Pier Ten had been locked down immediately following the events of the night before last. Sector Seven reinforcements had arrived on the scene not long after the final showdown between the two extraterrestrial warriors. Witnesses had been detained and bribed, the inactive alien machinery attached to the tower had been secured and was now being analyzed, and the one confirmed alien survivor of the whole fiasco was nowhere to be seen. Yesterday, all efforts had been focused on isolating the area from the rest of the world and trying fruitlessly to track down NBE-1 – known to some as Bumblebee.

Colonel Jack Burns had no regrets of letting the little – comparatively speaking – robot go. It was clear to him by now that it hadn't been the real enemy, that distinction belonged to the three other machines he had the displeasure of coming into contact with. NBE-2 had rained fire down upon him and his men unprovoked under the guise of a friendly aircraft, NBE-3 had lied to his face and shamelessly used his organization's resources to nearly condemn humanity to an alien invasion, and NBE-4 killed Powell.

This morning, he had been called in to attend a staff meeting with General Whalen and the other heads of staff at Sector Seven. Another general had been brought into the loop, Roger Davis. The man hadn't said a word the entire meeting, he appeared to be anxious to leave the entire time; word from the grapevine said that his son had been in an accident yesterday and was now comatose in a hospital, his prognosis uncertain. Jack would have preferred to let the man leave, but Whalen was adamant that he attend.

Not much was discussed at the meeting aside from after action reports, and bringing up the probability of NBE-3 having survived the incident after the initial sweeps failed to find any sign of it's remains. A brief memorial service was held in Operations afterward in Doctor Powell's honor; it was only a little time later that they discovered the Decepticons had left a little present in their Cray network. The moment they tried to use it to locate NBE-1, a worm cluster was activated inside the mainframe that wiped out every computer system in Sector Seven that was connected to it. Needless to say the world wide network was down; but as fortune would have it, Powell was the kind of man who preferred to put all his notes on paper, they had plenty of information to start over from scratch. Albeit more slowly now that they no longer had the Decepticons helping them.

They were still at DEFCON 3, for the simple reason that they did not know what to expect. Powell said they were using their satellites to call in their army to invade Earth, and nobody was certain whether or not they had been successful. Charlie Watson claimed that she had been able to disable the transmitter before it could send their message home, the Secretary of Defense was unwilling to take her word for it.

Needless to say, Jack wasn't getting a vacation anytime soon.

With nothing else at base to do, duty had taken Jack back to where it had all ended. Only to find a gaggle of reporters rushing his staff car to shove microphones in his face.

Just like at McKinnon Airfield, the media had sent it's hounds to scope out the site. Channel's seven and nine were the biggest nuisances of all of them. The only saving grace was that only a few people actually saw the aliens fighting it out, and all of them had been paid off save for a pothead whose interview left much to be desired for those seeking answers. The perimeter was on lockdown, but Whalen was taking zero chances of the truth being discovered, he wanted all incriminating evidence secured and removed from the area.

Today they were retrieving the alien remains. Navy trained scuba divers were combing the bottom of the flooded berth, and many pieces of NBE-4 had been retrieved, placed into lead lined boxes, and shipped down to the out-of-state Sector Seven R&D labs to join the shattered wreckage of what used to be NBE-2.

They still hadn't found anything of NBE-3 yet.

Jack stood tall on the walkway overlooking the flooded battlefield. The cargo ship had sunk to the bottom about an hour after the explosive collision that presumably destroyed NBE-3, it's superstructure and the aft deck were still exposed above the water, but it's bow was crumpled and shredded. There was no way it could have survived.

NBE-3 had everyone fooled, it nearly had him fooled. His mind lingered on one particular encounter a week ago.

Sector Seven Headquarters -seven days ago

Jack Burns watched from the observation room as the two newcomers settled into their surroundings. Their hulking forms were wreathed in cables hanging from the ceiling and laid out on the floor; green waves of crackling electricity – energon the eggheads called it – pulsing from their bodies and into the slaved Cray supercomputers. Jack recalled a sci-fi novel he once picked from a bargain bin describing brain parasites that grafted themselves to the nerves and tissue of a host's gray matter, taking control of the victim in the process. It was the closest thing his pessimistic mind could compare to what these… Decepticons were doing.

