Notes: Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, non-consensual touching, non-consensual drug use.
Tiresias navigated through the outskirts of Valdosta at high speed. The streets were mostly empty, which was fortunate—the older man blew through two stop signs and an intersection without even slowing down. Sam stared sightlessly out the windshield, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, but he couldn't concentrate. He felt unmoored and afloat, as though his body and mind were only tenuously connected.
Eventually, Sam lowered the handkerchief to find it streaked with blood. It took him a moment to remember that it was his. He grimaced, pressing the handkerchief against his nose again and tipping his head back in an effort to staunch the bleeding.
"Not like that, kid. C'mere." The stranger sitting beside him admonished. He leaned across the seat to grasp Sam's chin in one hand, before guiding his head forward. "Pinch your nostrils. Breathe through your mouth." Sam was slow to obey, and so the stranger took the handkerchief from him, before pressing it against his face. The fabric was starchy and rough. "Never tip your head back with a nose bleed. It'll make you vomit."
The stranger's hand was heavy and warm against the back of his head. Sam surprised himself by allowing the contact. He sat there with half-lidded eyes as they navigated through an area of mixed development. There were convenience stores and fast food restaurants, interspersed with empty lots and hardware stores on every other block.
"Let me take a look." The man murmured, pulling the handkerchief away to examine Sam's face, "I think it's stopped now. How do you feel?"
As he spoke, the stranger tucked the bloody handkerchief into his suit pocket. Sam's eyes followed the motion, which is how he noticed the handgun strapped to the guy's side. He stared at the weapon until the older man adjusted his suit jacket to cover it.
"Just a precaution, kid." He said, settling back against his seat, "The Autobots aren't going to let you go without a fight."
Sam flinched at the note of grim certainty in the man's voice. He clasped his hands together between his knees, worrying the skin of his knuckles with his thumbs.
"What do they want with me?" He asked, quietly.
The stranger seemed to regard him closely. His steel-blue eyes hunted across Sam's face, as though in contemplation. "Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
Their surroundings had transitioned from a mixed commercial district to something more industrial. They turned down a long, narrow road that was barely wide enough for the SUV. The pavement was cracked and uneven, and it had been repaired so many times that it was a patchwork of different shades of asphalt.
"I don't understand what's happening." Sam admitted, hating that his voice sounded so small and unsteady, "I didn't do anything. I don't know anything."
The stranger hummed noncommittally as they turned down an alleyway between two large, run-down warehouses. Sam sat up straighter in his seat as he realized, all at once, that they were in the middle of nowhere.
"Where are we?" He asked, voice sharp with anxiety.
"Somewhere safe." The older man replied as they pulled into a small, fenced-in parking lot. There were two dark colored vehicles idling in the shade of a small maintenance building near the gate. They slowed to a stop directly behind the nearest sedan, before Tiresias killed the engine. The two older men immediately unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the vehicle. At the same time, a handful of men in dark suits walked into view. Sam watched through the windshield as Tiresias crossed the narrow parking lot, and began speaking with an older, heavy-set man. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but after a moment, the stranger's eyes flicked over to land on Sam.
The passenger side door opened, causing Sam to jump in surprise. The stranger from the backseat leaned into the cabin, reaching over to unbuckle Sam's seatbelt.
"C'mon, kid." He said, nodding towards the waiting vehicles, "We have to move. The Autobots will already be on our tail."
Sam pressed back against the seat, eyes darting between the man in the suit, Tiresias, and the waiting vehicles.
"Where are we going?" He asked anxiously.
"To get the answers to your questions." The older man replied, both hands pressed against the doorframe. "Tick-tock, kid. It's us or them: who's it going to be?"
Sam hesitated for a long moment, before slowly unshouldering his seatbelt. The older man stepped aside so Sam could climb out of the vehicle, and then he gestured towards the waiting sedans.
"Quickly, please." He murmured, pressing a hand between Sam's shoulder blades to hurry him along, "We don't have much time."
Sam let himself be guided across the narrow lot. Tiresias made his way to the driver's side door of the nearest Dodge Charger and pulled it open. The conspiracist's eyes flitted from Sam to the alleyway they had just entered and back again. His shoulders were bunched with tension, betraying his anxiety.
