About 60 miles northwest of the small town of Saint-Eugène-d'Argentenay, Quebec, an impatient man hid in the bushes. The skin around his eyes had begun to glue themselves to the plastic eye pieces of the military grade binoculars. Despite their ache, the man refused to look away. Just over a 100 feet in front of him was a large opening in the thick, Canadian woods. In that opening was a large metal sheet rested against a freshly cut tree stump. The sheet was probably as large as the side of his car, he begrudgingly thought. It gleamed in the sunlight: the cheese in the trap. The old man was waiting, he had been for 3 hours now.
His body, aching from laying down under the bushes, yearned for movement. Yet, the slightest rustle could blow their cover. He was dressed in a full body camouflage suit that matched the untamed forest around them. His only companion was in the same position on his right. He was a young man in the same clothing, but instead of binoculars, he held a sniper rifle. More than anything the old man wanted to lighten the mood and make a sly comment to the young cadet next to him, who had barely said a word throughout their brief time together. However, the old man knew that a simple word or movement would cause the cadet to quickly silence him, possibly through a sharp elbow to his sensitive ribs.
They waited for the target. Through information received by the CIA's top analysts, it was determined that the target would make its way through this section of the forest heading south towards civilization. Based on sightings and satellite footage, the target was following the river about 20 feet to their left. The US and Canadian governments had been tracking the target for almost 10 years now, even though they never considered it a threat. But, as the sightings grew more frequent, and closer to larger populations, the government realized that although the targets intentions were never initially violent, it did have the power to destroy anything in its path. So, under the radar of the media and many top government officials, the CIA launched a small team to track it.
The first sightings had been by Greenland natives, fisherman, and sailors in the northern arctic seas. There were rumours of unusual tremors and sightings of a 'giant metal man' walking in the forest along the coast. Of course, no one had any proof, but neither did the old man when he first stumbled upon the target back in 1957.
Has it really been almost 30 years since then? The man furrowed his brow. He was nearly 60 years old now, a retired man with a family back home, all thanks to that 'giant metal man'. Unlike what many had believed about the 'Rockwell Incident', it wasn't about a killing machine from Russia that launched a nuke towards a small fishing town in Maine, but an Iron Giant from space that saved them from their own destruction. Although there is a lot of mystery and secrecy around the event, many had believed the Giant died, but not him. Now, lying in a ditch under a bush in the middle of nowhere Quebec, was probably the Giant's second biggest believer.
His thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble. The man looked up from the binoculars, leaving two sore red circles around his eyes. He stared up towards the tree tops. A small group of birds had been startled and flew rapidly into the distance. There was silence for another long, tedious 15 seconds, before another rumble appeared. The military cadet next to him shifted, realigning and strengthening his grip on his rifle. The old man, energized by a new wave of adrenaline, looked through his binoculars again. Energetically, he searching high and low for any glimpse of the target. The rumblings began to grow stronger and closer together. Every rumble made the man twitch in anticipation. It had to be him. It had to be.
It was.
Breaking through the towering wall of spruce trees, the Iron Giant appeared. The old man gasped. He looked identical to the Giant he had seen 30 years ago, only some minor discoloration to his metal frame. He stood tall and bold, an alien unaware of his majesty to the small creatures of Earth. In his hand was what looked to be the remains of a large metal truck. The old man smiled. Many farmers farther north had complained of missing large equipment.
"You said he was about the size of a two story house." The cadet whispered, his mouth hung open in terror.
The old man chuckled. "He uh… just looks bigger when we are laying down."
"He is the size of a skyscraper!"
"More like a very big two story house."
After a moment of hesitation, the cadet began to move. "We should call for backup." the cadet decided.
The old man's awe was slashed and replaced with a slight tightness of fear. About a mile behind them, a group of military personnel waited in case of any violence from the Giant. They were armed with the latest missiles and equipment, ready to strike.
"No, no, no." The old man begged in a hushed voice. "He doesn't react unless he feels threatened. Their presence would just make things worse." His eyes never wavered from the Giant, who now had stopped to look at the metal sheet. The man smiled, like a kid in a candy shop. It was truly him, he was alive.
The old man began to get up, but was pulled back down by the cadet.
"What are you doing?!" the cadet hissed.
"I have to go to him."
"You will blow this entire operation-"
"He is 60 miles away from population! He could be there by tonight! He needs to be redirected."
"He needs to be contained!"
The men's argument was cut short as the giant dropped the tractor remains onto the ground, causing the two men to instinctively cover their heads. In one swift movement, the Giant picked up the metal sheet, examining it with both hands. He made a robotic gurgling noise as he folded the metal in half effortlessly.
While the old man was amused, the cadet was mortified.
"I'm sorry." the cadet said, before pulling a flare gun out of his back pocket. Upon seeing it, the old man leapt onto him, trying to rip it out of the cadet's hand as quietly as possible.
"He is harmless! You'll scare him!"
"Let go of me!"
"You're making a mistake!"
Despite the old man's best efforts, the cadet was able to lurch free and shoot the screeching flare up into the sky. It whistled and sparked before exploding brightly, signaling the military personnel to come quickly.
Everything else happened almost simultaneously.
The giant let out a robotic scream before throwing out his front hand, which changed into a large gun, aimed directly at the old man and the cadet. The cadet leapt out of their hiding spot with his gun armed and aimed at the giant, yelling orders at the Giant to drop his weapon. With an agility the old man did not know he had, he jumped in front of the cadet. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! You'll make things worse!" He stood between the Giant and the Cadet, panting and begging for peace.
For a few seconds, the three men stood in silence with the old man trembling in the middle. He slowly turned and faced the Giant. Without looking away, he took off his camouflage mask, revealing his thick grey hair and beard. His dark eyes gazed up calmly, in contrast to his rapidly beating heart. They waved from the luminous eyes of the giant, to the ominous glow within the alien gun. He raised his hands slowly, mumbling "Don't shoot" to both parties, praying they would listen.
His eyes lingered to the metal sheet now crumbled in the giant's other hand. It inspired him.
"Y-you know" the old man stuttered. "There are two kinds of metal in this forest: Scrap and Art." The old man pointed to the tractor remains and then up to the metal sheet. "If you're going to eat one of them, eat the scraps. Wh-what you currently have, in your hand, is art."
The old man gazed up at him. The giant did not move, nor seem fazed by the old man's words.
Remember. He thought. Please remember.
The giant dropped the metal slate. The gun disappeared as the Giant relaxed both of his hands to his side.
With a large robotic smile, the Giant at last spoke. "Dean."