He had been vocal in his objections of letting the NBEs within even a hundred kilometers of this room, and Powell had just swept in and gave them the keys to the castle on a silver platter. What was the Secretary of Defense thinking? What was President Reagan thinking?! How long was it going to be before they got their metal hands on the nuclear launch codes?

"It's incredible!" Powell's voice gushed excitably through the handheld radio, "They're combining our technology seamlessly! Satellites, phones, computers – they're creating an interconnected web of information; volumes of data at their fingertips. It's revolutionary!"

Jack grimaced, turning to General Avery Whalen, his direct superior, "He's a weird guy! Do you notice that about Powell?"

"They're tracking fluctuations in energon levels! It's like a heat signature specific to their species! It's astonishing, it's beautiful, it's-"

Whalen switched the handheld off, cutting Powell's excited ranting short, much to Jack's appreciation.

"You've given them our satellites, comms… God knows what else," Jack breathed, venting his anxiety over this entire fucked up situation.

"Yet in the space of a day they've given us a way to not only hunt down B-127 but all of them." He chuckled, sending a reassuring glance to Burns, "Let them finish what they're doing; let them find B-127."

His superior's face hardened, "Then I'll give you permission to destroy them all, use them for spare parts!"

Jack could get behind that idea; really, it's what he had been itching to do since he met those two out on the road in Texas. Both of them, especially the red one, gave him bad vibes. Best to get them first before they can screw him over.

"Sir, yes sir."

The general's aide chose that moment to walk in, "Sir, the Secretary of Defense is on the line."

Whalen scoffed, turning his gaze to Jack before moving to walk out, "Keep an eye on those two until then!"

Jack said nothing in reply, and simply turned his eyes upon the pair of soon-to-be piles of scrap. He started slightly when he noticed the red one's eyes boring into his own. It then held it's hand out towards the observation room and beckoned with two fingers. Unbidden, Jack's hand came up to his chest as an unfamiliar feeling of panic welled up in him, the Decepticon's face twisted into an eerie facsimile of a smirk as it nodded it's head in confirmation.

Had those things heard that conversation? They were buried into Sector Seven like a tick in the flesh of a dog, who knows what they knew now, a less than secure chat with the good general was the least they could listen in on. He supposed he could ignore the machine, but the idea of turning tail and running from these things in his own workplace rankled him intolerably.

Brimming with consternation, Jack walked out of the observatory and into the vaulting Operations Room, taking the flight of metal stairs down to the polished floor. Cables were everywhere, forcing Jack to keep his eyes on the floor as he stepped over them, not willing to find out if his shoes could insulate him effectively from an energon infused line. The techs and eggheads were prancing about like mice on cocaine in the shadow of their guests, one of them nearly bumped into Jack as he stepped into the center aisle.

The pair had caused quite a fuss when they first arrived at the base, they had not deigned to give their names – or numbers most likely – so they had accrued quite a number of alternative addresses. Names such as Thing One and Thing Two, Mrs. Red and Mr. Blue, but were more widely known by their official call signs; Bonnie and Clyde.

Walking up to them, their sheer size seemed oppressive. Powell had placed 'Bonnie' between eighteen and nineteen feet tall – nearly twice the height of B-127 – it's companion 'Clyde' was around a foot and a half shorter. But it was the way they moved that truly made the hairs of his neck stand up; their motions were fluid, refined and purposeful. 'Clyde' moved with brutal deliberation, carefully weighing it's next action before powering through with firm intent; 'Bonnie' moved with the grace of a veteran duelist; no wasted motions, no hesitation, only refined control. He could see why Powell would be so enamored with them, their very presence commanded awe. Jack firmly held onto his suspicions, somebody had to stay objective in this situation.

Bonnie's red eyes tracked him as he came up to it's workplace. The multitudes of cables festooning it's towering frame pulsed with energon, Jack could feel it prickling his skin, the faint scent and taste of ozone was also present. Jack took careful note of the M72 LAW strategically hidden under a nearby desk, and wondered how fast these things could react if he made a grab for it.

When it spoke, it's voice was unmistakably feminine, characterized by a razor sharp authoritativeness and enhanced by a distinctly inhuman flanging sound effect. It was a voice that coerced even the unwilling to take note of it's every word.