"Pick up your feet, Cypher." Tiresias urged gruffly. "We need to get on the road."
As he spoke, two men separated from the half-dozen others that were milling around the narrow lot. One of them strode over towards the sport utility vehicle that Sam had just vacated, before climbing into the driver's seat. The other approached Sam with an expectant expression on his face.
"Jacket and sweater." He ordered curtly, "Now."
Sam pulled up short, before giving the newcomer a wary look. "What? Why?"
The stranger's mouth thinned in irritation. He was a burly man, with the same beady eyes and general demeanor of a Rottweiler. Sam's gaze flicked back and forth between Tiresias and the stranger, but before he could balk or refuse, the man in the suit stepped close, grasping Sam by the nape of his neck. Sam's breath stuttered in his chest at the touch—he could feel it all the way down to his bones.
"Take off your jacket and sweater." The man in the suit murmured, low and firm. "Now, please."
Sam shivered, despite the warmth of the early spring morning. The man in the suit gave him a little squeeze, and then Sam was obeying him without thinking. His hands went to his jacket first, sliding it off his shoulders, and then he grasped the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head. The man in the suit took the clothing from him, before handing them over to the stranger. The heavy-set man accepted the bundle with a grunt of acknowledgment, before crossing over to the SUV and climbing into the passenger seat.
"Come on. It's time to go." The man in the suit instructed.
For the second time that morning, Sam let himself be guided into the backseat of an unfamiliar vehicle. The man in the suit climbed in after him, before pulling the door shut behind them. As soon as they were seated, Tiresias shifted the car into gear, and rolled towards the perimeter fence. Another uniformed man stepped forward to open the rolling chain-link gate for them. Tiresias lifted two fingers in acknowledgment as they passed, and a moment later, they were pulling onto a rural road. Sam glanced in the rearview mirror to find the sports utility vehicle and the second sedan pulling out after them. The SUV and the sedan turned right, while Tiresias turned left.
Sam watched the two vehicles disappear, and then he clasped his hands between his knees, squeezing so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Is this really necessary?"
Tiresias glanced up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. "You're Numero Uno on the Autobot's Most Wanted List. What do you think?"
Sam anxiously jiggled one leg against the passenger seat. He wasn't sure what to say to that, and so instead he asked, "Where are we going? Specifically?"
"I told you: we're going somewhere safe." The man in the suit replied.
Sam half-turned to frown at him. "That's not exactly comforting. I don't know you."
"It's alright, Cypher." Tiresias said, slowing down to turn at the next set of lights, "Ray's the friend of a friend I told you about. I can vouch for him."
The man in the backseat—Ray—gave Tiresias a pointed look, which caused the conspiracist to turn his attention back to the road. Sam resisted the urge to point out that he didn't know Tiresias either—at least, not really, not beyond a pseudonym on the dark-web. They had never even spoken by telephone until Sam contacted him yesterday morning.
Something of his skepticism must have been apparent, for Ray chuckled quietly.
"All you need to know is that I'm a specialist." He interceded, causing Sam to glance sidelong at him, "This is what I do."
"And what is 'this', exactly?" Sam bit out, "You haven't told me anything. Who are you? Where are we going? And why is the Prime's Special Operations knocking on my door? Jesus Christ, I was at work three days ago, and now I'm in fucking Georgia. I have no money, no cell phone, and no fucking clue what's happening. I'm just supposed to take your word for it?"
Sam's voice rose in pitch and volume until he was almost shouting. Ray waited until it was clear that he was finished speaking, and then he leaned forward, planting his forearms on his knees to look Sam directly in the face.
"Who I am is not important." He murmured, "I have been doing this—" He flicked a finger between them to demonstrate his point, "—for a long time now. Finding people, helping them, disappearing them, that's what I do." His lips twitched up in a wry smile, "And I'm very good at my job."
Sam's heart skipped a beat, and then it started beating erratically behind his sternum.
"What do you mean 'disappearing' them?" He asked, voice strangled and thin.
