"Are you sure Sir?"
"I am," He said swiftly, shifting to a more comfortable position on the surgical chair, more than a little impatient.
"Just checking," the surgeon said putting his gloved hands up in surrender, making his thin sickly frame look even slimmer. "I thought you might want to consider waiting for your health to recover before such an, "invasive" procedure."
"I did not ask for excuses Tar," He snapped. "You will perform the surgery or I will get someone who will." But the Doctor just smiled in a wide toothy grin that seemed to stretch muscles that couldn't exist.
"Oh I never said I wouldn't do it," he remarked with a casual shrug, then clapped his hands in excitement before reaching for the loaded syringe. "Now, are we all set?"
"Proceed Doctor," He said firmly closing his good eye, the other held open by its scars. "And be quick about it. I have an appearance to make." Tar injected his patient with the anesthetic, then strapped him down while he waited for the drug to take effect. Tar was glad the procedure his patient had asked for wasn't the cosmetic kind, he'd become far too familiar with those. No this addition had a more reasonable purpose behind it. The ranks of their organization did not tolerate weakness, be it in mind or body, most certainly not among its leaders. When it came to appearances, the more intimidating the better. Though his reputation alone should more than take care of that.
Tar smiled when he saw the man slip into unconsciousness, and reached for the scalpel over the soon to be active skull and facial implants.
"Can't believe Fowler's sending them all the way to Cybertron."
"I know right?" Miko said leaning back against the control platform railing, sitting roughly even with Bulkhead's helm. The Wrecker had come too not long after most everyone else had left except for Ratchet and Masterson, the former helping the latter with his latest orders.
"Gotta admit," Bulkhead laughed slightly glancing at his former charge, "It'll be interesting to see how Jack handles his first time in charge." He scratched his chest plates and fidgeted, not at all happy that Ratchet had confined him to the med-berth to let his systems repair the smaller damage still doting his chassis. He told the medic a few dents and cracks weren't anything to worry about, but then the old crankshaft had pulled out that pit-spawned wrench.
"He'll be fine," Miko said dejectedly, making Bulkhead's spark ache. The Wrecker-cadet had been through a lot in barely any time, but he wasn't sure how to comfort her. Loosing a loved one to natural causes was different from one on the battlefield. At least then you could blame it on someone.
"...How are you holding up?" He asked tentatively, testing the waters. The japanese half breed sighed and shook her head.
"I don't know Bulk," She said tiredly. "Everything's happening so fast its like I don't even know which way is up anymore. First my Mom dies from a cancer she never told me about, then I find out my Dad's a transformer, that I'm a half transformer, now this thing with Skylynx, uuuuuugghhh," She groaned as she slumped forward over her bunched knees. "It feels like my life's falling apart around me and I can't do anything to stop it." Bulkhead couldn't bear seeing her like this.
"You've still got your Dad right?," He asked, fully intent on avoiding the whole ex-con tidbit. "And your Grandmother in japan." But the WrecKer's words did nothing to life Miko's spirits.
"Yeah," She responded, still a million miles away, and Bulkhead could see she was dodging now.
"You don't want to go home do you?" It wasn't a question. Miko paused, her eyes wandering, searching for an answer as if it would be in front of her, but its was in vain.
"I'm not sure what I want anymore Bulkhead," She admitted, but her tone belied another trouble, something more specific. Something besides her impending return to Japan had been bothering her, and Bulkhead had a hunch he knew what it was.
"Miko," He started in with a tone not unlike the one he'd used after discovering she'd stowed away through the ground-bridge. "Is this about that thing with Skylynx?" Miko stiffened at the words, and shrunk down into herself a little. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But," He added, "You might want to talk it over with scales across the runway."
"...You think so?" She asked turning to her old guardian, and her eyes told him just how unnerved whatever had taken place made her.
"Think of it this way," He said hoping some Wrecker style advice would help the cadet. "If it scared you that much, what do you think it was like for him?" Miko turned her head back to the platform's floor in front of her feet. "Skylynx might look big and scary, but if you want it in cybertronian terms he's still a sparkling." Truth be told Skylynx had always been a bit of an odd man out, even among the Predacons. And after hearing about what he'd found in the lab from Wheeljack, Bulkhead was hoping the two could find some common ground in their grief and just maybe help each other through the confusion of moving on.
