Houses the pastel colors of seashells stood tall on stilts along the shores of Galveston Island. The ocean's brown brine reeked of salty scallop reefs and faintly of crude oil, and a healthy wind swayed palm leaves like tropical flags and held the pelicans and seagulls aloft.
The beach was mostly deserted. An overweight couple strolled leaving behind a trail of footprints behind them, a barefoot man in a dirty hoodie took pictures of the water with his smartphone, and further down a man with long hair and a beard surfed on little waves as his wife and kid watched. And nearby sandpipers on squat toothpick legs meandered and some seagulls stood idly and watched one extend its wings like sails to playfully catch the wind.
On the road behind the pastel houses, a purple Ford Mustang with a Texas license plate drove itself. The Mustang reached an abandoned part of the island and careened off the road. There were no houses here, only large sand dunes and dry brush. Past the dunes, an ice cream truck was parked on the desolate beach playing a whimsical version of "We Three Kings."
The Mustang pulled up to the ice cream truck and came to a graveled stop on the sand. The Mustang was a beautiful machine. It was a Mach 1, and its purple coat gleamed with a pearlescent dark underglow. The Mustang possessed one peculiar feature however, and that was its steering wheel. In the center where there should have been the chrome silhouette of a horse was a peculiar insignia, one of a mechanical face composed of aggressive angles and points. This was the emblem of the Decepticons, and for aliens across the galaxy, it was a symbol of oppression and enslavement. But humans only associated the emblem with war and invasion, for the Decepticons had not yet conquered Earth.
And like any Decepticon, the Mustang was more than it appeared to the eye. Suddenly its appearance began to morph. Its frame seemed to shatter and crumple into itself, and a myriad of parts beneath the frame rotated and rerotated in a complex configuration. The Mustang rose on robotic hands and knees, and as it stood up its front bumper collapsed and retracted revealing a head with electric cherry red eyes.
The ice cream truck had done the same, and the two androids stood like armored giants of unconquered Canaan. In its hand the Mustang clutched the slackjawed head of another android. The head, which just moments ago had been inside the Mustang's trunk, was white with a thin blue and thin red stripe, the remnant of a mail truck's paint job. The Mustang tossed the head at the ice cream truck's feet into the sand.
"If Crazyhound found me, Orphanmaker isn't far behind," the Mustang said.
The ice cream truck had picked up Crazyhound's severed head and was turning it over in his hand inspecting it. He casually threw it into the water.
"So where do we go now? San Antonio?"
"No, I think we'll be saying goodbye to Texas. Try north." The Mustang was fiddling with the GPS in his arm. "How do you feel about Rapid City?"
The ice cream truck watched the waves and listened to the seagulls cawing pleasantly.
"There's no ocean there," he said at last.
The Mustang gazed at the crawling water too, at the sunlight dazzling across it and the waves tumbling and churning into foam.
"No, I guess there isn't. But the Black Hills are special too."
'
Frank Lopez proudly considered himself a simple, down to earth sort of man. In highschool he struggled with being overweight, and no one there seemed to notice him. When he finally graduated, he didn't keep in touch with a single soul from his school. He joined the army at eighteen and served in Afghanistan. He worked near some burn pits but never got sick from them, thank-God-and-knock-on-wood, and when he got out of the Army he became a dock worker at the Ship Channel. Frank had a wife and two kids, and he frequently said that he thanked God for them everyday.
He was especially thankful today because he almost died. He had been in the middle of mooring an oil tanker when he saw the most peculiar thing: a mail truck chasing a sportscar. He had no idea mail trucks could move so fast, and then when the two vehicles turned into giant clobbering robots, it suddenly made sense. He had seen Transformers fight on TV, but he never dreamed of seeing them in person.
The fight moved towards the oil tanker where Frank was standing. The other dock workers had all run off, recording the fight with their phones as they did so, but Frank was too mesmerized to move. That was, until a stray bullet almost hit him. It came just an inch of his ear, and he felt it pass him. Suddenly Frank was back in Afghan and he was so scared he jumped into the ship channel water.
Frank hadn't been in the water thirty seconds when the battle was over. The Transformer that had been a sportscar was gone, and the one that was a mail truck lay dead on the gound a stone's throw away. Frank climbed out of the water and inspected the Transformer and saw that its head was missing. Maybe it rolled off into the water? Or maybe the other one took it. Frank was sitting on top of the robot taking selfies and sending them to his wife when the authorities came.