Ray gazed at Sam for a long moment, as though measuring him up. "How did you picture this ending, exactly?" He eventually asked, "You evaded the Autobots for two straight days—an impressive feat, by the way—but they still hunted you over a thousand miles. Did you expect to lay low for a while, and then just go back home when this all blew over?" Ray gave him a skeptical look, "You're a smart guy, Sam. Wake up. There's no going back now."
Sam flushed hotly at the rebuke, before turning his head away. He knew that his life in Boston was over—he had thought about little else over the last two days. Still, he had been so preoccupied with thoughts of escape that he hadn't really considered what that meant for his future. If the Autobots could find him in Valdosta, then they could find him anywhere. He wasn't safe in Boston, or Tranquility, or anywhere else he might have fled. The thought caused something sharp and hot and painful to lodge in his throat.
Ray was right—there was no going home after this.
Sam angled his body towards the door as he struggled to maintain his composure. He could leave Boston—he would be fine never stepping foot on the east coast again—but he couldn't leave his mother. She had become a ghost of her former self after his father's suicide, and losing Sam would kill her. He pressed an unsteady hand against his mouth, breath hitching, as he blinked back tears.
What the fuck am I going to do? He thought, desperately.
As Sam struggled to compose himself, Ray hummed, low in his throat, as he reached over to clasp Sam on the back of the neck. Sam stiffened in surprise, but the older man gave him a gentle squeeze, palm broad and heavy and grounding , and Sam's protest died on his tongue.
"It'll be alright." Ray murmured, smoothing a thumb across Sam's sweaty skin, "I promise."
Sam shivered, rendered mute by the feeling of Ray's hand on the back of his neck. It should have felt invasive and inappropriate… but it didn't. The older man's grip was firm and warm, and it made something flutter strangely inside Sam's chest.
Ray's fingers pressed into the skin of Sam's neck, just shy of his throat. Sam couldn't help it—he made a soft noise as his eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. Ray murmured something Sam couldn't hear, before stroking his index finger over Sam's pulse point. The pleasant feeling that had blossomed inside his chest deepened, taking root and spreading down his torso. Sam's head nodded forward, his breath coming slower and shallower through his mouth. It wasn't long until he felt warm and relaxed all over—like he was floating.
Then, Ray's grip firmed as he guided Sam towards him. Sam went without protest, tucking his face against the older man's suit as Ray draped his arm around Sam's shoulders.
"That's good, Sam." Ray murmured, "I'm so pleased with you."
Sam registered the praise as though from a distance. He made a ragged sound, before pressing closer against Ray's side. The older man chuckled as he stroked his fingers along the arch of Sam's neck, his jawline, the hollow of his throat, touching whatever skin he could reach.
And Sam let him.
Sam had no idea how long they sat there as Ray touched him—it could have been hours for all he was capable of discerning the passage of time. Suddenly, the car jolted with the crunch of metal against concrete, and Sam's eyes flew open in surprise.
Tiresias muttered an apology as Sam came back to himself all at once. With sudden, horrifying clarity, Sam realized that he had listed so far to the side that he was practically lying in Ray's lap. He jerked away self-consciously, before putting as much distance between them as the confines of the backseat would allow. The older man watched him go without comment.
Suddenly desperate to look anywhere other than Ray's direction, Sam glanced forward—which is when he noticed Tiresias watching them in the rearview mirror. The conspiracist's brow was furrowed so deeply that the lines looked etched into his skin.
"Eyes on the road, Matthew." Ray admonished, mildly.
Tiresias tore his gaze away from the backseat to stare fixedly through the windshield. Sam flushed hotly in a combination of mortification and confusion. He was a private and introspective person by nature—he sure as fuck wasn't the type to let a stranger touch him, let alone… whatever that had been. Sam shifted closer to the door in an abortive attempt to put more space between them. He could almost feel Ray's hand on the back of his neck. Sam grimaced, rolling his shoulders in an effort to chase away the phantom sensation.
Eventually, Sam glanced out the window to find that the industrial outskirts of Valdosta had transitioned into rural countryside. He sat up straighter in his seat to get a better look. The road was flanked on both sides by small, private properties and sprawling wooden acreage. It had been dark when Sam drove through Georgia, and it was another thing entirely to see the countryside in the daylight.