Suddenly, Miko stood up, dusted herself of a little, and turned to lean on the railing facing Bulkhead's berth. He smiled, lifting up a servo to her level for the closest thing they had ever worked out to an actual embrace. Miko hugged his hand, smiling a little.
"Thanks Bulk."
"Anytime," He smiled back, just as Miko broke the embrace and started down the ramp and out the hangar door, watching her the whole way. Two minutes after she left Bulkhead realized he already missed her, but reminded himself Miko wasn't the little girl he'd driven around Jasper anymore. But despite these self assuring, he began missing her even more as Masteron and Ratchet began arguing in every color of their respective species swear word rainbow.
Miko walked across the runway, tarmac still radiating heat up from the earlier sun and distorting the front of Skylynx's hangar. The main doors were closed, but the smaller pilot's entrance was unlocked. She cautiously stepped inside the dark unlit space, expecting to walk into an oven of a room but instead, felt her skin goosebump and chill.
"Brrrrrrrr," She shivered as the ice cold air enveloped her like a withered hand. Her feet made tiny crunching noises from the thin layer of frost covering the floor and her breath came in white puffs in front of her face.
"Skylynx?" she called out hesitantly, just now giving some thought to the idea of waking a sleeping dragon from its power nap. That and the fact she might not be on the best terms with him after the whole shooting him in the aft thing.
"Sky?" She called again, but the silence was overwhelming. Suddenly Miko realized the crunching under her feet had stopped, just before a wave of hot dry air rolled over her back. She turned around, and found two barely open yellow optics looking at her down a long blue and grey snout.
"Oh, you again," Skylynx groaned tiredly and to himself. "Primes be merciful, What does this insect want now?"
"Uh Hello?!" Miko shot back, hands on her hips, "I'm right here Lizard Lips!" Skylynx's head bolted up, fanged maw glowing red in sudden rage.
"Call me that again fleshling and I will personally!...wait a minute..." The fire in his throat died and his mood flipped from enraged to shocked curiosity. "You can understand me in this form?"
"Well duh," Miko said matter of factly, "We're talking talking aren't we?" The predacons confusion only intensified her own.
"Then when did you learn to speak our language?" He asked. "Only other predacons can speak to each other in beast mode." It took Miko a short moment to realize Skylnx's mandibles weren't forming the words she was hearing, or of any language she had ever heard but one she understood as if it was plain japanese.
"I don't know," She said, beginning to panic slightly, "maybe it has something to do with that vision thing from the cave!"
"So she did see it," Skylynx said thoughtfully.
"I can hear you remember!," Miko shouted to get the white and blue predacon's attention.
"Well I'm sorry if I'm not used to sharing my thoughts with insects!" He growled as his chest and throat began to glow again. "Now why are you here?"
"I just want to talk," She said trying not to antagonize Skylynx further. "About what happened back at the lab." The glow beneath his plating vanished as Skylynx's form visible shifted. He looked away from Miko, laying his head and neck on his folded fore legs. But Miko wasn't about to be ignored.
"Look I'm just as confused by this as you are," She said walking around to look Skylynx in the optics again. "But wouldn't we have a better chance figuring it out together?"
"It does not concern you. Besides," He snarled as he turned away again, "You wouldn't understand." But Miko moved with him.
"Are you kidding?" She asked rhetorically. "This coming from the metal alien dragon talking to a half human half cybertronian japanese punk rocker wrecking cadet." She took a seat near his helm crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest defiantly. "So go ahead, surprise me." Skylynx raised an optic ridge at the young hybrid, before exhaling a long, heated breath.
"Very well. What is it you saw?" The surrender caught her off guard, and Miko realized she hadn't actually thought of how to describe what she had seen.
"...I saw ... hurt. And I was hurting, like it was me but at the same time I knew it wasn't. Almost like I was.."
"Like you were watching through someone else's eyes," Skylynx provided in a worryingly knowing tone.
"Yeah," She agreed. "But it was like I was looking at it through a dirty window. The picture wasn't clear it was more ... broken up. I remember a man and a woman next to me, then I was floating in some kind of, goo I guess. It hurt so much its all a blurr really."