"Is that everything you saw?" asked a man in a military uniform. The man was a major in the Air Force Anti-Automaton Commandos. The American public better knew them as the Air Force Double A's, who were famous for destroying the Decepticons Bladehawk and Geronimo in Albuquerque last year. They had done it without the help of a single Autobot.
"Yes sir, that's everything," Frank said. Other dock and ship workers were being interviewed as well, and Frank overheard soldiers tossing around the names "Crazyhound" and "Tomashock." He did not recognize the names.
As the Air Force major questioned him about the model and appearance of the sportscar, he noticed an ambulance helicopter flying overhead towards Galveston Island. Frank made a silent prayer for whoever was needing that helicopter.
'
The Mustang and the ice cream truck were racing with screaming engines down Seawall Boulevard, the placid highway hugging the island's southern beaches. The traffic was busy with a relaxed absentmindedness of summer, and the two Transformers dodged between the cars and the SUVs and the fat, raised trucks. Above them, a blue and yellow ambulance helicopter throbbed lowly.
"This is Cloudburst: Chiller and Tomashock located," the helicopter radioed in the scrambled electronic timbre of Cybertronian.
The response came guttural and rumbling: "Proceed to kill."
"Understood."
Cloudburst had a clear shot but did not take it. Crazyhound had died because he had no patience for strategy. He had been rash and hotheaded and stupid, and it cost him his life. Cloudburst would not repeat that mistake, and rather than instigating a fight she wasn't guaranteed to win, she pulled back. There were only two ways off the island, and those were Bluewater Highway to San Luis Island, and the Causeway Bridge back to the mainland. Her targets were moving away from San Luis Island.
She waited for her targets at the bridge and sure enough they came driving across it. As she hovered distantly like a hungry vulture, she locked onto the bridge's supports and unloaded a barrage of precision missiles. The missiles struck the bridge, and it immediately began collapsing.
Hundreds of vehicles plunged into the water or were crushed in the tumult of falling steel and concrete. Tomashock and Chiller had already transformed into their android forms and were scrambling over the breaking concrete towards the mainland. They were a pair of hens trapped in a closing cage, and she now had the clear shot she needed.
But, right as she was firing an incendiary missile, a rocket pelted her side and exploded hotly. She veered sideways wildly, and her incendiary missile missed the bridge altogether and pierced the water below like a harpoon. She steadied herself and regained her bearing and saw a human military contingency just off the edge of the bridge. She detected several fighter jets coming in from the distance also.
Cloudburst decided it was time to retreat. She aimed her heavy cycling machine guns at the direction of the soldiers and sprayed suppressor fire. She noticed they were firing at Tomashock and Chiller too, both of whom had successfully hurried off the bridge and onto land. The bridge itself was completely gone now, along with hundreds of civilians.
Furious at the survival of her two targets, she locked onto them and was about to launch a payload of energon-seeking missiles. But the jets had arrived and began picking her apart. Their large rounds shattered her and her rotor blades, and she fell into the water and, half-transforming into an android in a vain attempt to swim, died a cold dark death.
'
Major Andy McWhiggin had made it crystal clear he wanted Tomashock, Cloudburst, and the other one destroyed. He didn't care why Seps were trying to kill each other; he only knew they were extremely hostile and evil threats to humankind and needed to be obliterated to scrapheap and dropped into the abyss of the Mariana Trench. This is what the Double A's existed to do, and it was what he existed to do.
The jets were circling back around to finish the two remaining Decepticons, and then suddenly a silver RV raced up to the soldiers. McWhiggin raised his fists skyward and laughed. "About time you made it to the party!"
The RV transformed into a towering silver android. His name was Nomad, and he had the fastest and most precise gun draw of any Autobot or Decepticon. He answered directly to Optimus Prime and received orders from no one else.
"Cease your fire, Major, and call off your birds," Nomad said.
McWhiggin immediately radioed his jets off, and he watched them careen overhead and back to Ellington Airfield.
"What's this about, Nomad?"
"They're not Decepticons. Not anymore."
"Tomashock is in our records as a Sep. He killed an Autobot at the Battle of Austin."
"Ranger was a good comrade, but our intel suggests we examine Tomashock and his friend."
McWhiggin pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting profanities. He nodded his head irritably.
"Fine. Interview them. But as soon as you're done playing your little game of good cop, they are going to answer for everyone who just died on that bridge."