"How much further?" Sam asked eventually, breaking the silence.
"Not much longer." Ray replied.
The older man's voice was calm and composed. Sam resisted the urge to glance sidelong at him to check whether his expression matched his tone. It seemed impossible that he could be entirely unperturbed by what had just happened—it had shaken Sam to his core.
"Can you tell me anything?" Sam asked, staring steadfastly out the passenger side window. "Anything at all?"
There was a weighted pause—Ray could have been reading the newspaper, for all Sam knew, because he sure as hell couldn't look at him—and then he heard Ray shift against his seat.
"We are rendezvousing with an extraction team." He replied at last, "Six vehicles, twelve men in total. You will be going with Hernandez and his team to the first safe house. If all goes well, I will join you there this evening."
Sam's earlier mortification was forgotten in an instant. He twisted in his seat to stare at the older man in sinking dismay. Ray returned his gaze without hesitation or compunction.
"What do you mean?" Sam demanded, voice sharp with anxiety, "You two aren't coming with me?"
Ray shook his head, a barely-there twitch that conveyed his denial.
"No. Tiresias and I will be driving two of the decoy vehicles." Sam opened his mouth to argue, when Ray fixed him with a penetrating look, forestalling his protest, "I already told you: this isn't our first extraction. We know what we're doing."
Sam's heart was doing something strange inside his chest. He lifted a hand, pressing it against his sternum, as he struggled to think of something to say. It was true that he barely knew Tiresias or Ray, but the two men had rescued him from the diner. They were Sam's only foothold in a tumultuous and uncertain situation, and he was desperate to stay with them.
"Please–" He voice broke, so he wet his lips and tried again, "Please come with me."
"We can't do that." Ray patiently replied,"The Autobots are tracking you. We need to confound the trail so the extraction team can get away clean. Do you understand?"
The car slowed down, turning onto a long, winding gravel path. Sam's head snapped up to watch as they started towards the buildings in the distance. They were surrounded on both sides by wide, empty farmland. On one side of the driveway was a sprawling, green pasture dotted with cattle, while the other side of the road had a large field of tilled, dark soil that extended all the way to the distant treeline. The buildings grew larger as they bumped and trundled down the driveway. There was a modest sized farmhouse nearest the road, which they passed without slowing down, and larger agricultural buildings further back on the property.
Tiresias followed the dirt path around a livestock barn and towards a long, white warehouse made of corrugated metal. Sam's mouth went dry at the sight of a dozen vehicles in front of the building. They were different makes, models, and colors, but they were all parked in uniform precision facing the road.
"I don't want to do this." Sam announced abruptly.
As Tiresias pulled to a stop, four men filed out of the warehouse entrance. Two of them were wearing dark suits similar to Ray, but the others were dressed in tactical gear. The sight of their body armor and protective eye wear made Sam's mouth go dry with fear.
"I don't want to do this." He repeated, more urgently, as he twisted to look at Ray, "Seriously, I don't—"
"Sam." Ray interrupted, leaning closer until their foreheads were almost touching, "Take a breath. You're going to be okay. We're here to help."
The older man's voice was pitched to soothe, but Sam shook his head in refusal.
"This is insane." He hissed, watching as one of the men in tactical gear stepped forward to pull open Ray's door, "I mean, what in the fuck—"
"Sam." Ray interrupted, his voice hardening in command, "Listen to me—no, stop talking, listen —" The older man reached out, grasping Sam's shoulder hard enough to make him wince, "the Autobots are less than twenty minutes behind us. Do you want them to find you? Yes or no?"
Sam stared at the older man, unable to reply, until Ray gave him a sharp shake. It served to knock some sense back into him, for Sam shook his head faintly. "...No."
As they spoke, two more men in tactical gear joined the four men milling around outside. Sam's eyes flicked between them. They were obviously restless and on high-alert, but no one said a word in complaint.
Ray gave Sam's shoulder a little squeeze, pulling Sam's attention back to him.