"Was there a dragon?" Skylynx asked anxiously. "A dragon made of fire?"
"...Yeah," she answered, slowly putting together the strange pieces. "Why?" the dragon looked away from the question, optics dimming as his wings shifted to better cover his body. Through his fearsome appearance of horns teeth, claws and wings Miko saw two very human emotions; fear and sadness. Thats when it clicked.
"This isn't the first time its happened is it?" Skylynx's optics darted to her in surprise, darting away just as quickly, but they told enough. He had indeed experienced these dream-visions before.
"...Yes," he quietly confirmed, booming proud voice now a bare whisper.
"How often do they, you know?" The Predacon sighed, and Miko felt the temperature around her begin to rise ever so slightly with the breath.
"Sometimes I will see things, mostly when I am asleep." He cast a sideways glance at Miko. "But this was the first time they came while I was awake."
"Are they all the same?" She asked tentatively, ashamed of her curiosity but testing the ice nonetheless. "In the lab I mean."
"No," he said shaking his helm tiredly. "Most of the time the images are not as clear. Like I'm looking at them through shattered glass. Sometimes its like I'm watching a recording, but others times its as if ..." Miko didn't push. She let Skylynx decide whether or not he wanted to tell her what was on his mind. When he finally did, his expression was more scared than anything.
"As if ... they are not dreams at all. They almost feel like memories, but not mine."
"And the fire dragon?" Her question made the predacon tense, and his optics flash from pale yellow to bright orange.
"He is always there." Skylynx snarled as his claws clenched. "Running away and laughing at me, speaking in nothing but riddles."
"He didn't do much speaking today," Miko commented if only to calm him down. "But I'll take bark over bite any time." A snorting laugh burst from Skylynx's muzzle.
"True," he chuckled in a way that sent Miko's heart into a downward spiral. Skylynx looked back when she fell silent, and found it was her now looking away from him, hands folded in her lap with a pained look on her face. "Miko?" He called, causing her to jump slightly when she heard her name.
"Sorry," She apologized quickly, "Its just for a second there you sounded a lot like my Dad."
"Is this a bad thing?"
"No, no its not like that just," She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Thats how Dad laughed when Mom told a joke he liked."
"Ah," Skylynx nodded, still casting tiny glances toward the female hybrid. "I assume you'll be leaving tomorrow. For the, um..."
"Yeah," She sighed. "Dad said we have to help Gran-gran get everything ready."
"Of course." He remembered well the ceremony Bumblebee and Smokescreen had arranged for the one called Optimus, and though Skylynx had never met the Autobot leader faceplate to faceplate the Primes legend loomed large in the troop's reverence, both his own and his enemies. Even Predaking had paid his respects, in his own way.
"Miiiiiiiiikkkooooooo!" The japanese half breed perked up at the sound of her name, and recognized the voice as Raf's.
"Its appears you are needed else where," Skylynx said with a twinge of sadness as she got to her feet.
"Yeah," She said in a similar tone and turned to the predacon. "Well, good bye I guess." She turned to leave the way she came, but just as she reached the door. "Oh, and uh, listen," She said turning back to face Skylynx, "If you ever, you know want to talk about your ... you know." Even with a reptillian muzzle and maw, the Predacons smile seemed to radiate warmth.
"I will," He said just as warmly. "And thank you for listening."
"Anytime," She smiled back, then slipped out the door back into the scorching heat.
Elsewhere the Silence was killing Jack. It was all he could do to keep himself focused enough to drive back to his on-base housing with his two new teammates, neither of which he was on speaking terms with at the moment. The silence endured through their arrival at the single story ranch style house, their temporary home until Fowler finalized his plans with Ultra Magnus. Jack reached for the keys kept in his pants pocket, but failed to hide the winch of pain when the metal tip found his bandaged palm. And Vince noticed.
"Something wrong Darby?" He asked as he hefted his army duffel bag into his back.
"Just a little scratch," he lied quickly, setting the key into the dead bolt lock and turning. "Well," he said opening the door and stepping inside, "Make yourselves at home." The house was small, but surprisingly clean for what it was. There were no obvious piles of garbage like in Masterson's home, only the occasional stray paper or empty glass on a dresser. Sierra though, was unimpressed.
