Chapter Twelve: Do You Have a Plan
"This… they're building an army," the kid says.
This cuts through the haze in Simmons's brain. He frowns and looks over the parking garage.
"Come again?" he says.
The kid pulls back from the railing and Simmons can see that his face has gone pale.
"They're Headmaster units, bodies. Machination is building an army of these."
Agent Seymour Simmons has seen a lot of nasty stuff during his career, things buried so deep in "classified" that American Presidents never catch wind of them, things that, if ever made public, could potentially break civilization itself. And yet, standing on that balcony, looking out over at what must be fifty robot bodies, bodies that can generate their own weaponry, bodies that can rip through a building, his guts twist up.
"Why?" he says. "What's this for?"
The kid shakes his head. "I have no idea."
"Oh come on. They made you into one of them. You gotta know something."
"Yeah, Simmons, they did. And they didn't ask for my permission first. So what makes you think they would have told me anything?"
"But you were here, right? You had to have overheard something."
"Oh please. No one stood around talking about their schemes for world domination. I barely saw anyone. I…"
Simmons, who has been counting the cars, stops on number forty-three to find the kid standing there, his eyebrows drawn together. His pupils have shrunk. A second later he blinks and shakes his head and everything is back to normal.
"Kid?"
"I… I was drugged. I think… they brought me somewhere before, before they did this," he says and looks down at himself. "There was someone there. Something hanging from the ceiling. They—god." His gaze meets Simmons. "There's another Transformer. It's one of them behind this."
"A what?" Simmons says.
"One of the robots. An NBE?"
"Hold on a minute, back up. You're sure."
Hunter nods.
"But why? Why go through all the trouble of building places like this and doing, that," he waves a hand at the kid, "to humans? You'd think they could come up with a better way to recruit people. NBE's. Whatever."
"I don't think it's the Decepticons," the kid says. He's gazing at something in the distance, something only he can see. "There are two factions: Autobots and Decepticons. They're in the middle of a civil war or something."
Simmons files that bit of information away.
"But the one I saw, he wasn't a Decepticon. I don't think he was, anyway. Maybe he's some kind of rogue?"
Simmons is only half-listening. There's a ramp at the far end of the room, leading up to a set of doors, probably to the outside. No one to stop them. They can nab one of these bodies, get to a phone. He can have every single agent of his division on site within eight hours.
"—can't leave this here," the kid says. "We've gotta destroy it."
What.
"Excuse me?" he says.
Hunter turns to him. Simmons does not like the determined gleam in his eyes.
"We've gotta destroy this," he says.
"Oh, I don't think so."
"Well I do." The kid starts down a flight of stairs, into the Headmaster pit. Simmons grabs his arm and spins him back. Hunter rips himself free and glares. "Simmons, now is not the time for—"
He shuts up when Simmons draws his gun.
"What are you doing?"
"Take a step back," Simmons says.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Not entirely. Step back."
It's the hotel room all over again. The kid wants to lunge for it. Simmons can see it in the way he holds himself. He's glancing from Simmons's face to the gun. He's calculating the odds. And once again, he doesn't like what he finds. He steps back.
"You have got to be the biggest dick I've ever met," he says.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Turn around and put both hands on the rail."
And once again, Simmons finds himself holding someone at gunpoint with no way of securing them.
"So what is it with you?" the kid says. "Is this some kind of power trip? Do you just like pointing guns at people who can't defend themselves?"
"You hardly qualify for that," Simmons says.
Hunter ignores the barb. "You really do work for Machination, don't you? This whole thing was a set-up. The interrogation, that guy in the hall, it was a ruse, wasn't it?"
"You're still going on about that? They shot me the same as you with that shock bomb."
"Only because you were in the way. Got caught in the crossfire, didn't you, Simmons? Traitor."
"What did you say?"
"That's what you are, isn't it?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about, son. Shut up before my finger slips and I put a hole through your skull."
He's shaking. He's actually shaking. Some upstart punk has managed to get to him. Simmons takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose.