"Okay, good. That's good." He murmured softly, "Then you need to do as I say. Can you do that, Sam?" Ray waited until Sam nodded, and then he gestured to the nearest man in tactical gear, "This is Lieutenant Hernandez. He'll take you to the first safe house. I want you to listen to him like your life depends on it. Do you understand?"
Hernandez was a tall man with caramel colored skin and close-cut, wiry curls. He inclined his head in greeting as Ray introduced him. Sam stared at him for a long time, before reaching an unsteady hand to unbuckle his seatbelt. He slid the strap off his shoulder at the same time that Tiresias pulled open his door. They briefly made eye contact as he climbed out of the vehicle, but the conspiracist's face was impossible to read.
"This way, please." Another man in tactical gear instructed, lifting a gloved hand to point the way. Sam made his way around the back of the vehicle to find Ray and Hernandez standing near the warehouse entrance. Sam hadn't even heard the older man get out of the car. The parking lot was a bustle of activity as men climbed into cars and people shouted orders, but Ray's eyes were locked on Sam as he approached.
"You're going to be fine, Sam." He stated with complete conviction, "Alright?"
Sam jerked his head in an affirmative, which caused Ray to give him an approving squeeze on the shoulder.
"Go with Hernandez. I'll see you soon." He instructed.
Ray half-turned, exchanging a meaningful look with the aforementioned man, and then he crossed the narrow, muddy lot to climb into a waiting vehicle. The sound of slamming doors and rumbling engines echoed off the large agricultural buildings around them.
"Come on." Hernandez said gruffly, "We have to move quickly."
Sam followed the lieutenant towards the warehouse without argument. He paused on the steps to turn, glancing over his shoulder towards the road. At least half of the vehicles that had been parked in the lot were trundling down the driveway. Sam watched them go until Hernandez pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, giving him a shove towards the warehouse entrance. It had been a clear, bright morning, and as a result, Sam had to squint when he stepped inside. The only illumination came from the small, frosted skylights set amidst the rafters. Hernandez strode down the length of the building, Sam ambling on behind him. The warehouse was empty except for the long row of metal rails located on either side of the aisle. The stench of manure and sawdust suggested that the building had once been a barn.
"Can't you walk any faster?" Hernandez demanded, stepping to one side of a wide doorway, "Jesus Christ. We're working on a deadline, here."
There was the sound of loud talking, the clang of metal against metal, and the low rumble of engines coming from the other side of the doorway. Sam hesitated on the threshold for a scant moment, before a sharp look from the lieutenant spurred him forward. The door opened onto a large storage hangar. There was an old tractor parked in one corner, its paint faded from years of use, and an assortment of crates, hay bales, and farm equipment arranged against the far wall. A dozen or so men were standing around the room, but Sam's eyes were drawn to the large table in the middle of the floor. It was clearly a new addition to the hangar: its smooth, metal surface gleamed in the low light, untouched by the thick layer of dust blanketing everything else in the room.
"Bring him over here." Someone ordered curtly.
Sam half-turned to find two men striding across the hangar. The first was broad shouldered with a no-nonsense demeanor, but it was the second man that made Sam's heart skip a beat. He was middle aged and balding, and unlike the others in the hangar, he was dressed in pale blue scrubs.
Hernandez grasped him by the bicep, steering him across the floor to stand in front of the table. Sam glanced around nervously, his anxiety back in full-force as the two men approached.
"Alright, this needs to be quick. Give me your arm." The medic instructed, setting a large leather bag on the table.
"Wh-what?" Sam managed.
"Can't this wait?" Hernandez snapped, "We don't exactly have a lot of time."
The medic glanced up, looking first at Sam and then at Hernandez. His thick spectacles magnified the size of his eyes, making his disapproval plain to read.
"I have my orders, lieutenant." He sniffed, twisting open the latch on his bag, "Silas was specific."
Sam's heart slammed into his throat as the medic began placing items on the table: a hypodermic needle, some rubber tubing, and four plastic vials. Sam tried to take a step back, but Hernandez planted a hand between his shoulder blades, forestalling his retreat.
"What're you doing?" Sam stammered, the sudden surge of adrenaline making him lightheaded, "What's that for?"
