Attention loyal readers! I will be going to my grandparents' for Thanksgiving. This will be a problem, as they have a sucky signal there and my laptop lives on wireless. They have a computer that connects to the internet, but it's older than my car- the twelve-year-old car, not the brand-new one- and it has a dialup connection that makes continental drift look lightning-fast. I have only just found out about this, meaning I have enough time to finish this chapter and post it, but the next one won't be up for at least two weeks. Checking my e-mails alone is going to be a four-hour adventure, there's no way I'm gonna be able to type and upload another chapter while I'm there.
I will be responding to comments like normal. Just give me a little more time, since my grandfather is apparently convinced that I'll download a virus and kill his computer if he doesn't watch my every move. So I'll probably be sneaking in late at night to talk to people. Just a warning.
Disclaimer: me no own.
---
"You know, last time I saw you, you were a little bigger."
Megatron slumped lower in his chair and eyed the humans across from him. Simmons had been afraid of him, at first. Then it had worn off, and to Megatron's extreme annoyance, he had immediately began trying to get in touch with the Autobots. He was having no luck, and had in fact discarded his cell phone as useless several minutes ago. His little hand-held computer had gone the same way just as quickly. Now he was pacing behind the man who had first captured the Decepticon, occasionally making ill-tempered comments about carrier pigeons.
The man sitting across the table had introduced himself as Agent White, and judging from his comments he'd been one of the people who had been watching over Megatron while he was frozen. He felt this gave him the right to insult his prisoner all the more.
"Yeah, you've definitely changed," White mused. "Mind if I ask how it is you're human?"
"And alive?" Simmons added.
"And human," White glanced towards the other man. "How a mech turns into human is a little more interesting, sir."
"To you, maybe. Me, I couldn't care less if he could turn a flea into a whale. What I care about is how they managed to bring the dead back to life." Simmons rested his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Because if they can, it's a Decepticon thing. The Autobots haven't figured it out."
"They haven't?" Megatron countered lazily. "Maybe they just aren't telling you everything. Prime isn't the trusting fool he used to be. It could be he's lying to you."
Simmons straightened up and growled something under his breath. The 'con smirked at him.
"You know they're leaving you out," he said. "That's why you aren't driving down there right now. They know something and they aren't telling you, so now that you've got something they might want you aren't going to give it to them."
Simmons sneered and returned to pacing. Megatron smiled at the man, a serene smile that seemed to annoy him even more. He was right and they all knew it.
"Hey!" White slapped a hand on the table between them, earning a flat, bored stare from his prisoner. "Alive and human! How?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly. He spread his hands as best he could. "A gift from Primus, perhaps."
"Primus," White echoed, glancing at Simmons. "Is that your god? Must be a lot more involved than ours."
"Not really." Megatron studied his reflection in the mirror lining one wall.
"Not really your god or not really involved?"
"Both," the 'con leaned forward again. "He is not my god. I have no use for him. And if he thinks to use me, he is sadly mistaken."
"Agent Simmons, sir?" The whiny man was standing in the doorway, sending nervous glances towards Megatron. Of the four men currently here, only Simmons and White knew who he was, but their cautious and fearful attitude towards him was rubbing off on the other two.
"What?" Simmons demanded when it became apparent that the man was waiting for a response.
"Uhh… well… I need to talk to you, sir." The man glanced at Megatron. Simmons stepped forward and started ushering the man out of the room, but the man started talking before they were out.
"We were looking in the car and we found something extremely odd in the wheel well. It looks like a…"
The door slammed shut as Megatron sat up. He stared at the door, as if someone was going to come back and explain it to him, well aware that White was still in the room and was watching him. He didn't care- he was too busy replaying his last conversation with Swindle.
I adapted one of my jammers to mask your spark and left it in the car while your friends were looking for you.
"You know what it is?" White asked.
"No clue," Megatron glanced at him and sat back, pretending like he was acting like he didn't care. "Better not touch it."
"No, huh?" White stood up and walked over to the door. He paused long enough to look at Megatron once more. "So you wouldn't care if we, say, took it apart?"
He sat up quickly, then dropped back into his seat just as fast and stubbornly shrugged. White grinned and walked out, no doubt going to tell Simmons that Megatron knew what it was and didn't want it dismantled. The Decepticon watched the door close and waited for several minutes, then allowed himself a satisfied smile.