"Cozy," She deadpanned glancing around the sparsely furnished living room, marked by only a couch facing a small TV and a receiver box. "Where are we sleeping?"
"Guest room's down the hall and to the left," Jack said pointing down the short hallway to their left. "Vince you can take my ro."
"No thanks," The buff red-head said dismissively as he unbuttoned and peeled off his uniform jacket revealing a light grey plain T-shirt underneath, hanging it on a hook from his bag before he walked over to the couch and dropped his bag nearby. "This thing fold out?" Jack could only shrug.
"Never tried." Vince pulled up a few cushions only to find it didn't, and settled for lying down flat on the couch.
"Yeah that'll work," He said positioning himself just so. "Course its not like we're gonna be here very long. We'll be shipping out soon." Sierra scoffed as she walked toward the hall.
"Not soon enough," She muttered under her breath, pulling a rolling suitcase behind her into her new room. Jack groaned and ran his good hand over his face and leaning back against the light tan walls. He finally looked up and saw the time; nearly six o'clock.
"Great," he grumbled, before raising his voice. "Hey! Either of you want something to eat?"
"Sure," Vince said, still lounging on the couch.
"Whatever," Sierra replied through a closed door. Jack hung his head and sighed, then walked to the kitchen, the cooking area separated from the living room by only a chest high wall. He decided on fixing a simple pasta and canned tomato sauce just as Vince found the tv remote and clicked it onto the news.
"And in recent events," the news anchor said with a gleaming forced smile on his face, "a cruise ship may have been saved by a freak storm. The Rapa Nui Queen was scheduled to arrive in Singapore today, but was held in port in the Philippines by a sudden typhoon that seemed to spring up out of nowhere. Had it been on schedule, the ship would have docked minutes before a fire broke out and engulfed a nearby oil tanker. Thankfully no one was seriously injured, and the fire is under control.
A California professor is being honored today. Cliffside Museum Director Eric Tulnson returned earlier this week from a two month expedition in the Amazon, escorting back what some described as "a treasure trove" of Inca artifacts. The brazilian and Peruvian governments have both issued statements threatening legal action if the artifacts are not returned to South America within the year, though Dr. Tulson stands by his decision, citing recent outbreaks of violence in the region and destruction by the drug cartels. Now here's Reese Leblanc with your six O-clock weathe." Vince muted the TV, not because he disapproved of the program, but to make sure his senses weren't confused.
"Darby?" He called back, smelling the air.
"Yeah?" The Agent shouted, head halfway in the fridge.
"What are you cooking over there?"
"Pasta," Jack answered, confused even as an orange yellow light appeared behind him. "Why?"
"Its on fire."
"Scrap!" Jack dove for the fire extinguisher hanging beside the fridge and quickly doused the burning pot, along with most of the stove top. "Aw man," He groaned fanning away the remaining smoke, "not again."
"You don't cook much do you?" Vince asked, though not in a very question like tone.
"I cook," Jack shot back feebly. "I'm just ... not very good at it."
"Obviously," Vince laughed getting to his feet and walking into the kitchen. "Okay, one side shorty. I'd like to eat some time tonight." Jack gave the one time bully a confused look as he started digging through the fridge and freezer, pulling out the odd bag of vegetables and frozen steak and gravy meal.
"You cook?" Jack asked surprised as Vince reached for a knife and cutting board.
"Yeah, so?"
"Sorry," He apologized, "Just never thought of you doing any thing other than..." he stopped before he said anything that would turn the conversation awkward, but Vince surprised him again.
"Beating the snot out of punks smaller than me?" Jack nodded hesitantly, but Vince brushed it off, focusing instead on chopping the bell pepper and tomatoes in front of him. "Look I'm not gonna pretend I wasn't a jerk to you back then. I was. And you have every right to hold that against me. I know I would." He paused a moment, reaching over to read the microwave steak instructions. "But seeing as the Director's stuck us with each other, I'd rather put the past behind me than waste time on that."
"Deal," Jack said, before changing the subject as Vince continued to move about the kitchen as he threw together whatever was on hand. "Where exactly did you learn to cook anyway?"