"Just so you know, agent Burns; I have uncovered the identities of fifty-two… fifty-three KGB agents, solved the mystery of Lord Kennedy's assassination, and invented the World Wide Web… all in the span of a few hours," the machine 'Bonnie' stated, "And since then I have yet to receive so much as a single thank-you."

Jack was left off balance. Was this thing actually pouting at him?

Powell chose that moment to kiss up to his metallic crush, "Then allow me be the first! Thank you… thank you so much! You are a dream come true!"

"Your… gratitude is noted friend Powell, you may continue," the machine gestured with it's hand in a subtle attempt to shoo away the clingy doctor, visibly cringing.

"We are allowing you access to billions of dollars worth of government property," Jack growled out, "All to find a fugitive that your war sent here. I believe it is you that should be thankful."

The machine chuckled, a reverberating lilt that seemed almost innocent, "There is no need to be so churlish Colonel, though your candor is refreshing; the atmosphere in here is a touch too timid for my liking."

"What do you want?" Jack demanded, losing patience.

The Decepticon's brow plates arched up slightly at his continued belligerence. It was otherwise unperturbed and answered swiftly.

"It has come to our attention that there are security concerns that have yet to be addressed; we would see them resolved."

Clyde gave a low grunt in agreement, it's grilled mouth parts briefly flickering green with the utterance.

"You will have to be more specific," Jack replied, glaring straight into Bonnie's glowing red orbs, "Our security was completely compromised the moment you two walked in here."

"And yet we have complied with your requests to the letter; we have nothing to gain provoking this world's largest super power." It replied calmly.

"How do we know that you haven't been working with the Russians on the side? You could be on the line with the Kremlin right now," he pressed forward, he honestly didn't think they would bother with the Soviets, B-127 was in North America, not Asia. But he wouldn't put anything past these two.

A short dry laugh escaped it's mouth, "The Russians have nothing to offer us, and they will not be around for much longer. The Soviet Union has at most five years left until their fragile system collapses, and the United States is left as this world's sole remaining power of note. We would be fools to throw away such a beneficial alliance in favor of a doomed empire and a failed ideology."

Jack had to hand it to Bonnie, it really knew how to play to a crowd. Throughout the Operations Center, his fellow humans were captivated by this conversation and he could see some of the tension leaving their bodies at it's statements.

"So you say," Jack rebutted, "And that's assuming you are truly here looking to make friends, that's assuming you are actually peacekeepers, and that's assuming I don't already know that you are full of it."

Before the Decepticon could retort, a surprised yelp came from behind him, Jack looked back to see one of the techies had tripped over the cables strewn over the floor. He had been holding a Walkman at the time – strictly against regulations – and it fell out of his grasp, the wire connecting it to his headphones slipped free of the device and an upbeat guitar solo filled the room.

'You look like an angel'

'Walk like an angel'

'Talk like an angel'

'But I got wise'

'You're the Devil in disguise'

'Oh yes you are'

'Devil in disguise'

The machine suddenly shifted inside it's rubber insulated cat's cradle, causing the numerous cables to sway and flicker with energon as it registered the upbeat tune. Jack, the technicians, Powell, and indeed even 'Clyde' could only watch gormlessly as the outlandishly tall gynoid swayed on it's flared hips to the melodious voice of The King.

'Bonnie' didn't seem to be actively aware of what it was doing, it's hands had noticeably slowed in their ministrations to the light show of monitors floating in front of them. Jack could feel the minute shockwaves of the machine's feet lifting it's heels up and down through the soles of his shoes.

"Amazing… she's amazing," Powell breathed. 'That girl isn't good for you little man.'

No, not a girl, a machine. Jack continuously reinforced that distinction in his mind as he watched the robot's body swing slowly in place to the music. A machine, and an Elvis fan in the making, but a machine nonetheless. He was afraid if he started to attach human characteristics to them, he would start forgetting what they were – the colossal existential threat they represented to not only his country, but to his entire species.

"Turn that thing off," Jack snapped at the still stunned tech, who after being shocked to stillness by his command for a moment, complied. The moment the Walkman ceased it's crooning, 'Bonnie' had ceased it's movement and it's work. The machine stood there awkwardly for several seconds, an unsettled expression overtaking it's features; it's eyes had dilated to nearly thrice their diameter and had brightened, almost turning pink. There was no mistaking it, that was a blush.

