Chapter Nine: It's You
Hunter feels awful. It's a strange sort of sluggishness in his body. His thoughts are thick and syrupy. He keeps losing track of what he's doing. He's never felt like this, not in this body. He wants to say something, ask Sideswipe if it's normal. But the mech has been brooding since Dallas. Hunter doesn't want to draw his attention.
Simmons has fallen asleep. He's dead weight in the seat. Hunter can feel movements every now and then, an occasional twitch or muscles tensing. Three hours since nearly getting blown up, a day after being taken from his hotel room and then plucked out of a van, and the man has the audacity to snore.
Hunter wonders how long it's been since he's slept.
A long time. The last time he can remember being dead to the world was a week ago, right before waking up in a repo lot in southern Georgia. He had no idea how he'd gotten there. He didn't know why he couldn't hear Sunstreaker anymore. He didn't know why he was alone in his head or why no Autobot would respond to his calls. He didn't know where a week of his life had gone.
((Hunter?)) Sideswipe says.
Reality snaps back. Hunter's right tires skim the edge of the road. He pulls back into his lane and picks up his pace.
((Are you okay?)) Sideswipe says. He's hovering to Hunter's left. He almost sounds concerned.
((I'm fine,)) Hunter says.
It's a lie. Hunter blinks. The images on the screen over his eyes are blurry. The white lines separating the lanes run together.
Suddenly Sideswipe is right there, next to him. Hunter swerves and then catches himself.
Where did he come from?
((When was the last time you recharged?)) Sideswipe says.
((Do what?))
The Lamborghini is silent. Hunter's frame tingles; a wave of some sort washes over him from his bumper to his nose. Then the red mech says, ((Thought so. Your energy levels are getting low.))
That can happen? Hunter thinks. He gives himself a mental kick. Of course it can, moron.
((How do I, uh, fix that?)) he says.
((Energon works best. But I don't have any on me and it's too volatile to orbital-jump unshielded. Come on. We're gonna do this the low-tech way.))
((Ookay.))
((Just follow me.))
Sideswipe pulls ahead. A few hundred feet away the lane veers off to the right, toward a rest stop. Hunter can see a low building and some bright blue outdoor tables. Sideswipe leads the way, swooping past the bathrooms and the trashcans chained to metal posts. The two end up parking next to a couple of big rigs off to the side.
((Now what?)) Hunter says, really hoping the answer doesn't involve the words "siphon" or "gas tank."
((Now we recharge.))
Hunter waits. When a program kicks in, like a diagnostic or targeting system, he usually sees some sort of message or icon or diagram pop up on his visor. That isn't happening. Minutes go by. He glances over at Sideswipe.
((So,)) Hunter says. ((Is something supposed to happen?))
((It already is.))
((Huh?))
((You're recharging,)) Sideswipe says.
((Are you sure?))
((Yes.))
The 'bot doesn't move. Inside, Simmons shifts. Across the lot two kids are eating sandwiches with their parents in the back of a minivan. The youngest, a boy with messy, red hair, peels the crust off his bread and drops it beneath the car when his parents aren't looking.
((I don't think it's working,)) Hunter says.
Sideswipe makes a strange, rattling sound. ((Is your armor warm?))
((Yeah.))
((Then it's working.))
The silence is broken only by the whoosh of traffic on the highway behind them.
((But we're in the sun,)) Hunter says.
((Yeah, and that's why it's called solar recharge,)) Sideswipe says. ((I told you: low-tech.))
((Oh.))
In the driver's seat, Simmons lets out a loud snort and Hunter can't help but think that somehow, the man is laughing at him.
Sideswipe is getting impatient. This is the smart thing to do, the tactical thing. There's no use in charging across half the country with Hunter about to drop into stasis-lock. His own reserves are getting low. It's better to stay in recharge for a bit, let the humans rest.
Still…
The weight of the stolen computer presses on him. He itches to orbital-jump them all back to the ship and get the ship's processor working on cracking the encryption. But the 'jump isn't organic-friendly. Sideswipe had tried it. He'd grabbed one of the white, squawky things that floated above the ship and brought it back to the control room. When he'd rematerialized, he found himself holding a very limp, very dead organic in his hands. Hunter hadn't liked that. He'd liked it even less when Sideswipe had told him that was how he'd gotten the human to the ship in the first place.