"I didn't," he admitted, dumping the chopped vegetables into the open freezer meal, then both sliding the tray into the hot oven. "My folks worked nine to seven most days of the week and left me in charge of dinner." Jack's expression changed slightly as he began to see the former jock in a new light. "I remember this one time," He said already laughing at the memory, "I tried to surprise them with some of those instant cookies, you know the kind you buy as raw dough rolls from the store? Well I wanted them to be ready right when they got home, so instead of waiting on the oven I decided to do them in the microwave. But instead of cooking, all they end up doing is smoking like an overheated car. Long story short, desert is a bust and the whole kitchen nearly burned down." Jack laughed in spite of himself as he imagined Vince scrambling to fight the clouds of smoke streaming from the microwave.
"I bet that smelled nice," he laughed thinking of the scent of burnt chocolate. Vince, in a drastic departure from jack's memories of him, laughed as well.
"The whole room stank like burnt dough for years until we finally fumigated the place."
"What did you parents do?"
"Construction mostly. Dad's crew built most of the houses on the north side of town. Mom managed the financing."
"I bet they were really proud when you joined the army huh?" Vince trailed of at Jack's question as the smile ran away from his face. His mouth closed and he swallowed hard, trying to keep a straight face as he spoke.
"I wouldn't know. They uh, never made it out of Jasper. Not before the..."Jack felt his own voice catch as his mind shifted from happy images to ruined streets and burning buildings being leveled by vehicon blasters.
"I'm so sorry Vince," he said quietly, but the army recruit was quick to change the subject.
"So ... You and Sierra huh?" He asked glancing back at the technically senior agent. "How'd that happen anyway? And more to the point, how do you not recognize someone like that?"
"Its...complicated," Jack sighed, though honestly he didn't know how. After Arcee went back to Cybertron with the other bots he hadn't been in the best mood. He hadn't expected his partners leaving to hit him so hard. Miko had described is a train wreck in slow motion. "We ... met at a restaurant in Salt Lake City, got to talking and just kinda ... clicked you know." Clicked in that they were both depressed lonely messes looking for a shoulder to cry on.
"And for the record," Jack said defensively, "She never uses her full name and when we were together she was still dying her hair dark red." The words brought memories back to his mind, but the moment Jack allowed his mind to wander the young woman in question walked in from the hall.
"Whats for dinner Vince?" She asked, having traded her crisp blue uniform for a faded yellow short sleeve shirt and light blue sweat pants. Fortunately it was a sight Jack was familiar with.
"How do you know I didn't make it?" Jack asked, looking insulted, but Sierra only smirked.
"Well seeing as the smoke alarm hasn't gone off." Jack looked away as his face turned beet red and Sierra's smirk became triumphant. Vince's laughter didn't help Jacks confidence much either, though it did go a long way toward lightening the mood.
"Here we go," Vince said taking the tray out of the oven as Jack grabbed some plates. Dinner wasn't as awkward as it might have been. Vince did most of the talking, but the tension between Jack and Sierra remained no matter how much Vince tried to break it, until finally Sierra broke the ice.
"So Jack," She started in a tone that was just as accusing as it was polite. "How long have you been an Agent?" Jack's eyes darted around for a second, not because he'd forgotten the answer but because he knew good and well where this was going.
"Uhh, about a year, year and half," he said tentatively. "I used to be a consultant but Fowler said I needed to step up." The pale blonde nodded as her voice became rich with sarcasm.
"He wasn't wrong there." Awkward silence followed the remark, but only for a moment before Jack started in on a new subject.
"Fowler said you're a pilot. But last time I checked," He said raising an eyebrow as Sierra sunk back just a little. "You were afraid of heights."
"I got over it," She answered quickly, taking a bite from her plate and chewing for longer than she needed to. "How long have you been working with the Autobots?"
And there it was. The question Jack had been dreading. But before he could think of an answer that wouldn't earn him both red-head's hatred he was reminded of his injuries when his fidgeting in place found his bandaged hand wandering onto the business end of his fork. He hissed when the metal tips dug into the tender flesh and quickly drew back his hand, much to the others confusion.
"Everything okay?" Vince asked.
"Yeah, sure," Jack said quickly, standing up. "I'm just gonna, be right back." He left without another word, leaving his new teammates to share bewildered glances as their appointed CO B-lined for the bathroom.
