car and moved on to this one? Raf shifted nearer to the passenger side door, curling his fingers around the handle.
No one in his line of sight. This was his chance. He eased the door open, slid out, and ran as quickly and quietly as he could.
Luck was with him. No one saw him as he darted around the warehouse.
Around a warehouse, he realized as he caught his breath. Not the one Knock Out was trapped in. Various construction materials and vehicles were gathered in front of its wide open doors and the clank of metal and calls of instruction rang from inside.
The warehouses all had the same basic design. Raf found the vent he knew would be there, crept up to it, and peered through.
The view was limited, but it told him enough. A cage was being constructed, piece by piece, bar by bar. And it was big.
Raf shifted to the side, pressing his face to the metal as he tried to see the rest of the room. To the right, a tiny office blocked off from the rest of the warehouse with temporary walls; the door was open and he could just make out a computer through it. To the left—Raf made a quiet noise of shock—the upper half of a Vehicon, from head to shoulders, perched on a small stand.
Okay, Raf had seen a lot of Vehicons go down. They'd been Megatron's infantry and the Autobots had . . . done what needed to be done. But it was still creepy to have part of one sitting there in the corner, like it was some kind of weird, dead bust.
But what worried him the most was what was around the lifeless Vehicon's neck: a chunky steel-grey collar set with a blinking red light.
The Vehicon wasn't being used as a trophy, Raf realized suddenly. It was a mannequin.
Miko had once told Knock Out the shape of his headlights made him look "like, super ticked off and evil!" . He'd been quite offended at the time but now, as he glowered at the perennially watching humans, he hoped Miko was right. Unfortunately the soldiers looked more bored than intimidated.
"Knock Out?" a familiar voice whispered from behind a box.
The ex-Decepticon felt immediately, pathetically grateful for his presence. He backed up to the box as casually as he could. As expected, the humans watched but didn't follow.
"Well?" he murmured.
"I found some stuff to fix the radio, it's gonna be a little bit, but I'm gonna do it. But Knock Out?"
"Mmhm?"
"Don't transform, okay?" Raf whispered. "I saw—well, I don't wanna freak you out, but I think that's what they're waiting for."
Breakdown had been in robot mode when the humans caught him. They'd strapped him to a table. "All right."
"Okay," Raf murmured. "Well. I'm gonna go."
Knock Out didn't answer. Didn't wish him good luck or reassure him.
As long as he left his side of the conversation hanging he could pretend that Raf was still there.