Despite that, despite the common sense screaming at him to not go racing off, it takes all of his self-control to hold still. He sweeps the area again. No blank areas, all life forms visual and accounted for. No weapons signatures, no thrum of approaching vehicles, no sign of attack.
It's kind of disappointing.
He needs to relax, let his systems do their job, let the sun soak in. They're gonna be here for a cycle or so. He should spend that time doing something useful, maybe—
He's sinking down on his tires. And it's not on purpose. He tries to straighten out only he can't. He can't move. The world seems to be coming in through a filter, all hazy and slow.
Ah slag, what's—
Pain. A distant, grinding pain trickles into his chest, sluggish and awful. He tries to thrash, tries to kick or scream, but he's stuck in his alt-mode and he can't move.
Agh!
He can only scream in his mind.
The pain tears at him, piece by piece, working its way through his frame, clawing at his mind. He's never felt anything like this.
Make it stop, he thinks. Make it stop!
He chokes on it, sputters as it clogs his thoughts. Humans talk and laugh and eat metras away. Hunter is right next to him. All of them are oblivious, all unable to help, and Sideswipe can't make a sound.
What is this?
Something else brushes along his consciousness. Sideswipe, reeling from it all, almost doesn't notice, wouldn't have noticed, except for the aching familiarity of it.
Sunny?
It's his brother, alright. But Sunny doesn't answer, doesn't do anything, just… hovers.
Come on, bro, answer me, Sideswipe thinks.
The pain makes it hard to focus. Sideswipe tries to push through it, bat it aside, get to his brother. The harder he tries, the worse it gets.
Come one, Sunny. I'm right here, you glitching moron.
It's driving him crazy: the pain eats at him. He wants to hit something. Wants to shout or shoot something or do something, anything, to make it go away.
Slaggit, Sunstreaker!
Sideswipe senses a shift. It's tiny, more of a whisper, a suggestion.
Love you, Sunny says only it isn't in words.
What? Sideswipe thinks.
The pain ebbs and begins to fade. So does his brother.
Sunny, what… no. Oh Primus, no, no, no. Don't you dare. You hear me, you slag-head? Don't you fragging dare! Sunstreaker.
Simmons is pissed.
"What do you mean, you're not gonna open the door?" he says.
"What do you think that means?" the kid says. His voice comes out of the speakers near the floor.
"I think it's cruel and unusual."
"Too bad."
Simmons can only sit and gape at the dashboard. "Well then what the hell am I supposed to do?"
The window to his left rolls down. Simmons spends another few seconds staring at that and then back to the dashboard. "Oh, I don't think so."
"Oh, I do," the kid says.
"What, you want me to just stand up and take aim—"
"I'm not letting you out."
"Where the hell am I gonna go?"
"To find a phone."
"So?" Simmons says.
"So I'm not gonna let you call your buddies again, Simmons. Once was enough."
The pressure on his bladder builds. Simmons can see the bathroom through the windshield, maybe a hundred feet away.
"Look," he says, "I think you're being unreasonable here."
"Really? 'Unreasonable?' They tried to shoot me with a bazooka," the kid says.
"I already told you, that wasn't my people."
"A bazooka, Simmons."
"Red already told you. Now would you just—"
"I know you called Machination, you little weasel. You called them and you told them where you were. You told them where to find me and they almost blew me up and you know what? They would have blown you up, too. Because that's how they work and you—"
The kid is really working himself up. Simmons contemplates taking a dive through the window. But the concrete looks hard. He watches some other guy step into the men's room. Simmons sighs.
"—should have left you in that park! Gah!"
Simmons waits a moment. The kid seems to have run himself out.
"Are you done?" he says.
"What?"
"Are you done? With the tantrum, I mean."
"I'll show you tantrum—"
"Because I still need to take a leak and I could have been back already, but no. We're still stuck here, debating about it."
"You would have been holed up with a cell phone."