Death by Starscream, rescue by Barricade- he didn't care. Anything was better than staying here.
---
-Hey, boss, got the Deadster and Barricade here.-
Soundwave lifted his head, as though Rumble and his two runaways were within visual range. He was working on a portable computer pad, trying to find some way to circumvent Swindle's virus. It was a simple enough thing; unfortunately, it was also well-written and clever, and its simplicity hindered more than helped any attempts to remove it.
-Frenzy?-
-With 'Cade.-
-Return to the rendezvous point- Soundwave answered as he returned to his work. After a moment he ordered the others to check in. Nothing of interest, until it came to Astrotrain.
-I've got Starscream wandering around near Los Angeles - he reported smugly. –Not paying any attention to where he's going. He's got one of Swindle's jammers, but it's him. Also, I'm picking up some odd spark signals. One near here, one to the northeast.-
-Locations- Soundwave ordered. He fed the coordinates Astrotrain gave him through a GPS- the virus hadn't shut down the global positioning satellites. -Astrotrain, bring Starscream here.-
-Alive?-
-Yes.-
-... is that 'definitely' yes or 'if it's convenient' yes?-
Soundwave lifted his head again. The triplechanger's insistence was fairly ominous. –Definitely yes- he answered. Astrotrain didn't respond at first. When he did, his reply wasn't too terribly reassuring.
-All right, I'll see what I can do.-
The officer waited for several minutes, then checked the GPS for the coordinates. One was in Los Angeles, in the Autobot base. The other was a good distance away from the Autobots. Of the Decepticons, Ravage was closest.
-Ravage: investigate the spark signal.-
-And what do I do when I find it?- The felinoid was being cautious now. Soundwave had no time for these games.
-Destroy it.-
---
"I think I know why no one wants to play with you," Sam muttered sourly as he scanned his cards. Across the table, Jazz chuckled.
"One bad hand don't mean I'm cheatin'," the saboteur responded breezily.
"Yeah, but four in a row does," the teen countered.
The two were sitting outside, enjoying the coolness of early evening. For a while there'd been a show as well, for Ratchet had needed something to help fix up Prime's shoulder and had 'sorted' through the stray piles of random stuff littering the warehouse. His version of sorting had included taking everything he didn't need and pitching it over his shoulders until he had a sizeable pile behind him, then realizing he needed to search through the pile because there was stuff under it and thus beginning the process over again. After about half an hour of this Sideswipe and Ironhide had been tasked to taking everything the medic tossed aside and getting it out of his way. Neither 'bot being creative thinkers, at least not when it came to organization, they'd simply taken everything and tossed it into the parking lot.
It had taken Prowl almost two hours to catch on to them. Once he did he reminded them that all this junk was going back inside eventually- eventually being now. For a while the two had been dragging the stuff back inside with as much grumbling as physically possible. Then Prime had called it off, saying that until things had settled down, he preferred they not be outside advertising their presence.
So Jazz had dragged a folding card table out of the junk and set it up, and now they were playing double solitaire. Somehow Jazz had relieved Sam's deck of all its aces, although how he'd done so Sam was still unsure of. The first two games he'd had all four. Then, one by one, they'd started vanishing.
"Question," Jazz said suddenly. Sam glanced at him, which the saboteur took as permission to continue. "Why ain't you in there helpin' Lennox give your parents th' giant-alien-robots-are-here speech?"
"I was," the boy muttered to his cards. "But when they heard about Megatron they…" He dragged his hand through the cards, mixing the decks and stacks together. "Will said I was distracting them too much."
Jazz regarded him silently, sunglasses pulled down far enough for those eerily bright blue eyes to be seen. After a moment the former 'bot smiled and sat back in his chair.
"Can't wrap their minds around th' fact that their son saved th' world? Or is it how you saved it that's got 'em lookin' at you so funny?"
Sam stared at the table, afraid of what he'd see on Jazz's face if he looked up. "I killed him, Jazz."
"Good." Jazz snorted and the teen glanced at him, surprised by the vitriol in the saboteur's voice. "This may be hard for you t' understand, Sam, but you got it easy here. You'll prob'ly never forgive yourself for killin' another livin' thing, which is good in its own way, but you gotta understand that sometimes there are things that just need killin'. One livin' being that's gotta die so th' rest can survive. Megatron was one of 'em. Our race is good as dead- no, don't apologize, it was dyin' 'fore the Allspark was destroyed. But Megatron was gonna run our kind into th' ground. He was gonna drag this war out until every last 'con or 'bot was dead, and if it was the Autobots that died out, Primus save th' rest of th' universe." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Wasn't always this way, ya know, but you can't predict what will be an' you can't change what has been. No, Sam, Megatron needed to die. Th' only thing I regret is that it fell to you t' kill him."