"Give me your arm." The medic repeated, pulling on a latex glove. When Sam made no move to obey him, the medic nodded towards Hernandez, "Do it."
Sam opened his mouth to protest when Hernandez stepped behind him, pushing a knee between Sam's legs and forcing him towards the table. Sam stiffened and cried out as he tried to plant his feet, but it was to no avail—Hernandez easily had forty pounds of muscle on him. Sam threw back an elbow in desperation, but all he hit was the lieutenant's body armor. The older man didn't even grunt as he grabbed Sam's wrist, twisting his arm behind his back and forcing him forward until his hips pressed against the edge of the table. Sam planted his left hand against the tabletop, trying to leverage himself backwards, but the man in fatigues yanked his arm out from underneath him. It took almost no time before the two men had him subdued.
"Stop." Sam begged, the smooth metal reflecting his frightened expression back at him, "What're you doing? Stop!"
"I was told they're more docile than this." The medic grumbled as he picked up the rubber tubing. "Hold him steady."
Sam's left arm was straightened out in front of him, before the man in fatigues pinned him by his wrist and shoulder. Sam turned his head, watching with wide eyes as the medic tied the tubing tightly around his bicep, before flicking the crook of his elbow.
"Stop." Sam begged, gasping in fear, "Stop! Stop!"
His last word was lost in an inarticulate cry as the doctor slid the bevel of a hypodermic needle into his arm. Sam screwed his eyes shut, turning his head away so he wouldn't have to watch. It was only a matter of seconds before the doctor loosened the rubber tubing, and then he was removing the needle. Sam squinted open his watering eyes to find the doctor holding four vials of blood in one hand. He was inverting them back and forth with great care. Sam closed his eyes, panting in exertion and fear, when a touch had them flying open again. He watched incredulously as the doctor taped a cotton ball to the injection site, before patting Sam's shoulder the way one might pat a frightened animal.
"Alright, we're good to travel." The doctor announced, gathering up his supplies.
The man in fatigues frowned deeply in response. He was still pinning Sam to the table by his arm. Sam angled his head to meet the older man's gaze, before giving his wrist a sharp tug.
"Let go of me." Sam gritted out, trying once again to elbow Hernandez, "I said let go!"
The older man's frown deepened momentarily, before he glanced at the medic.
"Sedate him." He ordered abruptly.
Sam's heart stuttered inside his chest at the command. He glanced wildly between the soldier and the medic, trying to understand if he had heard correctly. The medic glanced down at him, observing his struggles with a faint frown, as though Sam was being an inconvenience, before he arched an eyebrow at the man in fatigues.
"Those weren't our orders." The medic reminded him.
The soldier leaned forward, using his full weight to pin Sam to the table. "I'm giving the orders right now, Keaton, and I told you to fucking sedate it."
Keaton gave the other man an unimpressed look, before propping his bag back onto the table with exaggerated irritation.
"Alright, fine." He groused, rummaging around inside the leather satchel, "But I'm not catching any shit for this. Stevenson was explicit about its treatment."
"Shut-up and do it." The man in fatigues snapped.
Sam made an inarticulate noise of terror as Keaton withdrew a small glass vial from his bag. The doctor ignored him, placing the bottle onto the table directly in front of Sam's face, before retrieving a thin syringe. He removed the protective plastic cap, before inserting the needle into the vial and drawing up a thin, clear liquid.
"Unfasten his pants." The doctor instructed, almost distractedly, as he flicked the syringe several times, "This is an intramuscular injection."
Hernandez stepped forward until he was pressed against Sam's back, and then he slid his hands around to the front of Sam's jeans. Sam screamed in helpless terror as he began thrashing against the table. Hernandez unfastened Sam's fly with clinical efficiency, pulling down his pants just enough to expose his right hip. Sam tried kicking him, but Hernandez just nudged his feet further apart until Sam was forced to brace his weight against the table.
"Stop!" Sam shrieked, "Don't!"