"Your patience is unrivaled among humans, Major."
McWhiggin waved his troops to clear a path for Nomad. Tomashock and Chiller were at the edge of the collapsed bridge, crouched and bracing for more bullets. Nomad approached them calmly.
"I've been tracking you for some time, Tomashock. It's an honor to finally meet you and your friend."
Tomashock eyed Nomad cautiously.
"Well you've found us."
"Who's your friend?"
Tomashock glanced at Chiller.
"Grimlock," Chiller said.
Nomad gestured submissively. "I am not here to hurt either of you. I only want to talk. I heard you are not a Decepticon anymore, Tomashock. Is that true?"
Tomashock studied Nomad's expression and posture but found nothing readable.
"Yeah. It's true."
"And your friend? 'Grimlock.'"
"He was never a Decepticon to begin with. Don't worry about him."
"I'm glad to hear that. I was surprised when I heard you left the Decepticons. They don't take that lightly."
Tomashock nodded very slightly, keeping his attention on Nomad's hands for any sudden movements. "Desertion means death. It's Decepticon law."
"That didn't stop you. Why?"
"I realized that slavery is not the way to create personal freedom."
"All you want is freedom?"
Tomashock nodded, this time firmly. "Yes."
"You should join the Autobots. We fight for the freedom of all humans across Unicron."
"No. I'm done taking orders. Me and my friend just want to be left alone."
"But without the Autobots, Unicron would become another slave depot for the Decepticons."
"It's called Earth, not Unicron."
"Earth then. My point still stands, even as Unicron still sleeps."
"These soldiers just killed a Decepticon by themselves. They don't need the Autobots any more than I do."
"That's disappointing, but I respect your position."
Tomashock still watched Nomad carefully.
"Where will you go now?" Nomad asked.
"Sorry, can't risk that information away."
"Well at least let me escort you to Houston. Orphanmaker is still searching for you."
Tomashock and Chiller exchanged pensive looks.
"You can't!" McWhiggin barked.
"Yes I can. They didn't destroy your bridge, Major. Cloudburst did, and you humans killed her yourselves without Autobot assistance. That should be enough to satiate your vengeance."
"The Sep destroyed the bridge to kill them. Those civilian deaths are on their heads too."
"You would kill the innocent of my people?" Nomad said harshly.
McWhiggin glared venomously and did not back down. Nomad turned back to Tomashock and Chiller.
"Let me escort you both to Houston, and where you go after that is none of my business."
Tomashock and Chiller agreed together silently. Chiller spoke this time.
" Alright. Lead the way."
'
It took an hour and a half to reach downtown Houston, and it took an additional twenty minutes to reach Memorial Park. The three Transformers were hidden on the trails of the Buffalo Bayou preserve. The sun was beginning to set, and the thick foliage was darkening to a dusky gray color under the yellowing sky. The trails were abandoned of vehicles, and so Nomad discussed with Chiller and Tomashock a final time in their android forms.
"Are you sure I cannot convince you to join the Autobots? We could really use allies like you."
"We're sure," Tomashock said.
"Well I tried." Nomad took a few steps back and called out to the trees. "They're all yours!" he said.
Suddenly, out of the darkness of the thicket flashed a pair of headlights. The headlights grew larger, and out of the forest shadows appeared a school bus. Tomashock immediately had his wrist cannons primed and pointed at the bus, but Nomad swiftly moved behind him and kicked his knee in and put him in a headlock. Tomashock tried to break free, but Nomad was much larger than him.
The school bus transformed slowly and rose into a tall and menacing figure. Chiller swapped his arm into a chain gun and aimed it at the school bus, and Nomad pointed his own weapon at Tomashock's head and threated to blow it clean off the shoulders.
The school bus laughed.
"Tommy, it's been so long since you ran off. You've had me worried to death!"
Tomashock fought to speak despite Nomad's arm locking against his neck. He clutched Nomad's arm but could not pry it any looser.
"Crazyhound and Cloudburst took that expression to heart," he managed.
The school bus backhanded Tomashock with the force of a hammer.
"Shut up, runt. They were good soldiers."
"A deal's a deal, Orphanmaker," Nomad said.
"So it is."
Orphanmaker snapped his fingers, and out of the forest trudged a black Transformer in handcuffs. It was Rangefinder, an Autobot famous for assuming the form of a limousine.
"One traitor for one prisoner," Orphanmaker added. He spat a glob of gasoline onto the ground.