Sam looked away again, for a different reason this time. With his carefree attitude, his jokes and his easy grin, it was incredibly easy to forget what Jazz was. He was a warrior, just as much as the twins or Ironhide. He was ancient; he'd probably been around before the first primate even thought of descending from the trees. He was a survivor of a race pushed to the brink of extinction by an endless war, and he bore the scars associated with it.
"Sam Witticky?"
Sam glanced up, mouth opening to correct yet another butchering of his name, and left it hanging there. A woman he'd never seen before was strolling towards him, picking her way carefully across the junk-filled warehouse parking lot. Jazz barked out a Cybertronian curse and lunged to his feet, dashing into the open bay behind them.
"Yeah?" Sam answered warily. The woman smiled at him- the fakest smile he'd ever seen, and that was saying something considering it was competing against Simmons'- and came to a halt a few steps away.
"I'm Pearl Goodman," she said, offering her hand. Sam glanced at her nails, which were sharp and long enough to be called talons, and tentatively shook her hand. He wondered where Jazz had gone and was surprised to find himself missing the saboteur. Jazz had a way of dealing with people that made Sam feel like a tongue-tied idiot.
"Uhh… hi," Sam said, quite honestly not knowing how to reply to that. The woman was clutching her purse close to her and staring around in open curiosity. She seemed especially fascinated by the truck engine sitting in the middle of the parking lot, although to be honest it didn't seem too terribly out-of-place with half a suspension system and several tires all scattered around as well. He had no idea what this warehouse had produced, but clearly its workers had been unkind to their shipping trucks.
"I thought this was a military post," she said, and Sam could only shrug.
"It's a bit of a fixer-upper," Jazz's voice drawled from behind him, and the teen could have kissed him for coming back. The woman glanced at the newcomer.
"And you are…?" she prompted.
"Curious, mostly. Why are you here?" Jazz didn't do suspicious often, but when he did, he did it well. He stood just behind Sam, arms folded and head tilted ever so slightly. The sunglasses that protected his sensitive eyes- so familiar on him he looked odd without them- hid his expressive gaze.
The woman hesitated, then reached into her purse and produced a business card. "I'm a reporter," she said.
Jazz recoiled as if she'd tried to hand him a poisonous snake. "Reporter?" he echoed. "What are you doin' here?"
"I received a tip," she said primly, obviously insulted by this response. "They said your friend here may know something about the freeway bridge collapse in Ohio."
Sam went ramrod stiff and stared at her. "I had nothing to do with that!" he barked. "It wasn't even-" He stopped mid-sentence when Jazz dropped a hand on his shoulder. The Autobot's grip was cautioning as well as reassuring. The reporter was studying the saboteur closely, clearly recognizing him as the biggest roadblock between her and her story.
"Sam's been here," he answered. "Now I got a question for you. Th' person who gave you your tip- he called it in?" She stared at him, then slowly nodded. "Was this before or after th' phones stopped workin'?"
"My phone is fine," she shot back.
"It was then," Jazz agreed blandly. "Is it fine now?"
"I don't see what this has to do with anything," she snapped, but one clawed hand ducked into her purse. She produced her cell phone, wrapping her hand around it and glaring at the two males as though daring them to comment, and glanced at the screen. A puzzled frown worked its way across her face before she regained control.
"Didn't think so," the saboteur murmured. He gave a slight tug on Sam's shoulder, pulling him towards the building, and took the business card the reporter was still holding. She started to say something, but Jazz cut her off. "Nice meetin' you, Miss. Hate to chat an' run, but we've got things to do. Bye." And he hustled Sam into the warehouse, watching over his shoulder to make sure the woman didn't follow.
"A reporter!" Sam griped as soon as he was inside. "Who called in a reporter?"
"An' when?" Jazz added. "If it was 'fore th' communications blackout, we may have a problem."
Sam started to answer, then stopped. Miles and Mikaela were still there, and Sergeant Epps off to one side with the twins studying the damage done to Sunstreaker's car form. His parents, however, were gone. When he looked at Mikaela, she gave a slight shake of her head. Don't ask, she mouthed. Sam sighed and turned away, just in time to see Jazz pull a face.
