Chapter VI: Closing In…

When Owen leftthe company of Sam and Mikaela, he decided that he wasn't going straight home. His father was bound to be there by now, and if his mother was telling the truth about his arrival, they were sure to be fighting --- or doing other things with each other. The very ideal make him cringe. Though he was careful to avoid the more congested streets of the city, Owen found himself stuck in several jams before finding his way to open road unpolluted by traffic. The silence that engulfed the car was comforting for once; his mind was quiet with the exception of intrigue that lingered after meeting Sam and Mikaela. They were a strange couple of characters, especially Mikaela. Owen blushed at the thought of her; Witwicky's girlfriend put him on the spot with the introduction ploy, Owen felt rather stupid afterwards. Chewing the bottom of his lip, he pulled off the road onto the dirt road, which lead up to the Tranquility lookout. The car came to a halt at a couple feet away from the edge of the cliff; stepping out the car, he shut the door as he moved towards the front of the car. The orange sun glistened of the chrome finish of the vehicle's hood, stepping on the bumper he hoisted himself off the ground and sat on upon the hood. Owen stared out at the populated world below overshadowed by the intense light of the sun. His fingers messaged his throbbing wrist for the hundredth time that day. This was first time he had driven anywhere, besides school and home, since the accident.

Against his mother's better judgment, Michelle had driven everywhere since his return from the hospital at his request, even to school. He had been afraid to even touch a steering wheel, but found himself on his own when his mother grew tired of feeding his fears. Owen was a rattled mess; His mother dragged him out of the house when questions about her son's whereabouts became an irritating task to answer constantly. When his nightmares were at their worst, she would spend the night outside his door incase they got too intense. (Owen was a cranky person when he didn't get enough sleep.)

Thus her next step was take him to see the therapist, Dr. Baroness, who prescribed his antidepressant insisting that he come see her everyday after school. The antidepressants worked like a charm --- he just hated the drossiness and nausea that came with the unnatural calm. Owen stopped taking them a week after his first session with Dr. Baroness, so when Trent [and co. decided to 'teach him some manners' for knocking his lunch tray into lap, Owen decided to relieve his pent up fear and frustration on the jock and friends whenever they interfered in his pummeling of Trent. By the grace of a gaggle of students, Trent escaped with a broken nose … his friend's minor injuries as well. Owen's punishment was far worse; 50 hours of community service for nine months, in the profession of his therapists choosing. His mother had a fit. Naturally, Dr. Baroness picked the grimmest punishment --- a retirement home.

Owen wanted to curse the heavens for his misfortune, wondering if Jail was still option open to him. In the nine months he spent there, he made no friends other than Mr. Greyer, a WWII veteran, when the old man wasn't playing pranks on him. He kept his distance from most people unless called upon, which was frequently to his dismay. When his time was up, Owen emerged from his punishment an educated young man and an overblown reputation at school, steeped in fear and hostility.

At Dr. Baroness' request, he wrote a six-page apology to the school for his ungentlemanly behavior and his social problems only got worse from there. Everyday he found some rather unpleasant items in his locker, but he made no complaint against. Instead, he purchased a mini camera with the help of Mr. Greyer, filmed everyone who ever to break into his locker, and sent an unmarked tape to the principal's office. The break-in's to his locker stopped soon after the principal made the announcement of her discovery. How one can become an utterly feared and repulsed figure in the eyes of the student body, he never interacted with puzzled Owen. Half of them barely knew Trent beyond his reputation as the star-football player and yet he ended up playing the victim, Owen was the unwilling villain of this Lifetime TV drama for teens.

Yet, in spite of all of this, the incident brought a sense of confidence to Owen. Leaving his bedroom wasn't as hard as it used to be, though he preferred staying inside, he was steadily improving. Scratching the back of his neck, he laid back on the hood and closed his eyes allowing the cool breeze to wash over him. I should really be getting home; Mom is going to be worried --- crap, the letter! Owen yelped pulling himself upright, pulling up his sleeve he stared at his wristwatch. 5:10pm! The feeling of paper crinkling in his back pocket returned, further reminding him of the grave he had just dug for himself. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Owen muttered leaping inside the car through the open window. He head bumped the steering wheel as his fingers turned the key in the ignition. The car roared down the hill in reverse, dirt flying in every direction.