Simmons reminds himself that he's inside the kid's framework and that kicking him isn't the best idea. "Look, I'll be in there a couple of minutes. If I'm not back out, you can always come in there and get me."
"Yeah right," the kid says. "How am I supposed to do that?"
Simmons blinks. He opens his mouth to ask just how the kid had gotten into his hotel room when, beside them, the red NBE lets out a glass-shattering shriek and blows apart at the seams. Simmons ducks and throws his good arm over his head.
The noise cuts off. Simmons raises his head and peers out through the only undamaged window in a fifty-foot radius. Red shivers and the panels of his car form shudder and slide back together.
"The hell was that?" Simmons says.
"Sideswipe?" the kids says.
Red quivers again.
"We're leaving," Red says through the speakers by Simmons's feet.
"Why?" Hunter says. "What's going on? We haven't even been here an hour and—"
"Doesn't matter. We're going. Right now."
"Do you wanna tell me why?"
"Hey," Simmons cuts in. "Before you two start planning out the rest of our day, you mind letting me out for a second?"
"What was that?" Red says.
"Simmons," the kid says. "He says he needs to go to the bathroom."
"What's that?"
For the love of god, Simmons thinks. "That building right over there."
"Yeah, whatever," Red says. "Hurry up."
"But don't you think he might—" Hunter says.
"No time. And human, you try to pull anything and I'll tear that place apart to get you, got it?"
"Perfectly," Simmons says. When Hunter shows no sign of letting him out, he says, "Well?"
The kid mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "fuck you" and opens the door. Simmons slips out before he can change his mind. He takes a second to stretch, his back popping, and leans against the yellow car.
"Hurry up," Red says.
"Yeah, yeah," Simmons says and takes off for the restroom, whistling.
"Ma'am?"
Jerri cracks her eyes open and looks up. A man stands next to her chair.
"We've picked up the package," he says.
"You got a visual?" Jerri says. She unfolds her arms and stretches her legs and taps her feet a few times against the floor to shake the pins-and-needles sensation.
"We're waiting on that."
"Tell all teams to stand by," she says.
"Visual confirmation coming up," someone says.
Jerri glances to the back of the van. Three people sit at monitoring stations along the wall. Four more sit across from them, loading their weapons and strapping on their body armor. One of the screens shows an infrared display of a highway. Another shows the same, dark stretch of road; judging from the angle, that footage comes from a dashboard camera. Traffic shifts and she catches a glimpse of the back of some Italian supercar.
"Target confirmed," one of the techies says.
"Divert all local law enforcement channels," Jerri says. "And make sure the cell towers are jammed. Cut off all communication. Teams two and three, get into position and wait for the signal."
"Copy."
Jerri takes a deep breath.
Time to earn my paycheck.
They're being followed. It's hard to tell for sure—on the major roadways, the traffic tends to stay in the same clusters for long stretches and it's harder to keep track in the dark. But there's something about this vehicle that puts Sideswipe on edge and it's not the police decals on the side. Most of those types drive fast. Not this one. It's been hanging back, keeping at least two cars between them.
He waits, to be sure. No use in working up either of the humans for no reason. Another klik. Traffic shifts and the same car still trails behind.
((Hunter,)) he comms, ((let me talk to Simmons.))
A pause, then Simmons says, (('You noticed it, huh?'))
((So it's not just me?)) Sideswipe says.
(('Nope. I've been watching them for the last eight minutes.'))
((What are you guys talking about?)) Hunter says.
(('Our tail,')) Simmons says.
Hunter doesn't respond for a moment. Sideswipe can almost hear his confusion.
((We're being followed,)) he says.
((What?)) Hunter is driving in front of Sideswipe. He starts to slow down. Sideswipe edges up and taps his bumper.
((Don't do that,)) he says. ((You'll tip him off.))
The human speeds back up.
((Just keep going,)) Sideswipe says. ((I don't think they'll do anything out here.))
((Oh yeah? How do you think they took Sunstreaker? It was just like this. They staged an accident and—))
Sideswipe taps him again. He can hear the panic in the human's vocalizer. They can't afford for him to glitch out. Not now. And Sideswipe can't afford to lose his focus.