Bonnie quickly reasserted it's dignity, it's eyes shrank but to fiery pinpricks and it's facial plates scrunched into an irritated scowl. Their conversation was now officially over; the Decepticon clearly wanted nothing more than to dig itself a hole and die in it. Jack had half a mind to lend it a shovel; but another part was left speechless – for just a short few moments, it had seemed almost human.

Pier Ten, Present Day

There had been other moments like those, brief instances of genuine expressions of something close to humanity. He had come to unwillingly harbor a fools hope that it – she – had enough humanity in her that he could trust in her intentions. He had held back on immediately swinging the jaws of Whalen's trap shut upon their necks, and what did she do next? She had proven his original assumptions right. And he hated her for that.

He wanted her to be dead. She needed to be dead, if only to wash away the shame of his misplaced trust, however brief and unconscious it had been. But the longer the search went on without any trace of her to be found, the higher his anxiety climbed. If she somehow contrived to survive, or worse still escape, he would show her no mercy. It was personal now.

His attention flicked over to the radio tower. It had proven to be by far the most troublesome subject on Sector Seven's to-do list for the afternoon. The transmitter was massive, and had apparently grafted itself into the tower's original structure through some unknown means. Work was slow and the engineers were scratching their heads trying to find a way to safely remove the machinery without damaging it too badly, or worse; turning it back on. The nerds had really been butting heads over the entire issue, and Powell's absence was hardly helping matters.

With Powell gone, leadership of the Extraterrestrial Science division fell to Doctor Neji Fujiyama, an engineering genius with robotic systems who had been working on the remains of NBE-2 ever since they were recovered almost four months ago, and had recently been granted responsibility over something called Project Nightbird.

Fujiyama had not deigned to come on site, having sequestered himself in his lab to await the arrival of the alien remains. In his place, was a woman that Burns was hesitant to interact with. Selena Dahl.

Doctor Selena Dahl was Powell's protege, and was – almost impossibly – even more rabid over the alien guests than her mentor had been. She didn't seem all that broken up about his death at the business end of this very alien's giant cannon. Her office walls were cluttered with photographs of the NBE's from seemingly every possible angle, she appeared to be especially enamored with Bonnie. Or rather, her parts.

He noticed that the crane was reeling up another load of salvage from the depths. One particular item immediately caught his notice and he found himself walking his way over as the loaded tray was lowered down onto the dry concrete.

He beheld the disembodied head of NBE-4.

Clyde's head was in pretty bad shape, but mostly intact. It's optics were dark and lifeless, and it seemed smaller somehow now that the owner was dead. He distinctly remembered that same visage staring darkly down at him whenever he entered the operations room, as if Clyde was plotting on how best to go about killing him, with or without Bonnie's consent. It was strange seeing that glowering war machine reduced to this.

His eyes were drawn again back to the floundered ship, he could see the recon team assembling on it's tilted deck, preparing to penetrate the flooded interior. If they did not find Bonnie, it meant that she was long gone. And it would fall to him to hunt her down and finish the job once and for all. A secret part of him relished in the idea, the rest of him paled with dread. He had seen what Bumblebee could do when cornered, what was Bonnie capable of?

He continued to stare at the ship, preparing himself for what may come.

The Manzanillo

The ship had come up from Baja California last week to load up on imports to ferry back to Mexico; it's return home had been delayed indefinitely through the intercession of quarrelsome alien robots. It's entire hull had been flooded through, including it's mostly empty cargo hold. For the Sector Seven agents combing Pier Ten for NBE-3 'aka Bonnie's' remains, it was the last place they had left to search.

A team of three ex-Navy SEALS were chosen to investigate the bowels of the half-sunken ship. Lieutenant George Sweeny and specialists Philip Norton and Terry Spender were all kitted out in full scuba gear and armed with underwater weaponry that they hoped would be enough to at least deter whatever might be waiting for them down in the hulk long enough for them to escape.

George was hoping Bonnie was dead down there, just like everyone else at the dock who wasn't Agent Dahl, who was hoping to have a live alien to experiment on. Crazy bitch.

'I'll put the big girl out of her misery before it comes to that.' George thought, staring intently at the device in his hands, a strange hybrid between a speargun and an RPG. It had been flown down at special request from some secret DARPA lab up north. The explosive charge wasn't the most impressive, he would have to aim for the head. 'If she's lucky, she won't even feel it.'