Turning the car around Owen sped back down the road. When he returned to the main streets, the traffic was better, yet driving at the speed he was --- over the 38mph speed limit --- no less dangerous. It certainly made him think twice about being late. Mrs. Municipal probably phoned his mother by now, he could imagine Michelle's red-beet face waiting for him at the front door as he pulled into the driveway. "Oh God, I'm so dead," He murmured. As the lane of houses came into view Owen spotted his father's blue Chevrolet pick-up truck immediately, apparently Michelle was distracted --- for now. Owen eased up on the gas as he pulled up into the driveway, the car rumbled for another second before falling into silence.

Owen caught a glimpse of his mother stomping past kitchen window, his father in hot pursuit. Stepping out of the car, he shut the door and proceeded across the lawn in a stealthy manner, keeping low to the ground and out of the window's sight. Back at the driveway, Rodimus watched his human charge with amusement as he rolled across the lawn like a samurai. Scanning the house, he located the parents, currently engaged in verbal match of some sort. Strange, Hot Rod thought turning his attention back to Owen. When Owen got the tree, he grabbed a hold of the branch and hoisted himself up toward his window. The climb up through the thick branches and leaves was arduous one. Finally, he achieved his goal, Owen grabbed his window ledge pulling himself inside the bedroom, and unfortunately, he landed on his drawing desk --- a desk that was supposed to against the wall next to his bedroom door.

The table tipped over with a resounding crash, crushing Owen under its weight, his portable lamp and art utensils scattered across the floor all around him. The 17 year old laid there in utter defeat, knowing it would only be seconds before his parents came thundering up the stairs into his room, most likely armed with weapons to assault the interloper in their offspring's bedroom. Now he was officially a dead man. As expected Michelle and Craig burst through the door wielding aluminum bats, their eyes searched around the room frantically until they spotted their son crawling out from under his fallen table. "Owen?" Michelle exclaimed in alarm. Owen raised a trembling hand in the way of response, messaging his backside he moved toward his bed like an elderly man and fell against the edge. He eyed Craig for a moment before waving again. "Hey, Craig --- I mean, hey Dad," He mumbled.

Suddenly the confusion was gone from his mother's face. Dropping the bat to the floor, she strode over to the panting teen and glowered at him, her face growing redder by the second. "So, I got a call from your Principal. . . Mrs. Municipal I believe her name was?" Michelle drawled lowly. All hopes of averting the disaster were now thwarted, with a trembling hand Owen reached into his back pocket and handed her the crumbled envelope. Michelle took it without missing a beat; her expression was a mix between disappointment and haughtiness. Owen pulled himself onto his bed, proceeding to take refuge under his pillow. "She told me that you haven't been applying yourself to your studies nor paying the slightest respect to your authority figures at that school. Is she lying?" Michelle dared to venture.

Peeking out from under his pillow, which was subsequently snatched from his head the next instant, Owen answered, "Mom, we all know your gonna punish me, so just get it over with," He half-snarled. Michelle felt the letter crumbling beneath her fist as she attempt again to get through to her son. "Owen, I wouldn't punish you without good reason to. Now tell me the truth! Have you haven't you been applying yourself at school?" His mother bellowed angrily. At this, the boy leapt from his bed, his fists clenched at his side. Michelle took a step back. "Yes! Yes, I've been applying myself at school! You've seen my grades mom, I haven't failed a test since --- well you know since!" Owen sputtered, running his hands through his tangled hair. Michelle watched her high-strung son pace about the room for another minute, eyeing the unopened envelope crumbled in her hand.

Owen lowered himself to the ground grabbing the edge of his table hoisting it back up to its standing position. "The only catch to that is -- that I've been sleeping in classes and recording the lessons on my cassette player," Owen added finally, biting the edge of his lip. Words of congratulations were on the tip of Michelle's tongue, however, her son's final words settled in before they could properly leave her mouth. "You've been sleeping in class? For how long?" Craig spoke up for his speechless wife. Owen averted his attention to his father with a sheepish shrug. "Pretty much, yeah. And about six weeks," He answered hesitantly. Craig watched his son's agitated movement, the boy behaved as if prepared for the words 'punishment' to come flying out of his parent's mouths. He should, Craig thought grimly. Owen wanted to tell Craig to take his would-be authority and shove it in the darkest part of his little closet. Instead, he nodded to himself and added, "Doesn't recording lessons and acing them despite my tendency to doze off in class, count for anything? Would you find comfort in the fact that I'm possibly suffering from a side affect caused by not taking my antidepressants anymore?" The boy watched his mother's head snap up, her composure recovered from the grips of her frustration. Owen hastily included that Dr. Baroness had told him there was no longer a need for the antidepressants as he was making great progress in his recovery. "She just failed to tell me that not taking the pill might 'cause withdrawal symptoms, such as insomnia and body aches," Owen finished, hoping to appeal to his mother's sense of pity.