"So now destroyin' th' most evil thing in th' universe is a good excuse for disownin' your son?"
"Forgive us our failings, Jazz. We're only human." Epps snapped back, sounding annoyed. The saboteur shook his head helplessly.
"Maybe it's th' 'bot in me talkin'," he said. "But if I had someone that closely connected to me, I wouldn't give 'em up for nothin'." He pulled his sunglasses down and angled a pointed look towards the twins. Sam glanced between the saboteur and the sergeant in confusion. It sounded like they were continuing an old argument, but he couldn't remember them fighting before now.
"Someone's outside," Sideswipe put in suddenly. A moment later the reporter came around the corner.
"I'm still here," she said, peering closely at Jazz. She'd heard his comment about being a 'bot, Sam realized.
"I noticed." The Autobot had never been very warm to her in the first place, but now he was downright cold.
"I thought I ought to tell you," she continued, still staring at the saboteur who was beginning to noticeably chafe under her scrutiny. "The person who called in the tip? He actually didn't say your friend knew anything about the bridges in Ohio. What he said was that your friend was friends with transforming robots." And now she looked at the twins, her gaze lingering over Sunstreaker. "Sam, do you own a Camaro?"
Sam couldn't answer; his mouth had gone dry. Whoever had called her had known what they were talking about, had told her everything she needed to hang them with very little effort. The reporter tried to circle around the twins, possibly to see the damage done to the yellow twin, but Epps easily blocked her way.
"I just want to look," she said to his chest, which was about how high she reached on him.
"You see a 'for sale' sign?" the sergeant countered. He continued without waiting for an answer. "Then you don't need to look."
"Oh, come on," she laughed. "You can't own a car like those without enjoying being stared at. Whose are they, anyways?"
She could look all she wanted, Sam knew. The license plates and VINs would lead to an agency Simmons set up for just this purpose. Still, it was better to keep her away. Jazz's dislike was translating loud and clear to his fellow Autobots, and he could see Sunstreaker shifting as if preparing to lunge at the woman.
"Who said anythin' about robots?" Jazz asked, drawing her attention back to him. She shrugged.
"I can't tell you that," she answered sweetly. "Sam? Your Camaro?"
Sam mutely shook his head, not sure what he should say.
"It's at his house," Jazz said.
"We gave him a ride here," Epps tacked on, and instantly whatever disagreement they had vanished as they faced the reporter.
She looked at the two soldiers- one human and one Autobot- before sparing the twins one last glance. Then she sighed and reached into her purse.
"He said you might get difficult," she murmured. "Told me to play you this if you did." She produced a slim recorder and pressed play, and a voice started talking. Sam thought the voice on the recording sounded like a car salesman or a politician, slick and wordy and oozing false charm.
"That's Swindle!" Miles yelped. The reporter looked at him sharply. Fortunately Jazz was quick.
"Er!" he barked out. "That swindler lied to you, miss."
She frowned at that. "He didn't ask for any money, so technically you can't call him a swindler," she pointed out.
"Oh, there are many things we can call this particular person," Jazz answered darkly.
"Know him, do you?" She sounded irritated, no doubt thinking she'd been sent to harass them as punishment for something.
"You could say that." The saboteur was trying to usher her out now, pointedly keeping himself between the reporter and the twins. The two were still in car form but gave the impression of puppies straining at the ends of their leashes, as if they were only barely maintaining control.
"So who's Agent Simmons?" Sam had to give her credit; she was still trying. He also had to give Jazz credit, as the Autobot wasn't letting her gain an inch.
"No idea," he answered calmly, taking her elbow and guiding her out the door. "Sounds like something to talk to the FBI office about."
"So if I find an Agent Simmons, he won't know who you are?" The implication was clear: if Jazz was lying, she would make him pay.
"He'd better not," the saboteur said with an ironic laugh.
"All right," she said slowly, finally. "I suppose I should apologize."
"Here's a great apology: leave." He pushed her out the bay door and flicked the switch to shut it behind her. Sam opened his mouth to comment but the saboteur spun around and put one finger against his lips. He then pointed towards the twins.
After a few moments Sideswipe spoke up. "She's gone," he muttered quietly. "Or, she's out of my range at least."