"Oh, yeah," the kid says. "No problem. Should I wait here while you pop out into the hall to let your friends know where you are?"
God, it would be so easy to pull the trigger.
I need the little bastard to get out, he thinks.
"If I really wanted to catch you, don't you think I'd have done it before now?" Simmons says. The kid has no answer. "No. I'd have taken you out the second you turned your back. I wouldn't have let you drag me through the guts of the building all the way over here, listening to your whining."
"Then why the hell are you doing this?"
"Because I'm aware of the bigger picture."
"What bigger picture? Machination built an army. You really think they're gonna use it for anything helpful? We've got to get rid of it. Now."
"That's not your decision to make, young man."
"God! What's your plan, then? Leave it here? Wait for—" he stops, turns to stare. "You want to use them."
"Put your hands back on that rail."
But Hunter isn't listening anymore.
"You actually think you can use them? How? Sunstreaker," he hesitates. His brows furrow. For one moment, he looks troubled. Then it's gone. "You're never gonna get it to work."
"You seem to work just fine," Simmons says.
"That's different."
"Really? Enlighten me."
"To make us," he says the word like a curse, "they had to wire us into a Transformer. We were part of him. We had access to his, his mind. I could hear him all the time. But then, a week ago, I woke up and he was gone. I don't know if Machination did something or if… if something happened to him. Either way, it won't work again."
"So we find another one. We use this facility to—"
"You don't get it, do you? What they did to him, what they did to us, it's wrong."
Simmons snorts. The kid's fists are curled, his jaw clenched: the poster image of moral outrage.
"Always the morality pet, aren't you?" he says.
"That has nothing to do with this. We were in his mind, Simmons. It hurt him. You can't do that, not to anyone else."
"I can. And I will."
The kid's glare is almost hot enough to melt steel.
"I don't know how much your 'friends' let you in on," Simmons says, "but these things have been here for years, kid. Always keeping out of sight, lurking in the shadows, until a few weeks ago. All of the sudden global activity jumped. They came out into the open, in Brasnya, in some kind of giant robot shoot-out. Civilians got hurt. We, the people I work for, think it's the precursor to an invasion. Know anything about that?"
The kid just stares.
"We can use this against them," Simmons says. "Take their army and use it to defend ourselves. If that means making a few of these things uncomfortable, it's a price I'm willing to pay."
"It's not an invasion. The Autobots—"
"That what Red was? Sideswipe? Was he one of these Autobots? Because I noticed he ditched you pretty quick. Not very reliable, are they?"
"This is torture."
"And?"
"So say you do, say you capture a Decepticon or something, you use him like that. Say you even win. What does that make you?"
"Oh grow up," Simmons says. "Human history is nothing but one group of people trying to screw over another group of people. You do whatever it takes to make sure your group is the one that comes out ahead or you die."
The kid's not looking at Simmons anymore, just focusing on the Headmaster units.
"You can always blame it on me, all right?" Simmons says.
"No."
"What?"
"I said no," Hunter says.
"Listen, this isn't a philosophical debate. I am not going to risk the future of the entire human race to make your conscience feel better. Step back to the rail. I'm going to count to three."
"And then what?"
"And then I'm going to shoot you."
"Go ahead. You'll bring down every guard right on top of you."
"At least I'll get to take you out first."
"I thought you were counting."
"One," Simmons says.
The kid doesn't move. He watches Simmons, his face blank.
"Two."
Still no reaction.
"Come on. Don't be an idiot." But Hunter doesn't so much as twitch. Simmons readjusts his grip and wishes he could wipe his palms. "This is ridiculous."
"You're the one with the gun," Hunter says.
"Do not tempt me."
"What's wrong, Simmons? Change of heart? Assuming you have one, of course."
"Hands on the rail."
"No."
"Fine. You wanna be a martyr? Go right ahead. Thr—"
He doesn't see it. One moment the kid is standing there. The next, pain erupts beneath Simmons's right eye and his head snaps back. He doesn't fall so much as crumple. The next thing he knows, Hunter's robotic foot steps into view.