Michelle let out of an exasperated sigh; he had failed to mention that part. Unclenching her hand she unfolded the crumbled envelope and pulled out the damaged note concealed within. Craig began to approach his wife's side when she sent him a reproachful look. "This is none of your business," She snapped. "Seeing that I'm his father, I think it is my business, "Craig frowned at the woman before him and moved forward until he was next to her, attempting to read the letter whenever she changed position.

Growing exasperated with their childish antics, Owen reached over and knocked over his table lamp. The lamp clattered to the ground, the light died in a blinding burst of light. The two jumped back in surprise, unsure of what happened. Michelle gave the boy a disapproving glare. "Can you tell me what my punishment is?" He inquired flatly. "No car privileges for a month, " Michelle answered, snatching the paper away from Craig. Owen searched his pants pockets for a brief moment; pulling his hand out of his left pocket, he tossed Michelle his keys. His mother caught them effortlessly, taking the paper out of Craig's reach once more. "Thank you. Now can you leave my room now? I need some 'me' time, " Owen gave his mother a nod of mock approval before lying down on the bed. "Keep it up, and you'll loose TV privileges too," Michelle called over her shoulder as she and her husband exited the bedroom. Owen glared daggers at her retreating back. Rolling onto his side so that his back was facing the bedroom door, he stared vacantly at the round gold plated discs resting peacefully on the dresser across from his bed.

Night had fallen on the city of Nevada, though the city had yet to fall under the spell of slumber, one found he could not sleep that night. Bumblebee sat on the edge of the lookout, his elbow propped on his thigh, his chin rested in the palm of his hand as he studied the stars dubiously. The suspected Autobot had not tired to contact him in anyway, not even through a coded signal, which would have concealed easily from its human charge. It puzzled Bumblebee to an extent, but recognizing Arcee's coded signal as she followed the unknown Autobot put his mind at ease. How long had she been here on Earth now? Did she come before him, Optimus and the others? If so, why did she not attempt to contact them until now? "Something troubling you, Bumblebee?" Optimus' sage voice startled the young Autobot out of his pensive state of mind.

Turning 'round half way, Bumblebee spotted the Autobot leader standing some distance away from him. The ledge apparently, had become a favorite the Autobots whenever they needed to think deep and hard on something, save Ironhide, who preferred traversing the unexplored areas of Nevada when he wanted to ponder. In the background, Bumblebee spotted Ratchet by himself, checking his diagnostic system. Positioning both hands beside him, Bumblebee hoisted himself away from the edge of the lookout and stood upward. "Nothing more than usual, Optimus," Bumblebee grunted approaching his friend. Optimus harrumphed with a shake of his head; his blue optics scanned the scout's face curiously. "I've discovered Arcee and another Autobot have arrived on earth," Bumblebee announced.

Optimus' optics brightened considerably. "Arcee?" He repeated, astonished. "When did she arrive?" Bumblebee shook his head. "I'm not sure, I had no chance to commune with her given our current situation. She was following the lead of another Autobot who did not disclose his identity. His human charge was a boy named Owen Armstrong. I have searched the person's database; there are three Owen Armstrong's in Las Vegas, but only two residing in Nevada. One of them live here in Tranquility. He 'owns' the Autobot in question, so it narrows things down greatly." Optimus nodded his head absorbing the information given to him. It brought great to joy to his spark to hear Arcee had arrived on earth, yet his joy was overshadowed by the identity of Autobot she followed. His presence could mean many things, Prime certainly hoped he wasn't a Decepticon in disguise. "Even so, we'll have to approach the situation with caution," Ratchet pointed out, entering the conversation. "Did you get his license plate?" Bumblebee did not miss the humor laced his friend's vocal processor. Tapping against the side of his head, Bumblebee's optics illuminated and the hologram of a license plate appeared. Ratchet joined the two and stared curiously upon the flickering image. "The vehicle's license plate number is KAZ2Y50 --- oddly enough," Bumblebee answered. "The boy's house is only six miles from Sam's neighborhood." The yellow Autobot looked to their leader expectantly.