((Calm down,)) he says. ((I don't see any others around. It's probably a scout, okay? Just stay calm.))
((Yeah,)) Hunter says. He doesn't sound convinced.
(('Excuse me,')) Simmons says. (('But what are you two talking about?'))
One of the cars behind Sideswipe pulls into the right lane. Only one other vehicle stands between them and the tail.
(('What's the plan?')) Simmons says.
((We bail,)) Hunter says. ((Before more of them show up. We lose him and get the hell back to the ship.))
((No,)) Sideswipe says.
((No? But—))
((We can't lead them back there.))
(('What about taking him out?')) Simmons says.
It'd be easy to put a shot right through the engine block and kill the vehicle. Something is bothering him, though. The police car is too obvious to be a scout or a spy. But there's only one of them. Something doesn't add up. Something isn't right.
(('You do realize that this Machination of yours is probably watching all this, right?')) Simmons says.
((It's not going to do them any good,)) Hunter says. ((Like you said, we need to stop him. We lose him, we get out of here.))
Their tail pulls into their lane. It speeds up.
((They're not following us,)) Sideswipe says. ((This is an attack.))
Both humans are silent. The lights on top of their tail come on. It starts to wail.
((Shit.))
((Hunter, go!))
He doesn't need to be told twice. The human leaps ahead. Sideswipe jerks over to the space between the lane and the edge of the road and tears after him.
The other humans are all moving to the right and slowing down. Which helps their tail, but helps Sideswipe more.
((Floor it!)) he says.
The reflectors dividing the lanes blur together as they pick up speed, dodging through the traffic. The tail tries to keep up. It doesn't stand a chance. Soon, the lights and the wailing falls behind.
(('That can't have been it,')) Simmons says.
No, Sideswipe thinks. He's already looking, scanning. A sensor block? The faint trace of an ion cannon? Something.
((What is that?)) Hunter says.
They're coming around a bend. Sideswipe sees a swarm of red and white flashing lights. He picks up the stench of burning. Cars around them slow down. The road begins to congest.
Oh god, oh god, Hunter thinks. He feels sick. Physically ill. He doesn't even have a stomach that he knows about but he feels like he's going to puke.
"Damn," Simmons says.
Oh god. Shit.
It's the same. It's just like when they caught him the first time, when he'd been inside Sunstreaker, fumbling with the seat belt and watching men with guns running up the lines of cars at him.
"Kid?"
They're screwed. They'll have to stop. They'll hit that traffic jam up ahead and they'll be trapped between an overturned semi on fire and all the people behind them. And then Machination will strike.
A sudden, sharp pain. Hunter's back end leaves the asphalt. He slams back down as Sideswipe backs off.
((Hunter,)) Sideswipe says.
((What?))
((Stop! Get off the road!))
((What?))
The road is flanked by vast stretches of fields. There are no roads. There's nowhere to go.
Sideswipe hits his brakes. He veers right, plows down the side of the highway and into the ditch.
"Kid!" Simmons says.
Hunter locks his tires, twists around, and plunges off-road. There's a sickening moment of weightlessness and then he slams into the ground. Simmons is thrown against the dashboard. He's still going too fast. A flash of red next to him and Hunter looks forward just in time to see a white fence.
He has no time to swear. He plows into it. Wood shatters over his hood and he's through. The ground is rough, furrowed into sharp lines and small, steep gullies. It's dark and all he can see is the muted green, everywhere, slapping against him.
Simmons curses. One hand digs into his seat, the other clutches the door panel for dear life as he rattles around. Hunter can't pay him any attention. It takes all of his to drive in a straight line. The dirt crumbles under his tires. He keeps fishtailing.
((Sideswipe!)) he says.
((Keep going! There should be a road ahead!))
His undercarriage is getting clogged. He pushes on. A low thrum vibrates the air. It's a helicopter.
Shit goddamn motherfucker!
Are those lights ahead?
Red, to his right, just ahead. It's Sideswipe.
((Almost there,)) Sideswipe says.
Good. Because any second Hunter is going to shake apart. He can barely see the visor. The field starts to thin. He thinks he catches a glimpse of power lines.