Jack shut and locked the door behind him, then finally allowed his face to show the excruciating pain. He leaned on the sink with his good hand, biting his tongue and shutting his eyes as the aching burn from his palm intensified until it was pulsing up his arm like a cramp. Steadying himself he managed to open and reach into the medicine cabinet, but fell short of grasping the bandages he needed. Instead he collapsed onto the tiled floor, holding his hand as the pain became pins and needles, but not great enough that he couldn't see his hand.
Though he wished he couldn't.
Bleeding through the layers of wrapping was a dark green stain the size of his thumb. Jack unwrapped the gauze in a panic, only to find the bandage itself was soaked through with a grotesque mix of blood and dark green fluid. But it was the spiders web of similarly colored lines that spread out from the cut that made him pale. His palm was crisscrossed with the color, lines he recognized as blood vessels running through with the same substance. He rolled up his jacket sleeve, only to find the color spreading up his arm, fading just below his elbow.
He hesitantly opened and closed his hand, wincing at first as it caused a fresh bolt of pain, but soon the sensation dissipated enough that he decided he could hide it.
"I'm fine," he growled through clenched teeth. "I'm fine." He kept repeating the words to himself, hoping they would become true eventually even as he thought of ways to hide his injury from Fowler, Ratchet and the others. The director had just trusted him with leading his own team. The last thing he needed to do was get himself confined to one of Ratchets med berths.
Right now what they needed him to be was a leader, not a sick kid. He was fine, and that was all they needed to know.
Director Fowler stared down the man standing across from him, but trying to match Dynomo Nakadai's glare with his own was futile.
"No," The dark skinned swordsman repeated, tone and expression both deadly serious and unmoving.
"It'll make things a whole lot easier," Fowler insisted, still trying to change the cybertronians mind. "And we could really use your help against the Stunticons."
"You may reason however you wish Director," Dynomo returned flatly, "but my decision stands. I have dedicated my life to escaping the war that consumed my old one, I will not throw all of that away because you wish for an advantage over your own enemies."
"Do you really think you can hide from it forever?" Fowler's words held more venom than he had intended, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand it was someone who ran from a fight. Thankfully Rodney was there to offer a gentler touch.
"He ain't wrong Dyno," The smaller man said, "Only reason you an Miko stayed under de radar was cause de only cons knew you was ere were buried in a mountain." But like a cornered beast Dynomo turned on his friend in the blink of an eye.
"Do not speak of facts to me, Rodent," He snarled, "You have gone behind our backs all these years, spying on us for the likes of him and his ilk!" He jabbed a finger at Fowler, still standing and leaning over his desk.
"Yeah I went behind yer backs!," Rodney snapped back, jabbing his own finger into the much larger man's chest, "But only so you's and Streaks didn't wind up in some Area 51 dissection lab!" The retort left Dynomo momentarily speechless, and Fowler decided that was his chance to explain.
"I won't deny that my predecessor recruited Mr. McNeil as an agent to keep an eye on you and your family after he learned how close he was to you. But it was for your own good." Dynomo pinned Rodney to the wall with his laser like glare, but he just talked it off.
"Don't gimme dat look Chopperface. I was flat broke and dey were offering a steady paycheck and dual citizenship in Japan and de U S of A. Honestly, how could I say no?" Dynomo's glare remained.
"Like this," He deadpanned, then turned to Fowler. "No." He turned on his heel and walked toward the exit, only for Rodney to dart across his path.
"Ah come on Dyno! After all de slag we been through you know me better dan dat! I swear I never told dem anything you didn't want me toos!"
"He's telling the truth," Fowler said backing him up. "Rodney only ever gave us enough information to keep other agents away. We didn't even know Miko had inherited your Cybertronian abilities until now." Dynomo continued to glare at Rodney, now trying to discern any contradiction to the Directors words. But Fowler wasn't ready to let a potential ally slip away just yet.
"You might have washed your hands of Cybertron's war, but Earth isn't exactly the image of World peace either. We've got our own problems to deal with," he explained as his tone darkened. "And they don't care whether or not you want to fight." Dynomo's response was laced with his old purring cybertronian accent, but also a condescending curiosity Fowler was more familiar with coming Miko.
"And who, might I ask Director, are they?"