"Good. Now, then, what the hell was Swindle thinking?!" Epps turned towards Jazz. "Calling in a reporter… what's he playing at?"
"Confusion," Jazz answered grimly. "Th' less organized we are, th' more chances he has. It's him against th' universe now that he's got that Allspark piece, and he'll do anythin' he needs to win."
"Wonderful." Epps folded his arms across his chest and scowled at the closed door. "You don't think she's really gonna go bother Simmons?"
"I wish her luck in findin' him," Jazz muttered. "Even with Swindle helpin' her, Simmons ain't an easy guy to find."
"Especially if he's still in Ohio," Mikaela added. There was a long, thoughtful silence at that.
"Do you think we should tell him about you?" Sam asked Jazz. "I mean, if they have Megatron…"
"As Optimus said, if you know where they are or how to get in touch, you're welcome to it," Jazz answered.
Sam considered this for a moment. Then he sighed.
"I'm gonna go talk to my parents," he decided. Mikaela leaned against him, wrapping both her hands around one of his, and gave him a reassuring smile when he glanced at her.
"Yeah, your parents," Jazz muttered.
"Let it go, man," Epps ordered. The saboteur snorted and turned away, giving one last comment before Sam walked out.
"Humans are weird."
---
Starscream came online to pain.
Something was wrong, he thought distantly. His balance was off-center. He tried to run a scan to find out why but had to pause and sort through the various alarms going off in his CPU. Vaguely he attempted to shut off his pain receptors and was rewarded with another onslaught. Someone had hacked his CPU, he realized in alarm. They'd shut off his override controls.
He activated his optics slowly and found himself staring up at the sky. Late afternoon cast long shadows slicing across the ground, reducing visibility to an interesting game of hide-and-seek. The seeker grunted and shut his optics off, trying to remember what had happened. He'd been circling the area he'd last seen Swindle in, hoping to spot the merchant and get another shot at him. He thought he remembered flying over a train depot.
Trains…
"Oh slag," he muttered. Somewhere nearby, someone chuckled. Ignoring his serious misgivings, Starscream reactivated his optics and looked in the proper direction.
"Hello, Starscream," Astrotrain drawled unpleasantly. He was sitting on an overturned freight engine, fiddling with a piece of metal that looked suspiciously familiar. "Have a nice nap?"
"You shot me down?" the seeker asked in dismay, trying not to think about the twisted metal sheet that the triplechanger was playing with. He had a sickening feeling that he already knew what it was.
"You're lucky. Soundwave gave the order for you to be returned alive just before I killed you. However, he didn't say anything about alive and intact."
Starscream hesitated. Then he gave into the inevitable and glanced to either side. Right wing: dented and scratched but otherwise fine. Left wing…
"You ripped my wing off," the seeker spat. At that moment his hatred for the triplechanger outdid all others. Even Megatron had never gone so far as to actually rip one of his wings off. A seeker who couldn't fly was useless, and Megatron didn't tolerate uselessness. Not to mention Astrotrain was a fellow flyer, even if his bulky space-jet form was no match for Starscream's sleek and deadly fighter jet. No flyer should be willing to do such a thing to his own kind.
"Is that what this is?" Astrotrain studied his prize, then tossed it aside dismissively. He stood, towering over the seeker. "I also trashed your thrusters. This way you won't get any funny ideas about shooting me mid-flight. If Soundwave feels patching you up he's got his work cut out for him. However, don't count on him caring enough to help you. In fact, don't count on being alive long enough for it to matter."
"Coward can't even come get me himself?" Starscream growled.
"He's busy," Astrotrain shrugged. "Swindle's been entertaining himself down here, and Soundwave's slagged off at him big-time."
Somehow, despite all his plans to eliminate Swindle, Starscream felt a fondness for the merchant. At least one of them could hold their own against the almighty Soundwave. That only lasted a moment, though, as the seeker realized that Swindle's way of 'entertaining himself' was probably what had driven the ship-bound Decepticons onto the planet.
Then Astrotrain was pulling him up off the ground and the pain was back, doubled in intensity, and Starscream felt his body arch as he let out a wordless cry of pain. The triplechanger merely smirked and transformed into his jet mode. After a few moments the seeker managed to gasp out a quick observation.
"You aren't big enough to transport me," he panted. Astrotrain snorted.
"Then you'd better hold on," he answered smugly. Then he started up his engines and the vibrations sent all new pain jarring through the seeker's torn body. It proved overwhelming and Starscream felt himself sliding quickly back off-line.