Simmons shakes his head.
"You just assaulted a federal officer," he says. It comes out slurred.
"So arrest me."
He pushes up into a sprawl. The kid picks up the gun. He starts to walk to the stairs.
"Do not go down there," Simmons says.
The kid ignores him.
"Stop right there."
"Make me," Hunter says.
Great, Simmons thinks. Now he grows a pair.
Hunter's legs don't want to work. He can hear Simmons getting to his feet and he's glad he's turned away because he knows the expression on his face would be a dead giveaway.
Jesus Christ, I almost died.
He clutches the railing as he climbs down the stairs. He's still shaking.
"Hey!" Simmons says.
Ignore him. Don't look. Keep moving. It's hard enough trying to get his wobbling legs to stay straight. One slip and he'll go tumbling right down the stairs and mechanical body or no, it'll hurt. Just ignore him.
"Kid, wait up."
Oh, goddamnit.
He stops, turns, spots Simmons trotting after him. His cheek is swelling up. Hunter can't find it in him to care.
"What do you want?" he says.
"Just hold on a second."
Hunter sighs. "It's no use, Simmons. You're not gonna stop me."
Simmons makes a strange waving motion with his hand. He's only a few steps above Hunter and he's not slowing down. Hunter tenses. If the man leaps at him, tries to tackle him… but then Simmons continues on, past Hunter.
Huh?
Simmons looks back. "You coming?"
"What the hell are you trying to do, now?"
Simmons stops. "Go downstairs."
"Why? You were all ready to shoot me a second ago."
"Eh." He flutters his hand again.
"'Eh?'"
"Eh. I changed my mind," Simmons says.
Hunter stares. "You…"
"Listen, kid, the longer you stand there trying to catch flies in your mouth, the more likely it is that someone is gonna notice we're gone, alright? I'd really like to get a move on before that happens. Now, you said you want to get rid of these things. Do you have a plan or were you just thinking out loud? Again."
"Um," Hunter says. "Sort of."
"'Sort of'?" Simmons says. He raises his eyebrows. Then he lets out a bark of laughter and shakes his head. "You would have taken a bullet for 'sort of?'"
"I was going to blow them up, okay?" he says. Simmons sniffs. Then he nods. Hunter takes that as a sign to continue. "Those bodies are fueled by energon. Sideswipe said it was too volatile to 'orbital jump,' so I thought maybe it'll burn."
"Okay. So it burns. Then what?"
"So… we slosh it everywhere and set the building on fire, too."
Simmons cocks his head. "You're planning on using the robot fuel to burn the place down?"
"Yeah?"
Now it's Simmons's turn to stare.
"You're trying to burn the place down with a fire you set here, on the edge of the building?"
Why does it sound wrong when he says it?
"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Simmons says. "You want to start a bonfire you start at the bottom, son. Lowest level, as close to the center as you can get, for a place this big. You want it to burn really quick you put it in multiple locations and make sure it has plenty of ventilation."
He says it so calmly, like explaining how to drive a car or connect to a wireless modem. But this is arson. And Simmons is standing there watching him with an amused glint in his eyes.
"Where the hell do you learn this stuff?" Hunter says.
Simmons shrugs. "By the time you get to be my age, you pick up a few things."
He starts down the stairs again.
"Why are you helping me now?" Hunter says.
Simmons takes the last few steps down to the ground. He inhales, pauses like he's going to start talking, and sighs.
"In all likelihood," he says, "the chances of me getting out and getting a team back here before this 'Machination' notices are nil. I'll bet that they can have this entire facility stripped and gutted by morning. Since I can't take any of it with me…"
"You're not gonna let them have it, either," Hunter finishes for him.
Simmons shrugs.
Hunter watches him for a few seconds and shakes his head. Then he goes after him. When he reaches him, he holds the gun out.
"Fine," he says. "But you try to waffle on me and I'll put you through a wall."
Simmons takes the gun and slides it back into the holster on his belt. "I'd like to see you try, kid."