He had seen Bonnie up close before she up and turned traitor on them. Her and Clyde had been the most amazing things he had seen in his life, while his enthusiasm wasn't up to Powell levels of absurdity, he found that he could respect them as fellow sentient beings at the very least. Wouldn't stop him from killing her though, or any buddies that might come to Earth after her.

That's all assuming she was even still alive.

They were entering through a deck hatch on the port side. Their ingress order was George followed by Spender and then Norton bringing up the rear with the wire reel. They checked their radios one last time before starting the penetration.

George slipped his black flippers into the silty water and guided himself down the grated stairs before ducking down and submerging into the Manzanillo's flooded interior. He switched the flashlight on, and kicked his flippers to propel himself further into the corridor to make room for his team to follow. Since it had sunk very recently, the walls and floor were still mostly clean, aside from the loose debris that floated to the ceiling or lingered on the deck.

Once he was joined by his team mates, they swam single file down the corridor towards the bow.

Aside from the snap-hiss produced by his rebreather, there was only silence. George led the team in at a slow and steady pace, taking stops at every junction to check corners for any unwanted surprises. He knew Bonnie was far too big to squeeze in through these corridors, but his paranoia and the sheer threat level of the target compelled him to not take any chances.

"We have reached the forward bulkhead," George announced, more for the benefit of his superiors listening in on the line than for his team. "We are now proceeding into the hold."

Gingerly, he reached for the door's handle. To his irritation, he found that the door was securely locked. Alright, they were doing it the fun way.

"Door's locked. Specialist Spender, use the torch." He floated off to the side and back to let Terry come forward with his exothermic torch. After setting himself up, Terry placed the long black rod close to the handle, a brilliant orange flame erupted afterward, displacing the water with jets of oxygen. Ten seconds later, and with more than half the rod burned down, Terry finished the cut. The door swung open easily.

The Manzanillo's forward cargo hold was completely wrecked. Junk was floating all over the place, and the suns rays were faintly visible through the murk, coming in from the shattered bow. Chunks of concrete and twisted steel were scattered all over the deck, becoming more dense the closer they got to the bow. George had to be extra careful not to get too close to the broken metal spars hanging down from the ceiling. Holding his URPG at the ready, he stealthily made his way towards the breach.

The bow was collapsed inwards, a pile of broken concrete and steel plates had filled in the breach, admitting only a few narrow rays of sunshine to illuminate the hold. But he could find no sign of Bonnie.

"Target isn't here," he announced. His flashlight fell over a pile of crushed metal containers, "Wait..."

Swimming over to the boxes, he noted the damage. They were crumpled down the middle, much like a soda can that had stepped on, he also noticed some curious abrasions with red paint rubbed in. Something else caught his attention. A glint of red metal.

Moving closer to inspect it, he noticed that it was stuck into the side of the container. Terry was shining his own light on the object as George fished for his pliers. Bracing himself, George clamped the metal grips onto the piece and pulled, jarring it out after some effort. Elation filled his gut when he realized what he was looking at.

"Disregard that, target was here. Found a piece of her, she's mobile."

"Understood, proceed with caution."

He looked at the piece more intently, it spanned the length of his hand, it was smooth and flat, tapering up at the end. Slowly he began to realize what he was looking at. One of Bonnie's more distinctive features was a set of antenna attached to the right side of her head, this was undoubtedly the upper span of the larger antenna. Apparently she had been sent flying by the collision after tearing her way through and the boxes had broken her fall, but she did not come out unscathed. He placed the piece in a nylon bag and attached it to his harness.

"Lieutenant, you better come see this. Come back to the starboard side," Norton's voice came through the comms. George and Terry swam back using the same route they used to move forward. When they came in sight of Norton's flashlight, his heart stilled in his chest and he nearly choked on his air. The starboard bulkhead was gone.

Three beams of light traced the ragged edges of the wall separating the hold from the midship compartments, something had torn its way through the bulkhead and forced it's way into the corridor beyond.

"We've picked up the trail, she's gone aft."

"Understood, retreat immediately once contact is confirmed."

George shared glances with his team. Their widened eyes visible through their masks showed him that they were feeling what he was feeling himself. Terror.