Optimus was silent, the whirring of his optics filled the otherwise empty silence, when the rumble of GMC TopKick vibrated through the air. They all turned in acknowledgement to their comrade. Ironhide transformed in motion, his cannons twisted accordingly on his arms before falling into standby after his body realigned itself to its humanoid mode. "What's up?" He inquired casually. "Ah, Ironhide, so nice of you to join us," Optimus mused dryly. Ironhide decided to ignore Prime's witticism, folding his arms across his chest he raised an 'eyebrow' upon spotting the hologram. "What kept you?" Bumblebee asked. "Lennox and his family decided to have a night on the town, I won't say anything more than that," Ironhide grumbled dejectedly.

"Humph, its not nice to leave your listeners in suspense, Ironhide," Ratchet said jokingly. Ironhide grumbled irritably stomping off towards the edge of the lookout. "If we're done with the pleasantries, then let's get down to business," Optimus stated firmly. "Bumblebee, I want you to find this Autobot and make contact with him. Arcee as well, if possible." Bumblebee nodded in affirmative, he began to walk down the hill when something flickered off in the distance, barely visible for a second. His optics focused on the sky, but there was nothing there. The yellow Autobot paused turning to face his leader once more. "What is it, Bumblebee?" Optimus said.

"Nothing sir, just thought I … saw something," Bumblebee replied. Optimus blinked, confusion clearly written across his face. With a shake of his head Bumblebee broke into a run down the hill transforming into his vehicle mode. The sleek Camaro sped down the dirt road at breakneck speed, nearly swerving off the road in the process. Optimus watched the yellow vehicle vanish into the night, the gnawing feeling in his spark he had been feeling all day growing by the minute.

"Ugh, I've got that sinking feeling," Prime muttered to himself. "That what?" Ironhide replied, almost immediately, his cannons twirling. Optimus waved his old friend off with a sigh and looked to the stars for answers. Something was about to happen, he could feel it.

"Unit643, do you copy? Unit643---"

"This is Unit643. What do you need?"

"Yeah, there's a report of a disturbance on Farce Ave. A couple of drunk drivers disrupting the commute back home. I know your shift is over, but ---"

"Sure, I'll take care of it. Unit643 out," The radio connection between the police station and the patrol car was disconnected, Barricade's hologram stared lifelessly ahead only turning its head whenever someone stared at him for too long. Driving through a red light dodging oncoming traffic, Barricade checked his navigation systems again to ensure the desired target had not changed location. The blue blip on the screen remained in the residential area of Tranquility. And so it should, Barricade mused. While the Decepticon was no slacker, he rather enjoyed the prospect of hunting new quarry, it made his job so much simpler when they prey remained associated in one place. So far his prey had done just that.

Two hours ago he had picked up a frequency, carrying an encoded message exclusively used by Autobots, steaming through various radio and police stations. However, given that they were four Autobots currently on earth (and two unaccounted for), this wasn't an unexpected thing. The thing that bothered Barricade the most though, was the memory of being unable to pick up any kind of Autobot frequency or encoded message at all on Cybertron. Jetfire ---once on the side of the Decepticons before he was betrayed by Starscream --- made sure all messages were encoded with the cybertronian equivalent of a firewall and enough viruses to crash their communications systems for two human months. Jetfire's signature was all over the Autobot frequencies he had been monitoring for a months now. This particular encoded message, however, carried no signature of Jetfire's at all. This frequency was coming from the two Autobots who had yet to join Prime and the others. Novices, Barricade thought with a sour delight.

"This is Thunderblast. Barricade, what's your status?"

"En Route," Barricade stated sharply. "Are you and Thundercracker position?"

"Of Course. I await your orders," Thunderblast replied neutrally.

"What of Dropkick? Is he stationed where I requested as well?" Barricade inquired.

"Yes," Thundercracker's surly voice crackled through Barricade's communicator. The Deception's engine revved in satisfaction. With his goal set in mind, the Saleen made a sharp turn and ventured up towards the road that would lead him to the neighborhood district. Thunderblast and Thundercracker separated and went their respected ways; Thunderblast with Barricade, Thundercracker awaiting at the rendezvous point with Dropkick.

(TBC)