The sun above the Tikaboo Valley was intense, baking the desert land below. It sent every living thing running for cover, making the region look lifeless and desolate. Completely unhabitable. Except for the collection of gray buildings alongside a convoluted map of runways. Leave it to the military to choose the most wretched locations.
Galloway cursed whoever came up with the horrendous idea as he stepped off the helicopter, only to find himself exposed to the sweltering heat. It greeted him like a slap to the face. Instantly his all-black suit, comfortable in the cool hallways of federal buildings, felt like a furnace. A layer of sweat formed over his skin and the man found himself wiping his brow. Oh, how he hated the desert.
He couldn't understand how the soldiers tolerated it, with their thick fatigues and heavy equipment. Yet they seemed unhindered as they strutted across the base, oblivious to the air shimmering above the scorching pavement. In the distance, Galloway could see the neighboring salt flat, stretching as far as the eye could see. The intense heat pooled across the desert floor, forming glossy mirage and giving the illusion that the valley was filled with a glimmering lake.
It certainly explained the facility's namesake: Groom Lake. It was officially known as Homey Airport. And then the press had their personal favorite. Area 51.
"Afternoon, sir."
Galloway turned at the deep voice and was greeted by the commander in charge. The man was built like a WWE wrestler: broad shoulders, thick chest, and burly arms. He stood a head taller than the security advisor, so Galloway had to crane his neck up just to look at his stern, chiseled face. One side of the commander's features was marred by several pale scars, running across his eye. Luckily it appeared he hadn't lost his sight, as he scrutinized Galloway in an iron gaze.
"Sergeant Major Burns," the security advisor recalled.
One of the few surviving members of Sector Seven. A prominent military commander, the Pentagon was reluctant to let him go. They were even more hesitant to court martial him for his involvement in the shady organization's field operations. So instead, they relocated Burns here, in the middle of nowhere, putting on him on watch duty.
Gallowat almost pitied the man. He had a promising military career ahead of him, until his superiors pushed to him the side, out of sight and out of mind. But it was the nature of politics. Burns looked as proud as ever, dressed in a crisp dress uniform, adorned with colorful medals. He stood tall with his hands behind his back and his feet shoulder-length apart. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut close to his scalp in a typical military style haircut.
Jack Burns was all business, and Galloway was just with fine with that.
"Any problems I should be aware of?" the security advisor asked.
"Nothing more than the occasional tourist," Burns replied.
Right. While Galloway despised coming to this living hell, apparently others found it as the perfect vacation spot. Mostly for alien enthusiasts and conspiracy theorists. The guards posted at the gate spent majority of their time sending the nosy trespassers away. Sometimes things escalated to an aggressive standoff and arrests were made. The security advisor wondered if anyone told them that they would receive the exact same treatment at any other military base.
"Next thing you know, they'll be trying to raid the place," Galloway grumbled, rolling his eyes.
"Let's hope not," Burns said with a light laugh and a shake of his head. However, his amusement quickly evaporated and that serious look was back. "Care to state your business, sir?"
Galloway was armed and ready for such a question. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to the sergeant major. He waited a brief moment for Burns to open and read the report before he announced, "I wish to oversee the asset."
Burns blinked at the bold statement, looking up from the written order to Galloway like he had grown a second head.
"But, sir, the asset is under NEST custody," the former Sector Seven agent protested. "By all technicality, only General Bryce—"
"By all technicality," Galloway interrupted, "I outrank General Bryce. Now if you please, show me the prisoner."
The security advisor emphasized each word as he stepped closer to Burns to glare into his eyes, even if all it did was show the height different between them. Still, Burns was the army's perfect mold of a soldier, and he knew he could not disobey a direct command. Certainly not one from his Commander-in-Chief.
The sergeant major swallowed thickly. "Right this way, sir."
Submitting to the chain of command, Burns stuffed the order into his own pocket and ushered Galloway further into the base. With a satisfied smirk, the security advisor followed him on his heels.