The lieutenant forced his own dread to the back of his mind before kicking his flippers and advancing into the gaping tear. His own example of courage emboldened the others to quickly follow suit.

A trail of complete devastation was laid out before them. Bonnie had torn through the walls of the forward compartments and crew cabins, weaving around major obstructions like support beams and narrow corridors. The path was completely overrun with debris and other hazards; the galley was by far the worst, the traitorous Transformer had torn through one end and out the other, smashing absolutely everything on her way through. But still, George and his team carried on.

How the Hell had nobody heard this happening? There were very few people on the ship when it had crashed into the berth, they had all evacuated immediately after the incident. Had they simply mistaken it for hull stress caused by the collision?

Between the noise produced by his equipment, and the droning pulse of blood pounding through his eardrums at the beat of his nervous heart, George was hard pressed to listen for anything that might signal a giant alien robot coming for him. The Navy had never trained him for anything like this, it was like diving into a shark pack in a suit made of chum, the nerves alone was making him twitchy.

He thought he saw movement up ahead and he sucked down on the rebreather in a brief fit of panic, his heart rate surged. Then something shot out from the darkness. George gave out a muffled shout and nearly fired his weapon, before he got a better look at what had nearly hit him. It was a small shark, roughly the size of his leg.

Still jumpy, the team calmed themselves as the shark swam away towards the front of the ship. George watched it disappear and frowned behind his mask. How had that thing gotten into the ship? He turned his light back down the trail Bonnie left behind and continued onwards.

The path turned left towards the starboard hull, it continued on for ten more meters before ending at a massive hole.

A large gaping rent was torn out of the side of the ship, leading outside into the flooded berth. The tiered incline of the berth walls blocked the way out, but that wouldn't have been a problem when the ship was still afloat. The edges of the breach were bent outwards, and bore the unmistakable scuffs of Bonnie's red paint.

Sighing with relief on the inside – but also feeling troubled – George called in the bad news.

"Negative on contact, large breach on aft starboard side; Bonnie has flown the coop."

Charlie Watson

It is amazing how life simply goes on. She first noticed it after her father had died from heart attack, there was a funeral, mother and Otis had cried, and then everything fell back into place, except for the little things. From that point onward, there had been an empty space at the table, the '57 Corvette languished in the garage collecting dust, and it seemed everything had righted itself. To everyone besides her it was as if her father had not existed at all.

And now Bumblebee was gone.

He had only been in her life for a few days. But in that short time, he had uplifted her in a way she had not experienced since her dad had been alive. He had been a bright splash of color in her otherwise dull and monotone existence, his presence had made everything brighter, she found herself smiling willingly when he was close. She loved him, she was sure her father would have loved him too, and that's why she had to let him go.

Bumblebee never would have been safe around her with Sector Seven actively hunting him and aware of his connection to her. Even if agent Burns no longer wished to hurt Bee, his job would compel him to do it anyway, and she would not be able to rescue him a second time. It had been the hardest decision she had ever made, but it was the right one.

She was still kinda peeved that he could have been a Camaro all along, and that she had been stuck with the Volkswagen deathtrap.

With Bee gone she was reduced back to riding her moped, though that would not be for long. The government had set up her and her family with hush money to keep them quiet about the entire fracas and the giant robot aliens, and as unofficial thanks for saving the world. Mom and Ron would be putting the money towards repairing and redecorating the house from the devastation caused by Bumblebee's curious misadventures and to set Otis and her up for college; Charlie had an idea of her own on that front. With all this cash, Charlie not only had enough money to get her father's old corvette up and running, she had more than enough to completely restore the vehicle back to pristine condition. She was thinking of painting it yellow, red wasn't a good color for her after witnessing Bee's final battle.

But between the car and higher education she had another conundrum on her hands. One that was just as personal as honoring her dad's legacy.

Bumblebee's old radio.

Charlie had held onto it after replacing it with the corvette's to restore a semblance of verbal communication to the cute bot. She had been working on it since she had seen him off yesterday, and found that it might actually be salvageable. The Sector Seven agents that scoped out the house following Bee's capture had not found it, they surely would have confiscated it if they had known. She had a theory about the radio, it was part of him, so it might still be connected to him in some way; if she could repair it, perhaps the distance between them wouldn't matter anymore.