Hunter rolls his eyes. He's standing next to one of the Lamborghinis. He places a hand on the side.
"I think I can activate it," he says. "But someone's going to notice if I walk one of these down the hall."
Simmons scratches his nose. He looks around the garage and hums. Then he snaps his fingers and when he turns to Hunter, he's grinning.
"You won't have to," Simmons says. "They gotta store that stuff somewhere, right?"
Jason Morgan follows the scent of brewing coffee into the break room. He sticks his head in and finds the room empty.
Awesome, he thinks.
The cabinets are stocked with mugs. He grabs a chipped one with little Christmas trees on it, and pours himself a cup. He leans over to the refrigerator, opens the door, and rummages for the creamer. When he finds it, he straightens. He starts to set it on the counter.
Movement out of the corner of his eye; Jason glances over. And freezes.
A man stands behind him. He looks awful: his clothes—slacks and a sweat-stained, button-up shirt—are rumpled. His right cheek is purple, matching the bruises under both his eyes. And he's wearing the biggest, creepiest shit-eating grin Jason has ever seen.
"How you doing?" the man says.
"Uh, can I… help you?" Jason says.
"As a matter of fact, I think you can."
Jason backs away. "Listen, I don't know who you are or how you got in here, but—"
"Whoa now. Calm down, son."
Son?
"I don't want any trouble," Jason says.
Jason's hip brushes one of the tables. The man lifts his hands in a placating gesture; Jason notices that he winces.
"That's cool," the man says. "I just wanna ask you—"
The man lunges. Jason yelps and leaps back. He tips over a chair. It tangles with his legs and he starts to fall. Something latches onto the back of his shirt collar. Jason is hauled up, spun around, and an arm wraps around his neck.
"Ah! No! Help! Someone—urk!"
The arm squeezes. Jason reaches up, tries to pry himself loose, when the psycho starts to drag him across the room. It's all Jason can do to keep himself from tripping. Then they're passing through the door, out into the hall.
I'm gonna die! he thinks. This guy's going to kill me!
Another sound, a rattle and a click and he's dragged into a dark room. The door shuts with the finality of a tomb. The arm lets go and Jason is shoved, stumbling, against a file cabinet. Hands pat along his frame, dig into his pocket, pull out his wallet and cell phone and a lighter.
He's in some kind of store room. The lights are off but it's not completely dark. There's a blue glow—
Jason tries to gasp and almost swallows his tongue.
It's… it's a Headmaster. There's a rogue Headmaster standing next to the door with its visor lit up.
"Oh," Jason says. It comes out a moan.
He spun back around to find the psycho right there.
"I think he recognizes you," the man says. It takes a moment for Jason to realize he's talking to the rogue.
"Yeah," the rogue says. It shifts on its feet. The small part of Jason's brain that isn't gibbering in terror registers how nervous it looks.
I'm gonna die. Oh god, I'm gonna die.
"Hey."
Fingers snap under his nose. Jason looks away. The psycho is standing there. Jason's brain latches on to something familiar, something he can deal with.
"Look at me," the psycho says. "There you go. What's your name?"
It takes a few tries before his mouth will work. "Jason."
The man nods. "Okay, Jason. I've got a few questions for you."
Jason nods.
"You obviously know what he is," the psycho says, gesturing to the rogue. "Do you know about their fuel? Where they keep it?"
The man is talking to him. He knows that. But the words don't make sense. His mind comes up blank. He can't look away from the hulking machine next to the door.
"You know what?" the man says to the Headmaster. "You're not helping. Just… go stand in the corner or something."
The Headmaster's mouth opens. Then closes. It moves behind Jason. He tries to follow it, keep an eye on it, but then the psycho grabs his face and turns his head away.
"Alright, Jason, was it? Look at me. Do you know where the energon is?"
His mouth is too dry. No words form. Jason nods.
"Okay. You're doing a good job. Do you keep it somewhere in this facility?"
Nod.