"You can't do this!" Chiller shouted.
"This doesn't concern you, ice box. Count yourself lucky that you're still alive and move along," Orphanmaker said with a dismissive gesture. He then clenched Tomashock's chin. "But you, Tommy, you are going to be pulled apart, piece by piece, until you stop screaming, and then I'm going to melt you down and turn you into my personal jewelry."
"I gave both of you a chance to join the Autobots," Nomad said. "We could have killed Orphanmaker right here together."
Nomad shoved Tomashock into Orphanmaker's arms. He then approached Rangefinder and snapped the handcuffs off and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome back, brother," he said.
And then the jets came overhead. Military jeeps came rushing down the trail roads, and all of Uncle Sam's Hell was unleashed on every Transformer standing there regardless of Faction. And in one of the leading jeeps, a rabidly furious Major Andy McWhiggin yelled into his radio "Scrap them all for everyone who died at the bridge today! This is our planet!"
They killed Nomad first. The jets targeted him and eliminated him immediately. The other Transformers scrambled away into the forest in desperate flight. A limousine is not built for offroad forest terrain, and so Rangefinder ran on foot and was quickly flanked by jeeps. He fought hard and was destroyed.
Chiller followed after Tomashock as he always did. They sped as vehicles through the forest, scraping against branches and over brush and weaving between the trees. It was night now and utterly dark in the bayou.
Chiller then heard Orphanmaker yell "Tomashock!" and watched him out of nowhere plow into Tomashock as a school bus. The two transformed and fought.
"I will kill you even amid the flaming death of the world," Orphanmaker bellowed.
"Get out of here, Chiller!" Tomashock shouted.
But Chiller did not run. He lept onto Orphanmaker's back and shot five rounds into his faceplate. Orphanmaker grabbed him and flipped him onto the ground. The jets had circled back and now fired but missed, and explosions burst around them.
Tomashock retracted his hand and unsheathed an electric battle axe out of his arm. He jammed his knee into Orphanmaker's chest and then drove the axe down into his shoulder, severing the arm. He stepped back and fired with one of his wrist cannons, and Chiller joined in the barrage with his arm cannon. Orphanmaker shot a rocket at Tomashock's feet, blowing him off the ground and onto his back.
The jeeps were very close and the jets circled and fired again, this time pelting all three of them in lead rain. Orphanmaker turned to run away, but Chiller tackled him into a tree, snapping it down, and he fired a rocket at the neck. Sparks burst like shotgun spread and Chiller grabbed the head and ripped it out of the body along with the metal spinal column.
"Flaming death of the world!" he yelled and hurled the head towards the jeeps. He turned to Tomashock and waving hollered "Come on!"
Tomashock's feet had been blown off, and the rounds from the jets had badly damaged him. The soldiers in the jeeps had finally reached them and began firing at them.
"It'll be okay," Tomashock yelled and shoved Chiller away.
Chiller bracing an arm against the bullets scrambled back to Tomashock and dragged him out of the forest with him. Then the jets returned for a fourth run, and they pelted holes into Tomashock and killed him in Chiller's arms. Chiller let go and transformed and drove away.
He reached a road at last and swerved onto it. He by dumb luck raced past a parking lot with a number of food trucks, and he scanned one and became it: a Korean food truck called Bless My Seoul. He then disappeared from the city.
'
Rapid City was cold and there was no ocean. But Chiller enjoyed the Black Hills. Tomashock had been right in calling them special.
Chiller appeared as a snow cone truck with the generic label "Snow Cones! Raspados!" on the side door. He drove along a scenic road through the forested hills, and he encountered hardly a single car as he drove.
Since the day he arrived to the Black Hills, his memory had started to return for the first time. It came back in the tiniest of inklings, but it was coming back, and that was enough.
Chiller's Cybertronian name had been, translated, ZG-199. He had been a Decepticon commander in the Civil War for Cybertron, but he only remembered glimpses of the war that destroyed his planet.
He had one memory, or a flash of a memory, that played vividly. In it he recalled himself leading a Neutral protoform away from the battlefield. Decepticons killed protoform Cybertronians who refused to join a side in the war, a policy established and practiced by Megatron. But Chiller, then ZG-199, had disobeyed that policy. He told the protoform to trust and follow him and that he would protect him.
"Stay close to me and you'll be alright."
That's what he had said, exactly like that. As he remembered his words, he thought of the ocean, even amid the cold and lonely hills.