CHAPTER I

Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

Monday, September 22, 2008... 7:00pm

Bumblebee finally had a name to put with the mysterious female. A quick internet search proved nearly fruitless since Agatha Thomas was a fairly common name in the United States of America. The only thing he could find that was certainly about her was the woman's personal Facebook page, which gave him little information beyond basic things he suspected anyone who casually associated with her would know.

With his sensors turned up to the max, he paid close attention to the situation unraveling within the Witwicky house. The conversation only seemed to get more alarming by the minute; it didn't help matters that each text message he sent to Sam's cell phone went unanswered.

She began to ask standard questions – questions he would have expected any police officer investigating a stolen vehicle to ask. "How much did you pay for the car?"

Three thousand dollars, Bumblebee silently replied.

"Has your son put much work into the car?"

Naturally, Sam's response was an affirmative; there was no other plausible way to explain how he spent such a small amount on a vehicle that should have cost several thousand. When his ward was asked what all had been replaced or repaired, however, the mech's processor froze. Everything Sam knew about mechanics was secondhand from Mikaela, and the two of them spent very little of their time talking about cars.

"Well, that is to say, uh..." The boy fumbled for an answer. "My girlfriend – her dad's a mechanic. She knows a lot about cars..."

The detective caught on to what he was trying to say quickly. "So you're saying your girlfriend and her father have been the ones to perform any work...?"

"Yes!"

"Did you compensate them?"

Sam's mother cut in before the question could be answered. "Detective, just what do these questions have to do with your investigation?"

"Sorry, Mrs Witwicky," Detective Thomas said, not sounding terribly apologetic. "It's all part of the process."

"Look, Detective, we don't know anything about where Mr Bolivia got 'Bee --"

Bumblebee groaned. He loved Sam, but sometimes the boy was a complete idiot.

There was a pause before the detective spoke. "You named your car 'Bee'?"

"Well, I didn't name him that! I, uh... I mean, he came that way."

"Did Mr Bolivia give him that name, then?" she asked, her tone colored with incredulity.

"No! I mean yes. Yes, he did."

"Interesting." There was another long pause. "I would like to take a look at the car, if that's okay with you."

His spark froze. This woman was not normal. While he was almost sure she meant the Witwicky family no harm, the same could not be said for him. It was becoming quite apparent he was the only thing she was interested in, and no matter how he looked at it, allowing her to take a closer look at his alt form would only lead to disaster. Whether or not she knew his true nature was a complete mystery, though she obviously suspected something was amiss.

Predictably, both Sam and Mrs Witwicky objected to allowing the detective anywhere near him. Even more predictable, however, was the response to their refusal.

"Mrs Witwicky," the strange woman began, her words frosty, "it has been clear to me since I first walked in that you and your son are hiding something from me and that his car is somehow involved. Either you can let me look at it now, or I will gladly come back with a search warrant – it's completely up to you."

"Sam, let her look at the car."

"Mom! No!"

"Sam, please..."

Bumblebee sat frozen in the garage as multiple footsteps made their way through the house towards the back door. Her field washed over him, suffocating and dangerous, and he wished fervently for a way to escape without being too obvious.

As soon as the three humans entered the garage, everything went wrong.

First, the detective took out what looked like a stick and began to throw her magnetic field around the room. His sensors went haywire as it reformed itself through the stick like malleable clay in the hands of a master sculptor. Like fuzz on a television set, Bumblebee lost some external sensitivity as her presence filled the garage, settling into every crack and crevice in a fine layer of dust.

Neither Sam nor Mrs Witwicky noticed anything wrong, to the yellow mech's horror. They entered behind the detective and stood next to the wall, allowing her to weave her strange technology into the very air without so much as a peep. An unusually sedate Mojo gave a feeble growl, but that was it.

She walked around him in a slow circle, inspecting every detail her human eyes were capable of noticing (though Bumblebee seriously doubted this woman allowed mere physics to stand in her way). When she grabbed the handle of the driver's door with a surprisingly gentle grip, a jolt of static rolled through his system in wave. Her soft, organic body tingled unpleasantly against the pseudo-leather of his seats, and he had to suppress a shiver.

"What's this?" she asked. Her small finger was tracing the symbol on his steering wheel.

For once, Sam had a good answer. "It's my girlfriend's symbol. You know, so people will recognize her work."

Thankfully, the detective left it at that.

But then she tried to use her stick on Bumblebee. With a surprised shriek, she was thrown onto the cold, dirty concrete of the garage floor. Sam rushed forward to help the detective to her feet, while his nervous mother wrung her hands together.

Not caring about the consequences, Bumblebee slammed his door shut and locked it with more force than strictly necessary. That had been an incredibly unpleasant experience, one he was not eager to have again. His speakers thrummed to life: "Punkbitch! I just want you to know – punkbitch!"

"What the hell!" Detective Thomas exclaimed as she regained her feet.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know --"

She whirled on Sam. "Didn't know what? That your car is fully animated?"

Bumblebee took full pleasure in hearing her disbelief and anger.

"I knew that – I didn't know he would --"

The detective held up a hand, and Sam fell silent.

"Sam... tell me the truth here. I'm not going to arrest you, I'm not going to do anything. This is off the record, got it?"

The teenager nodded slowly. Mrs Witwicky moved away from the wall. Bumblebee waited, ready to spring on the detective if needed.

"Are you a wizard?" she asked quietly.

"What kind of question is that?" he laughed. "I know this must be a little freaky, but Detective, magic isn't real."

Bumblebee could hear the grim smile in her voice as she responded. "I'm afraid you're wrong."

He felt it milliseconds before it happened; her magnetic field fluctuated slightly, the muscles in her arm twitched, and she began to channel all that energy into what he had come to realize was a wand. Without a second thought, the yellow mech initiated his transformation sequence, shuffling the program to form his limbs first.

A strange cry – "Obliviate!" – rang from her lips as she flicked her wand. Energy lanced from its tip like a bullet, aimed straight for Sam's head, and before it could even make contact her field began to fluctuate again with clear intentions to do the same to Mrs Witwicky.

Detective Thomas jumped back in surprise as a gigantic metal hand crashed down centimeters in front of her targets. The energy hit his palm and dispersed into the air like a spray of water, sending another unpleasant jolt through his system but leaving him unharmed. Her eyes were wide as they traveled up his forearm and to his face, taking in the whole of his crouched mechanical body.

Bumblebee aimed a canon at her and made his intentions crystal clear: try that again, and you're toast.

He didn't blame her for fainting.