"Where? No, look at me, Jason. Don't worry about him. He's not gonna move. Where do you keep the energon?"
"S-storage room," Jason says.
"Which one?" the man says.
"SL-3. Room… room…" the man keeps staring at him while Jason struggles to remember.
"Room thirty-nine. I think."
"Okay, and by SL-3 you mean sub-level? As in the third one? This one?"
It's so much easier to nod than talk.
"Convenient," the Headmaster says.
The psycho shrugs. Jason is having a hard time staying upright. His legs have turned to water. One shift, one step, and he'll collapse. The man studies him.
"Why are you so scared?" he says.
Don't look, don't look!
"Because of what it can do," Jason says, eyes darting to the side, to where he knows the rogue must be. "Because of what it did."
The man raises an eyebrow. "Who, the kid? What'd he do?"
"Simmons," the Headmaster says.
"Tell me, Jason."
"This isn't necessary. Let's just—"
"Jason."
Fingers snaps again.
"He… he killed Sanderson," Jason says. "He hit him. Through a wall."
The psycho blinks. He turns his head and looks over Jason.
Silence.
The man half snorts, half laughs. He looks back to Jason, grinning, and says, "No shit?"
Jason shakes his head.
"Wow," the man says. To the rogue, "You weren't joking."
"You are such an asshole," the rogue says.
The man wipes his eyes, sighs, and suddenly turns dead serious. "You're sure about the energon, Jason?"
Jason performs a mental double-take. Then, "Uh, yeah. Yeah."
"Okay then."
The man steps back. Jason is free to move again only his body seems unable to. The man jerks his thumb toward the Headmaster. Jason looks over, catches a glimpse of the thing's face beneath that glowing visor. It's got a puzzled frown on its face. Its eyes widen.
Pain beneath Jason's right ear. His vision goes white.
Hunter winces as the guy hits the carpet. Simmons slips the gun back into its holster.
"Geez," Hunter says. "Excessive force, much?"
"It's not easy to knock someone out," Simmons says. He kneels down and presses his fingers into Jason's neck. He looks up at Hunter. "Well, maybe for you it is, but I gotta work with what I've got."
"Pistol whipping? He's not dead, is he?"
Simmons is shaking his head before Hunter can finish the sentence. "Nah. He'll have a concussion. Probably. Nothing serious."
"Oh yeah. Concussion. That's not serious at all."
Simmons sighs. "Are you going to stand there and get all snippy or are you gonna get over here help me tie him?"
Hunter shoves his irritation down. He pushes away from the wall.
"Good," Simmons says. "Now get the laces off his shoes."
Five minutes later, they slip out into the deserted hallway. They're at room number fifty-four. He can see fifty-three further down the hall.
"This is really starting to bug me," Hunter says. "Where is everyone?"
"This isn't normal?" Simmons says.
"No. Last time, when I broke out of the place in Tampa, there were people everywhere. I dunno, I just thought maybe they'd be smarter this time around, have guards or something."
"Maybe something happened," Simmons say. "Maybe they got called away."
Something nags in the back of Hunter's mind. Something he can't quite remember.
"Something wrong?" Simmons says.
Hunter shakes his head. "No. It's… no. Let's go."
They reach an intersection and it takes another minute and more bickering before they turn left.
Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty.
A vast stretch of blank wall leading up to a corner.
"I think it's up there," Hunter says.
It is. Simmons slips around the corner, hugging the wall, gun drawn. Hunter tries the door. It's locked. He takes a step back and then kicks it. Metal dents, the frame warps, and it bursts open. Inside, the room is dark, but he can make out shapes, large squares stacked against the wall.
"Sorry," he says. "I know that was loud."
But Simmons isn't listening. He's not even looking at him. He's staring toward the other corner, eyes fixed on something behind Hunter. Hunter turns. Standing fifteen feet away is a man in body armor. One of his is hands empty. The other clutches a radio.
Sorry it's late! I was so busy freaking out over a mid-term that I completely forgot to post this.
Next chapter: Fire in the Hole