'Yep,' Fowler thought, holding his cards close until the last possible moment, 'She's his daughter.'
"They call themselves Mech," he finally said, stance deflating somewhat but not softening in the least. "They're an international terrorist organization operating from without and within military forces all over the world. Their MO is global revolution and world domination through superior technology. And lately that technology has mainly been cybertronian in origin."
"Hold up," Rodney interjected, "I thought we took care of dis mess years ago."
"Silas has been MIA for almost four years now its true," Fowler admitted, "and we haven't seen hide or back stabbing hair of Mech since. But I have reason to believe they might be planning something, and it won't be good." Dynomo took in the information with the same stoic mask he always adopted, but his friend was loosing patience.
"Ah fer all depart-mentalized sewer sludge, will you spit it out already!" Fowler sat down and swiftly produced a folder from within his desk, one he quickly slid across the desk to Dynomo and Rodney. The two men began flipping through the various pictures and documents as the Director summarized their contents.
"Arthur Corris, former Captain in the Royal Marines, British special forces. He's greedy and too the point. With a knife and a gun."
"I heard bout dis guy," Rodney elaborated. "He got busted for raiding a mosque an try'n te sell de loot on de black market. Didn't he get locked in de slammer though?"
"Ten times and counting," Fowler sighed. "When he's not behind bars he hires himself out as a private contractor under the road name Ferrex, mostly by the kind of people that don't bother asking a lot of questions."
"Then He is a mercenary," Dynomo said looking at the Director, and Fowler could see the gears turning behind the elder Nakadai's green eyes. "How long has he been free?" Just like his daughter, Fowler realized, Dynomo didn't miss much.
"Almost a month," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. "But here's the scary bit. We've been combing the globe for this guy non stop since he broke out, but there's nothing to suggest he's taken any new jobs."
"So?" Rodney asked. "Maybe he's just laying low? Wait till de heat dies down."
"Unlikely. This guy's got a serious money addiction. Kinda guy that thinks every dollar has his name on it. Last time we caught him it was at a penthouse he'd just bought in Monte Carlo. While taking a bath in a solid gold tub." Surprisingly, Dynomo laughed at the image, though it was more a scoff than anything. He glanced back at Rodney.
"It seems there are those more addicted to wealth than you Vermin."
"Put a sock in it ya overgrown circuit board," The former thief shot back, before Fowler put the discussion back on track.
"That wasn't even the most interesting part of the arrest. This was." He reached up and pulled a full page sized picture from the bottom of the folder, then slid it in front of the two men and sat back to watch their reactions. "Those are his arms." Dynomo's indifferent mask remained, though obviously forced now. Rodeny had no such mask, and stared at the image in bare disbelief.
"What de heck is dat? Some kinda skin parasite?" he asked, leaning down for a better look at the picture. It was dominated by Ferrex's right and left fore arms, both almost completely covered in huge armor plate like scabs dominated by faded brown and rimmed with pale green.
"That," Fowler continued, "Is a biotech force enhancer. Whatever metal that guy touches, even if its just a passing bump, corrodes to dust in minutes." Dynomo instantly pulled his hand away from where it hovered just over the picture. "Most we can tell its the result of some type of nanomachine in his blood. This is high end, top of the line tech, and its got Mech written all over it." Dynomo didn't look away from the image, slightly touching the picture of the discolored mutated arms.
"You believe he is now their agent," he asked in a very unquestioning tone.
"They're the only ones that could have hooked him up with something this high tech. And given his military background there's a strong possibility this wasn't an on the spot decision either." He studied Dynomo's face, looking for any signs that the cybertronian exile was changing his earlier decision. "Mr. Nakadai, I have nothing but respect for you and your daughter. She's one of our best, and probably the toughest girl I've ever known. She took down three Cons with her bare hands, not to mention held her own against Soundwave and Starscream." Rodney smirked when he saw Dynomo's chest swell with pride, before Fowler played his trump card.
"But if Mech gets their greasy paws on her, it won't be long until they find out who and what she is." He sat a little straighter and folded his hand together atop his desk. "Five years ago Mech created an abomination. Ripped open three cybertronians before they were done. Bots or cons, didn't make one bit of difference to them. And you can be sure as there are 50 stars on the flag that they won't hesitate to do whatever they want to any cybertronian, or half cybertronian, they get their hands on."