It was this thought that had driven her to relentlessly slave over the deceptively complicated device. This wasn't just some old radio, it was alien technology in disguise. She had spent most of the afternoon crawling through uncle Hank's scrap yard searching for parts and pieces she could use to repair both of her cherished possessions, and was now well on her way back home. Her mom would probably chew her out for staying out late, but with everything she had already been through, a few hours over the limit seemed a trifling misdemeanor in comparison.

Pulling up to the cul-de-sac where hers and Memo's house laid upon, Charlie immediately noticed something fishy. A very familiar vehicle, with a very familiar insignia branded upon the door; Sector Seven. What did they want now?

Charlie frowned, she dismounted her moped and wheeled into the garage. She then reached for the door leading into the house, but before she could touch it the door swung open and a pair of arms encircled her shoulders.

Sally Watson held onto her eldest child for dear life, her arms shaking with emotion. Charlie was starting to get confused and more than a little bit embarrassed by her mother's actions, but did nothing to stop her. Her mother did not normally act like this, something must be seriously wrong.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

"I- I told you to be home by four!" Her mother exclaimed shrilly, "We thought you were dead!"

"Dead?" Charlie asked, suddenly confused. What had brought this on?

"It's too dangerous to be out at this hour! Come, Agent Burns has something he needs to tell you."

The dining room was mostly intact from Bumblebee's brief sojourn out of the garage, and once more agent Burns was seated at the table.

"Miss Watson," the scarred man greeted, "I just got finished informing your parents of a potentially dangerous development."

Charlie, unsure of where all of this was going took a seat on the other side of the table, mom was hovering nearby and looked dead set on not going anywhere away from her.

"My organization has recently been conducting retrieval operations at Pier Ten. Good news first; you will be pleased to know that the rogue machine known as NBE-4 – also known as Clyde – has been confirmed destroyed."

Well that was a given, Charlie had seen that robot explode first hand. It was nothing less than what that monster deserved for torturing and nearly killing Bumblebee at McKinnon Airfield; Charlie had never imagined she would be happy to see something die that much.

"The bad news is we didn't find the other one."

He pushed a laminated photo of a face she had hoped to never see again. It was that red colored female robot, the one that had nearly killed her with a missile the day Bee had been captured, the one that had nearly killed her friend the night before last. Her heart lurched in her chest as she recalled how Bumblebee had struggled against the overwhelmingly superior opponent, he had been knocked down again and again, unable to maintain any kind of advantage against his enemy. She recalled how that battle ended, the runaway ship carrying it away to the other end of the dock and the massive explosion that signaled it's demise.

The creature in the photograph seemed to stare right into her soul, the suggestive expression it wore appeared mocking and downright disdainful.

"That's impossible, I saw the explosion," she breathed, not wanting it to be true.

"NBE-3, also known as Bonnie," Burns continued, shooting Ron a warning look when he chuckled at the name, "Is as of now missing in action, confirmed active. It survived by forcing it's way into the ship, and some time later it forced it's way out and exfiltrated from the berth through the open sea gate and into the Bay. We still cannot confirm what caused the explosion, but it may have been Bonnie's way of faking it's own death to secure an escape."

Charlie shrunk in on herself. This was too much, that demon was still out there. Bonnie would go after Bee again, only next time she would not make any mistakes, Bumblebee had only narrowly escaped death last time. Her breath caught in her throat when she recalled the red alien's furious proclamation.

"After I kill you, I'll kill her!"

It wasn't just Bee that she was after. She was coming for her too. Her eyes turned from her mom, to Ron, her mind turned to Otis and Memo. Panic gripped her. She wouldn't stop with just her, that monster was going to kill all of them!

"What- what are you going to do?"

"We are going to hunt down and eliminate NBE-3. And to safeguard your family, we will have agents watching your house, we will also install special equipment around the neighborhood to warn us and you if Bonnie comes here."

Charlie mentally noted that, that would include Bumblebee as well.

"And if necessary, you will be admitted to the Witness Protection Program and given a new home and new identities."

"I want to be James Bond!" Otis suddenly called out, leaning in from the hallway next to the dining room.

His mother was not amused, "Go back to sleep Otis, or you're grounded!"

Otis was having none of it, there was something exciting afoot and he wanted to be a part of it.