His last thought was that at least, for fear of Soundwave's retribution, Astrotrain wouldn't drop him.
---
Pearl Goodman, reporter extraordinaire, stopped her car in front of the squat little building and stared at it in open dismay. What little information she'd cobbled together labeled it as some sort of military bunker. Without access to the internet, she couldn't say which branch owned it, or if it was even used for anything anymore. All she had to go on was what her informant had given her.
She pulled her cell phone out, already knowing what it was going to say. No signal, not even roaming. Landlines were down and there were no internet connections anywhere. It was a blackout, she thought. A communications blackout that effectively crippled the entire planet. And the worst thing was, no one could do anything, since the source was a mystery. It was suspiciously familiar to the blackout that preceded the 'government experiment' in Mission City a few months ago.
After a moment she dipped her hand back into her purse and pulled out a scrap of paper. On the back she'd written a number her informant had given her. Call anytime, he'd said. Day or night. Whether or not it should even be possible. That had struck her as odd then, but now she understood it a little better.
Pearl bit her lip, weighing her options. Then she flipped open her phone and dialed the number.
"Pearl," greeted the silk-smooth voice. "Good afternoon, or evening, I suppose. How has your day gone? Gotten better since we last spoke?"
"I talked to the kid," she answered, studying the building in front of her.
"Let me guess. He claimed to have no knowledge of any of it?"
"He barely said two words," Pearl muttered. "This other kid ran the whole conversation."
"Other kid." Here the person on the other end of the line actually sounded interested. "Describe this other kid."
"Black, longish hair, average height and build." She glanced in the rear-view mirror. For a moment she thought she'd seen something. "He looks like another teen at first, but he seems a lot older once you get past appearance."
And he'd made a comment about being a 'bot. He'd looked human to her calculating eye, and he certainly didn't fit the image of 'giant robots that turn into cars', but she couldn't forget what he'd said.
"And his eyes? Did you even see them?"
"No, he wore sunglasses the whole time."
"Jazz," her informant mused. "So I was right."
Pearl chewed on her lower lip again, once more checking her mirrors. There was something out there, she was confident of it by now. However, she had other things to focus on. She'd needed someone to sound things off of, true, but she also had the feeling that this person knew a good deal more of what was going on than he'd originally claimed. Give him a few details, and he might just let enough slip for her to begin seeing the big picture.
"So your name's Swindle, huh?" she asked conversationally.
"Ye- what? No!" The voice stumbled over its words, trying too many denials all at once, then suddenly stopped with a groan. "Oh, slag it all. Yes, it is."
"My God," Pearl breathed. "You're one of them."
Swindle laughed, a dark and alarming sound. " 'One of them' being the robots? Yes, I am. And you're very lucky- if it weren't for the fact that I have to keep my head down, I'd have to kill you for figuring it out. You're not that useful, and I'm tired of… what's the term? Ah yes. I'm tired of being pwned by you humans."
Pearl let out a slightly hysterical high-pitched giggle at the clear abuse of internet speak. She was gripping her phone so the plastic casing was creaking under her hand. Death threats were something all reporters got. This wasn't a threat, though. It was a simple, resigned truth, and more importantly, it was coming from a giant robot. She hadn't been prepared for this when she'd first taken this job, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to keep chasing this story if it meant having car-former robots out to get her.
"I see I've had proved my point. Keep your questions to yourself, Pearl, and I won't have to hurt you. Are we clear?"
Pearl muttered something that might have been and agreement as she swung her car door open. Swindle laughed again and hung up, the phone line clicking in her ear and then going dead. She barely paid any attention as she snapped the phone shut and tucked it into her purse. As an afterthought she added the paper with the number. Maybe it could be traced, if someone figured out how to get the internet working again.
There was one black SUV sitting in front of the bunker. It radiated heat as she walked past, a blasting wave of stifling heat that indicated it had been there for several hours at least. Pearl walked right up to the door and frowned at it- a thick slab of steel attached to the concrete walls by heavy hinges on one side and seven different locks on the other. The locks were rusted; at least two of them looked more like decoration than anything useful. Hesitantly she lifted a hand and knocked.
For several minutes there was nothing, even when she threw herself against the door while yelling at the top of her lungs. Then the door was yanked open just enough for a man to peer out.