The interior of the building was a sharp contrast to the outside. It was nice and cool, air conditioning blasting from the vents in the ceiling. Although Galloway wanted a moment to bask in the cold, he kept a brisk pace to keep up with Burns's long strides. Their short journey came to a lone elevator. Galloway waited patiently as the commander inputted a random sequence of numbers and leaned forward for a retinal scan. Because despite being stationed at Area 51, only a select few could enter its lower levels.
The lock chimed in approval when Burns was done and the doors slid open. Despite the elevator was wide and spacious, Galloway had a sickening feeling of claustrophobia as he stepped into the metal box. The air inside was incredibly stuffy, and it didn't help when the door clicked shut in front him. There was a hum of machinery, but the government official couldn't feel that familiar lurch in his stomach that signaled they were moving.
In order to distract himself, Galloway asked the question that had been on his mind even before he booked the flight for Nevada.
"So tell me, Major Burns, if the prisoner is a Decepticon, why was it not terminated?"
"It was requested by the Autobots," the ex-agent explained bluntly. "They wanted to keep him for interrogation."
"Why?"
"According to them, he was like a, um..." Burns paused, as if he was looking for the right word, "…premier working for Megatron, back where they came from. He has valuable intel and research that could boost the Autobot cause."
"Research?"
"Apparently he's smart. Like, scary smart. Even for their kind."
Their conversation was cut short as the elevator doors yawned open. The temperature of the basement was frigid. Galloway had been sweating only a few minutes before, and now he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering. Burns didn't seem bothered by the climate change at all as he lead the way through the winding corridors. They all looked the same with white-washed walls and blinding fluorescent lights. Galloway wondered how anyone could get around without getting lost, but he had a more important inquiry.
"And? Did you get anything out of the prisoner?" he pressed.
Burns only frowned at the question and shook his head before explaining hesitantly, "No, sir. He's... not very... forthcoming."
"Why not? Isn't it a robot? Can't you just hack it?"
"We've tried, sir. We haven't been able to bypass his firewalls. The Autobots couldn't crack his shell and when we tried, it just ended up firing our computers."
Well, that explained why no one had heard from this godforsaken place in a while. But this prisoner—this Decepticon—must have some value, if Megatron was personally requesting its return. But Galloway decided to keep that detail to himself. The less Burns knew, the better.
At long last, they arrived at their destination. By now it felt like the security advisor was in the Antarctic, and he swore he saw his breath a couple times. Still, he realize it could be even colder, as Burns guided him to a window. The only window in the entire installation.
The glass was completely fogged up and coated with a layer of ice. When Galloway pressed his fingers against it, they were chilled to the bone. So he quickly wiped away the condensation, allowing him to peer into the room on the other side.
Only to be greeted by a monstrous figure.
Galloway instantly decided it was the ugliest Transformer he had ever seen. Its shape was completely asymmetrical. Its deep-purple plating was bulky and jagged. One arm ended with a clawed hand, and the other… well, the human didn't know how describe it. The limb was wide and blunt. It looked like the barrel of a gigantic cannon, with a cable running from its power core to the creature's back. Then, the most disturbing of all, the Transformer had only a single, unblinking eye.
For now, the lenses were dark, signaling the robot was turned off. The unbearable temperatures of frozen nitrogen kept it from properly functioning. Galloway didn't want to be around when it woke up. But the security advisor was willing to push his misgivings to the side.
This asset would be the key to ending the war.
Megatron's chief engineer.
Shockwave.
I think that's a good place to end it, no? Well, at least until the next installment. As much as I enjoyed the Darkness of the Heart, it's always felt like a bridge to cross to reach what happens next.
As it will probably be the longest story yet, so I want to set some time aside to work on it, rather than trying to balance updates and school, which sometimes can be a struggle for me. It will probably be up by the end summer. So check in soon for the conclusion of the trilogy: Darkness of the Blood.
Thank you for all the incredible reviews and support! I have never been part of such a positive and welcoming community. It really does give me the motivation to keep writing. I hope to see you soon!