"But I'm a hunted man now mom! There's a big mechanical madwoman after me!" Otis paused and looked at Burns, "It is a girl robot, right?"

"It is an it," Burns stated flatly, echoing his previous assessment of Bumblebee.

Otis rushed forward and grabbed the photograph still lying in front of Charlie and running back before his mother could snatch him. His eyes greedily drank in the face of NBE-3, noting the aggressive geometry of her features and luminous red optics.

"I'm being hunted by the Terminator…" Otis whispered, looking at the picture with awe filled expression, "That's awesome!"

Fed up with her son's insubordination, Sally Watson grabbed Otis by the ear and dragged him – heedless of his protests – back into the hall whilst lecturing him about following directions and watching R-rated movies. An awkward silence filled the dining room before Charlie's mom returned, the stress lines in her face having noticeably deepened.

With Otis properly returned to his room, Burns laid everything down. He went into detail about Bonnie – or whatever her true name was – and spoke on her capabilities. She was capable of shifting seamlessly from a land vehicle to an aircraft, was a formidable tactician, and possessed an uncanny knack for interfacing with and re-purposing human technology. Beyond that Sector Seven had not been able to garner much information about her, both she and her partner had been very evasive when it came to personal details but it was known that she was more than four million years old.

Four million years. That was how long the two had said their war had been going on when questioned by Sector Seven following their reception in Texas. Charlie had never really thought about how old Bumblebee had been when they were together, she had assumed him to be pretty young. Now she realized that he might very well predate human civilization many times over.

It saddened Charlie greatly to realize that Bumblebee had most likely known nothing but endless warfare for his entire long existence. It also explained how he knew how to fight like that. The term 'child soldier' came to mind, and Charlie could feel tears creeping into her eyelids.

Burns then turned his instructions toward how her family was to operate. They were all now under curfew, nobody was to leave the home during evening hours. They were advised to avoid going into unpopulated areas alone and to stick to busy areas of town for cover and to minimize opportunities for a potential attack. And above all they were to stay away from seemingly abandoned vehicles, and to keep an eye out for low flying aircraft – especially if they were military designs.

She didn't speak that much through the entire meeting, simply too overwhelmed to say more than a few words at a time. The sun had already slid down the horizon by the time Burns had cleared everything up and took his leave, presumably to hunt down his new quarry. Charlie went to her bedroom without getting dinner, her hunger was the last thing on her mind.

Charlie now knew the name of her enemies; Decepticons.

She recalled the image that Bumblebee had projected in the forest and again at McKinnon Airfield. 'You must protect the planet. If the Decepticons find it, then our people are truly finished.'

Charlie simply laid back on her bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Why had her life become so complicated? Over a week ago she would have done anything to break the monotony that had taken hold of her life, but this? This was too big for her. What was she supposed to do? Fighting against evil giant robots was a fair bit beyond her abilities, she had always needed Bumblebee to protect her from them, and now all she had was Sector Seven and they had already dropped the ball by working with Bonnie and Clyde. Such stupid names.

It was clear that Bumblebee's friends were on the ropes right now, and that these Decepticons were winning the war at the moment. That is if they hadn't won already. There was nothing she could do to alter that fact.

She looked at the picture frame standing atop her dresser. Her father looked smiling back at her, and set into the corner, Bumblebee's old Volkswagen Bug form could be seen next to her in the background. An unquenchable resolve filled Charlie in that moment. She might not be able to fight his war, but she could still fight for her friend.

She pulled the dresser open and lifted a stack of shirts up to reveal a certain busted old car radio sitting at the bottom.

Charlie wasn't about to let that Decepticunt get the drop on Bumblebee. But in order to reach him, she had to get this radio working.

It was her only hope. And she didn't even know if this would work. But she had to try.

'I'm fighting for you buddy.'

Author's Note: Longest chapter so far. It took me a while to get everything down. So quick explanations, Megatron is not frozen on Earth in this universe, he's busy leading his army on Cybertron so Bumblebee is now NBE-1. Also note that I am following Travis Knight's scaling for the transformers, making Bumblebee around ten feet tall, Shatter just over eighteen, and Optimus Prime around twenty. Further on that note, I have no intention of staying true to the Bayverse, this movie was a reboot, and my direction will reflect that.