"Wha- who are you? And how did you find this place?" he demanded sharply. Pearl pushed the door open a little wider and slithered in.
"If I were to say that there's a giant robot out to kill me, what would you do?" she asked. Begging protection off the military seemed to be the safest option right now. The man's face went pale and he glanced over his shoulder, then caught her elbow and tugged her along the hallway.
"What do you know about these robots?" he tossed over his shoulder. Pearl stumbled, then paused long enough to kick her heels off.
"Not much," she admitted. "One called me, and he told me about the rest. He showed me a video of the robot that might be responsible for the bridge collapse in Cincinnati."
"Name?" came the next question.
"Pearl Go- oh, him? Swindle."
"Not one I know, which means Decepticon," the man muttered. "When did he call you, and how did he show you this video?"
So Pearl explained as best she could, although once she compiled it all she didn't have much outside of gut feelings and educated guesses. These seemed good enough for her guide, however, and he listened without interrupting once. When she fumbled her way to a halt he nodded once.
"I'm Simmons," he said tersely. "Sam Witwicky is indeed involved, although not how you'd expect. The two Lamborghinis were Autobots, meaning they're on our side. But this guy you talked to at the warehouse- describe him."
She summarized him the same way she had for Swindle. Simmons muttered something under his breath and turned away. They had gone down two or three sets of stairs and were now entering what looked like the friendly side of an interrogation room. This was emphasized by the man handcuffed to his chair beyond the window.
"Swindle called him Jazz," Pearl offered, and Simmons froze.
"Son of a bitch," he said, scowling at the window. "Son of a bitch. Bastard was right."
"Is something wrong?" she asked quietly, and Simmons snorted.
"Yeah," he muttered darkly. "Something's wrong. It's all going to hell in a goddamn handbasket, again. Only this time we not only have giant alien robots invading, we also have dead giant alien robots who aren't staying dead. Or robots, for that matter."
Pearl stared at him, eyes wide, and he shook his head as he turned away from the window. "Trust me, this is not a good time to be getting involved in this. Best for you to just go home and pretend this didn't happen."
"Go home?" Pearl demanded, scandalized. "Go home?! There are giant robots running around, trying to kill humans, and all you can say is go home?"
Simmons turned a bleak gaze on her. "You're a reporter, aren't you?" he asked, sounding very broken. Pearl gave a stiff nod.
"Who is he?" she asked, glancing towards the prisoner. He was a menacing-looking specimen, and not just in size alone. Something about him sent chills down her spine.
"Wanted for murder," Simmons answered dismissively. "One at the moment, but that's only because we can't find all the bodies. Not a nice man."
"And average murderers now get dragged out to military bunkers in the middle of the desert?" Pearl turned an angry glare on Simmons. "He's one of them too, isn't he?"
Simmons hesitated, then jerked his chin up a notch in defiance. "Look, miss, I don't actually have to explain anything to you. You were foolish enough to go chasing down something that you should've left well alone, and now you're whining to me to spare you the consequences. Well, guess what. I've never given anyone a handout before and I don't intend to start now. That man is a murderer. End of story."
Pearl groaned in frustration and turned away to study the prisoner once more. He had his head tilted to one side, she noticed. As if he were listening to something only he could hear.
And then the world exploded.
---
Ravage tore through the building, using his rail gun to loosen any stubborn pieces. He was too big to fit through the hallways and too small to use his size as an indiscriminant wrecking ball. The best he could do was weaken the structural integrity and try to bring the building down that way. He'd sent two humans running already but had ignored them; his orders were to destroy the spark signal, not toy with humans.
And then he was through, a key wall crumbling before him, and he sprang into the room. A human sat at a table, and while Ravage was no expert on human expressions, this one looked utterly unconcerned about the intruder. In fact, the thing almost looked bored for a moment. Then it leaned forward.
"Soundwave is on-planet?" it asked in a familiar voice, and Ravage snapped his mouth shut.
"Megatron?" he asked finally, and the human smirked.
"I seem to be going through this scene a lot recently," he muttered to himself. "Is Soundwave on-planet?"
"Yes," Ravage answered slowly.
"Good. Take me to him."
"My orders are to destroy the source of the spark signal."
"That would be me," Megatron drawled. "I think Soundwave might be willing to make an exception this time. So help me with these," he lifted his hands and indicated the chain that ran between them. "And get me out of here."