Another fence, this one barbed wire. It screeches along his frame. Hunter pulls free, out onto the flat street.
((Hunter!))
A terrific impact. Hunter's tires leave the road. His vision cuts off. The worst noise he's ever heard: eerie shrieking and part of him knows that's the sound of metal ripping.
For the second time in a week, Agent Seymour Simmons wakes up to the sound of a car horn going off and the smell of burning engine. His left side hurts. He twitches his arms and legs; they all work. He cracks his eyes open. The side of his head throbs. He reaches up and feels a knot forming behind his left temple.
He's lying halfway on the passenger seat. There's something buried in his right side. He pushes himself up, off the gear stick.
Not upside down, he thinks. It's an improvement from last time.
The windshield is cracked. The dashboard is dark. The car is silent. He's staring out at the night sky over a wheat field.
"Kid?" he says. His voice comes out in a croak.
No answer. He looks to his right.
Oh.
They're wedged against a telephone pole—which explains why they're not upside down. He looks to the left. It takes a second for his brain to work out what he's seeing: the grill of an SUV pressed against the left side of the car.
What the—
Car doors open. Voices. He blinks. He can't see over the broken hood of the SUV. Except that the noise isn't coming from that car, it's coming from behind. Simmons twists around, hisses through his teeth at the sharp hitch under his ribcage. He looks out the back.
A second SUV, black, with three people climbing out. Three people wearing armor. Three people with weapons.
Oh fuck.
Movement. Red and silver and black glinting in headlights. It smashes into the SUV, picks it up off the ground and sends it flying into the field. One of the gunmen bolts. The other two raise their weapons and fire. Something big grabs them, one in each hand, and they disappear. Simmons hears yelling and then silence.
One second. Two. The car pinning them to the pole shifts. Tires screech as it's dragged away. Giant, metal legs come into view and then Simmons is staring NBE Sideswipe in the face.
"You okay?" Red says.
Simmons nods.
"Hunter?"
Simmons shakes his head.
Red sits back and peers down at the kid. Simmons realizes his own mouth is hanging open. He's never seen an NBE move on its own before. Even though it's got to be fourteen, maybe fifteen feet tall, it's not awkward at all, not clumsy like something that big should be. It's all sharp angles, red armor, glowing eyes, all whirring and shifting as Red whirls around in a crouch to look out over the field.
Simmons shakes his head. They're not clear, damnit, and he's gawking like some novice out on his first assignment. It's hard not to. Red stands up. Fifteen feet of robot, moving and talking and—what the hell are his arms doing?—and all of it so alive, so—
What is that?
Helicopter rotors. A bright light coming in low. Red bends his knees, crouches down.
The kid chooses that moment to return to the world of the living. The lights on the dashboard flicker once and then come back on.
"Ah!" he says.
Sideswipe's head turns. Glowing blue eyes fix on them
"Get out of here!" he says.
"What's going on?" Hunter says.
The helicopter is coming in fast, skimming the field. They'll have guns on board, big guns, guns capable of punching through even the kid's metal hide.
"Go!" Simmons says.
Blue fire erupts from Red's back. He jumps into the air.
"What about Sideswipe?" Hunter says.
"He'll be fine. Go!"
Which is when the light splits into two as the second helicopter peels away from behind the first.
It's too late for Sideswipe to engage the second helicopter. He's too close to the first one. It thunders past him, headed for Hunter, and then Sideswipe has to look away.
The human craft banks to the right. The door swings into view. The large gun inside opens fire. He tucks his arms in and rolls as the muzzle flashes. Bullets streak past him. He twists to the side and snags the tail.
The craft jerks in the air; rotors scream. The ground sways beneath and the horizon tilts. He can just make out humans shouting something inside. Then one of them is on the side gun again, swiveling it back to point at him.
Two rounds punch through his hip.
Ah! Slag!
It's too little, too late. Sideswipe comes in below the gun. He cocks one arm back, the plating all shifted down to form a solid pile-driver. At the last second he turns, the skin of the craft flashes past him. He lashes out.