The doctor stepped close, one hand grasping the meat of Sam's thigh, and then there was a sharp pinch as he administered the sedative. Sam pressed his forehead against the table, moaning raggedly as a burning sensation spread out from the injection site. He barely noticed Hernandez refastening his pants, and then he was being pulled to his feet. Sam's knees were rubbery and weak, and were it not for Hernandez's arm around his waist, Sam was sure he would have collapsed.
The man in fatigues looked him over with a critical eye, before nodding in approval.
"Alright, prepare the asset for extraction. We're wheels up in—"
Sam flinched backward as arterial spray caught him full in the face. He blinked his eyes open in time to see the soldier's body hit the ground. Sam stared down at him, unable to process what was happening. The man was coughing and choking on his own blood. It was very red against the pale pallor of his face. The older man writhed against the packed dirt floor, grasping his neck with both hands, but it did nothing to prevent the pool of blood that was rapidly spreading beneath him.
Time seemed to slow down. Hernandez shouted something as he shoved Sam aside. Sam stumbled several steps, before his legs gave out and he landed on the ground. He groaned in pain, forcing open his watering eyes, only to come face-to-face with the dying soldier. He jerked backwards in alarm, the room spinning dangerously as he did so. The man's lips and teeth were wet with blood, and as Sam watched, pink foam began bubbling out of the corner of his mouth.
All of a sudden, there were two men crouching down beside him. Sam struggled weakly as he was moved away from the center of the room. Sam watched as the dying soldier convulsed once, twice, and then went very still. It was only then that Sam became aware of the sound of shouting and gunfire—it was watery and distorted, as though he were listening from a great distance.
Suddenly, one of the men kneeled down in front of him. Sam tried to angle his head back to look at him, only to realize that he was propped against the far wall.
He frowned faintly. When did that happen?
"You're alright, Sam." The stranger murmured, wiping the gore off Sam's face with a rough cloth—the action was urgent and hurried, rather than gentle, "Can you look at me? Does anything hurt?"
Darkness was encroaching on the edges of Sam's vision. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear it, and the stranger seemed to interpret his actions as a refusal. The man clasped Sam gently by the chin, tipping his head back and inspecting his face.
"Stay with me, Sam." He murmured, voice firm and composed, "Are you injured?"
The sound of a nearby explosion caused Sam to startle so badly that his head snapped back, connecting with the metal siding of the warehouse. The second man quickly crouched down beside him, bracing his hand against the back of Sam's skull to prevent further injury. At the same time, the first man began smoothing his hands down Sam's neck, across his chest, and over his rib cage, clearly checking for injuries.
Sam's vision was graying fast, but the flash of movement on the other side of the hangar caught his attention. He lifted his head with a gargantuan effort, but before he could see what was happening, the second man leaned all the way into his field of vision.
"Don't look at that." The stranger murmured, clasping the side of Sam's face and gently angling his head away, "Look at me. Alright? I'm right here with you. You're safe now."
Sam peered blearily into the other man's face. He had the fleeting impression of pale blue eyes and a soft smile before he finally lost his fight against the sedatives. Sam moaned as the hangar seemed to telescope away until it was just a pinprick in the distance.
Then, like an inexorable tide, the darkness rose up to claim him.
M.E.C.H.
DO NOT COPY/CONFIDENTIAL
File number: HX0007
Name: Charlotte "Charlie" Hailey Watson
Born: 1969
Place of Birth: Los Angeles, Cal
Laterality: Rght
Languages: English
Height: 170 cm
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Abilities:
Enhanced lifespan
Accelerated healing
Above Average intelligence (No IQ score available)
Engineering and Mechanics
Notes:
HX0007 is a senior member of the Engineering and Mechanics
Division. Asset is known to work with D. .P.A. On assignment. .
Known associate of mechanoids "Blaster" (XX0013), "Ratchet"
(XX0005), "Bumblebee" (XX0016), "Cliffjumper" (XX0017) .
HX0007 suspected of involvement in 1987 #XXXX in XXX
XXXXXXXXX, California. Asset was escorted to Diego Garcia
under armed guard immediately thereafter.
Opportunity level: Low Rarely leaves base.
Threat level: Low, non-combatant.
Priority level: Moderate
On-Sight Orders: Contain and extract, if possible. Otherwise,
the use of lethal force is authorized.