Ravage took a step forward and ran a few basic scans. Now that he was this close, he could easily identify the spark. He reached out with one cautious claw and broke the chain.
"Finally," Megatron muttered. Then he stood up, took the chair he had been sitting on, and pitched it through the nearby mirror. The mirror shattered and the chair went through into a room beyond. As Ravage turned, he saw the door swing shut.
"But before we go anywhere," his leader said darkly, "I have an assignment for you."
He paused, and Ravage looked over at him. The human was smiling in a manner that erased any lingering doubts as to his identity.
"First," Megatron said almost to himself. "I have some humans I need dead."
---
"What the hell was that thing?" Pearl gasped out. She took the last set of stairs three at a time- nothing like a robot cat trying to kill you to encourage exercise- and turned the corner. The door to freedom was at the end of this hallway. Simmons altered his long-legged pace enough for her to keep up.
"Not a clue," he said grimly. "Decepticon would be a good bet, though."
"What about the others?" she tried. There had been other people here, she remembered. Simmons merely shrugged. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and headed towards the SUV. Pearl made as if to walk past him to her car, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. Before she could slap him the cat thing leapt out of the ruins of the building.
The two humans both ducked behind the SUV, although as far as hiding spots went they couldn't have picked a more obvious one. The robot hissed loudly before launching itself at Pearl's car. After a moment the dark head rose, fire-red eyes scanning the parking lot.
"Get in," Simmons ordered sharply, opening the door and pushing her in. He slid into the backseat and clambered into the driver's seat from there, starting up the engine before he was even in the seat and slamming the car into drive. He then twisted the wheel around and pointed the nose of the SUV at the cat-bot. The thing leapt gracefully away from the fiery remains of Pearl's car and stood in the middle of the road. A panel in its side opened and a nasty-looking gun rose up.
"Get down," the agent ordered harshly. Pearl sent him a wide-eyed glance.
"You aren't serious?" she half-asked. Simmons placed on hand on top of her head and pushed her down, behind the dashboard. She sat up immediately just as the man slammed on the gas and shot forward. The cat braced itself and the barrel of the gun began to spin. Pearl lost her courage at the sight and dropped back down.
Glass exploded over her head. Bullets tore up the headrest and the seat, ripping the upholstery and sending bits of white stuffing flying. She caught sight of a starburst of red off to her left and Simmons grunted. There was an endless half second of silence, then a clang! A dark silhouette blotted out the sunlight, then was gone. Metal shrieked and ripped and glass shattered and something screamed-
And then there was blessed silence. Pearl hesitantly sat up, then glanced out the rear windshield. The cat thing was an unmoving smear of blackness in the road, rapidly dwindling. The prisoner was walking over to it, taking his own sweet time and looking not the slightest bit worried. Then they were around a bend and cat-bot and man were gone. Pearl breathed out a sigh of relief and turned to regard Simmons. He was white-faced, jaw set and hands gripping the steering wheel as though he was afraid it might run away.
"Are you all right?" she asked, and he grunted again. After a moment he reached up and touched his right side. His fingers came away stained a dark red. Like wine, her brain thought idiotically, but thicker and darker.
"You're bleeding," she said stupidly. Simmons barked out a pained laugh.
"Bad habit of mine, bleeding when I'm shot. I tried to quit, but you know how it is."
"You need to go to the hospital." Pearl tried to be firm here. She had no idea how badly hurt he was, but she was pretty sure that being shot called for more than just a band-aid and Neosporin.
"Yeah, I do. However, where I'm actually going is Tranquility." Simmons yanked his suit jacket off, revealing a fist-sized splash of redness over his ribs. He glanced at it nonchalantly. "Grazed me. Nothing serious. And those 'bots have a lot of explaining to do."
Pearl sat back in her seat, trying not to lean too far back, and stared at her hands. "You saved my life," she said quietly.
"I did, huh?" Simmons glanced at where the rearview mirror should be and grunted when it turned out to be missing. "Well, I guess there are a few perks to this new job. My old gig, I never got to play hero."
"And what about me? Am I just going home?"
"They know about you. Better not to risk it." He tugged on his tie, finally untying it and slipping it off. Pearl began to look around for something to bandage the wound with, but the car may as well have just rolled off the lot. "Look at it this way," Simmons continued. "You're getting the story of your life here."
Pearl considered that, then laughed. "Yeah," she agreed hollowly. "I guess I am."
And they drove on in silence.