His fist slams into the side of the helicopter, where the body tapers down into the tail. Metal bends and tears. The craft shudders. Then he's up and away, watching as the tail breaks free and drops. The rest of it, human and machine alike, begin to spiral.
One down, he thinks
He searches, finds the road, and looks for headlights. Then he sees Hunter.
"Move your ass!" Simmons says.
"I am!" Hunter shouts back.
Warning lights flash in his vision. He's messed up. Something inside is broken. The helicopter—some bulky, military thing—bears down on them. Hunter backs out onto the street. Pain throbs in his side.
Shit, shit!
He's got to go faster. The damn thing is practically on top of him. Something grinds and he gasps.
"Go! Go!" Simmons says.
He tries.
A roar above him. Hunter looks up and sees the big, black shape hovering. A flash, a hiss, and something hits him, hard. Pain lances through the back of his frame. The visor screams warnings.
Simmons is shouting something about, "Break free!" but Hunter can't focus. Another sharp bolt of agony and he realizes he's being pulled back. A line tethers him to the helicopter. He's been harpooned.
"Kid! Get out of here!"
The helicopter rotates around. He can look up, through the door, and into the thing. Into the barrel of a really big machine gun.
"Fuck!" Simmons says. He throws himself down.
Bullets tear into Hunter. They blow right through his armor, chew up the front of his frame, shred his legs. The pain is hot and awful. He's screaming.
Agh! Agh! Jesus!
A rush of motion. Hunter doesn't even see it coming. Something big and fast hits the cable. It wrenches his back end off the ground and spins him around. He slams back to the pavement. The helicopter bobbles.
Sideswipe flips in the air. He's flying. He's flying over Hunter and he's grabbed onto the tether. He drops down. His feet gouge two tracks into the asphalt as he lands. The gunmen are shooting at him. He doesn't seem to notice as he reaches up, wraps the cable around his hands, and pulls.
It's like dropping a brick on a kite string. The helicopter jerks down. Sideswipe leaps up. He punches right through the bottom. The entire, spinning rotor pops off the top like a champagne cork. They both plummet. At the last second, Sideswipe detaches himself. The helicopter smashes into the ground. Sideswipe hits, rolls, and comes up in a crouch twenty feet away.
"Wow," Simmons says.
Amidst the critical errors and hull integrity warnings and the overwhelming pain, Hunter sees signals cropping up on his visor. Five of them coming down the road at them, coming from the north.
"Can you move?" Sideswipe says. He's limping. Shimmering pink and blue liquids run down his right leg.
Hunter doesn't even have to run a diagnostic. "No."
Sideswipe scowls.
"How did they find us?" Hunter says. "How do they keep finding us?"
"It's you."
"What?" Hunter says.
"They're tracking you. They've been tracking you the whole time. It's how they knew you were at Epsilon Holdings."
"But… how?"
Sideswipe shrugs. "They probably put a tracker into all the Headmaster units. A way to know where you were, a way to keep control."
Hunter's head spins. Even Simmons has stilled.
"Is there a way to get it out?" Hunter says.
Sideswipe doesn't answer. He looks north.
"Sideswipe? We're gonna get out of here, right?"
The mech turns and Hunter can see the hard look on his face. He hobbles over, kneels down. Hunter waits as he peers at him. Then Sideswipe reaches inside himself and pulls out something small and shiny. His hand slips underneath Hunter's frame.
"Sideswipe?" Hunter says.
"I'm sorry."
The air around the 'bot shimmers. Green flashes streak upwards.
"What's going on?" Simmons says. "What is that?"
Hunter can only stare in horror as the streaks combine into one. With a flash and a rush of air, Sideswipe disappears. Hunter is left sitting on the torn-up road, next to the smoking wreckage of a helicopter, staring at the empty spot where Sideswipe had been. In the distance, a cluster of headlights appears. Machination closes in.
This chapter was a mess until KayDeeBlu pointed out that I get carried away with the action sequences. She saved you from a lot of tediousness. Like, really. Starfire201 and lildevchick, please don't throw bricks at me. And thank you for your reviews. They mean a lot.
Next Chapter: He's Here