Dynomo's silence endured, until he turned his eyes away from the picture before him and looked Fowler directly in the eyes.
"Very well," he sighed, stance unwavering. "But on one condition." Apparently Rodney had a good idea ow what his friend was about to say.
"Ah great, here it comes."
"I will help you fight this Mech, but Miko is still my daughter, and I am her Father. She is not to leave this base unless I or Roderick are with her." Rodney was ore than a little surprised by the detail of Dynomo's condition. Picking his kid up from the airport was one thing, but keeping her safe from giant alien robots was a whole other league of trust.
"Done," Fowler agreed, far too quickly for either of the friends liking's, but Dynomo wasn't about to count the gift horses teeth. "But I have to warn you, Miko's gotten pretty good at slipping off without anyone noticing until its too late."
"I do not intend to keep her from the battlefield, only to guard her against threats she is not ready for." The Director nodded, understanding a fathers wish to protect his children anyway he can.
"Fair enough. As far as paper work is concerned I'm listing you as a consultant to Miko and Agent McNeil."
"Consultant," Rodney scoffed as he rolled his eyes, "Riiiiiigghht."
"It'll keep the Regents off your back. Civilian operatives are the only thing they aren't allowed to mess with, and besides technically Rafael and Miko are consultants as well." Dynomo laughed slightly at the thought of his daughter consulting on anything without taking care of it herself. "But first," Fowler added looking at Dynomo. "I'm giving both you and your daughter a week's leave for..." He trailed off but the words had been enough for the elder Nakadai.
"Thank you," he smiled, then gave a quick bow before leaving the room, though his friend remained. Rodney followed after an only halfway serious salute, leaving The Director alone with his thoughts.
Having a veteran like Dynomo on their side would help, but it didn't change the fact that all his plans were dependent on Mech staying quiet until after the Decepticons were eliminated. And if Ferrex's going dark was any indication that would not be the case for much longer.
Fowler leaned back in his seat, tilting the chair with him as he wracked his brain and memory. Silas was the only one they'd ever been able to definitively link to Mech's operations, and they still had next to no intel of their command structure or hierarchy. If Mech was about to step up their operations again they would need someone to give those operations a direction. But who?
Anyone looking at the Blackrock industrial complex would have only seen what the locals had been seeing for years now. Miles and miles of abandoned factories lining the river bank as far as the eyes could see through the evening fog. Everyone assumed there had to be at least half a dozen or so homeless living in the rot at one point or another, it was a big place and the police couldn't patrol it all every night. Then again they also assumed their teenage relatives had eloped over state lines when they turned up missing, not realizing they would never be seen again.
Deep within the complex's central hub, nestled in the heart of a massive steel mill a hurricane of activity was growing with the sunset. Sparks flew from the foundries as the scrap metal hauled in during the night was melted down back into raw metal by the hellish colorless heat. The air was nothing more than a cacophony of banging metal on metal as masked workers heaved massive slabs of red hot metal across the open floor, herding them into rows and racks of other like shaped parts.
Above the Dantean inferno on walkways suspended from thick heavy chains patrolled armed guards, all fully armed and armored as if in defiance of the temperatures below. But elsewhere in the Roost, in the former loading bays for departing trains a hive of information had nested. Wires clung to the walls like vines, linking a vast forest of tree like computers, all navigated by a small army of masked men and women. They made constant adjustments and checked every detail of their systems security, knowing full well that the technician beside them could be hacking into any number of national servers at the same time.
These were the twin he viewed through changed eyes, a cold stern face barely masking the unyielding pride he felt at the sights all around him as he moved into the digital labyrinth with his new robotic partner on his shoulder, affectionately named Scalpel by the good Doctor. More than one of the technicians paused upon seeing him and Ferrex walk in, and a few stood at attention, but all shouted.
"Hey! Its him! He's back, He's really back!"
"Welcome home boss!"
"Hey hey Big Z is in the house!" He inclined his head to each greeting, allowing his chest to swell with their enthusiasm.
"Sir," One of the tech's said as she fell into step beside them, tablet held tight in hand. He nodded his head as the rightmost pane of his sight filled with information on the young woman, from age of 17 to her rank and her position as recently promoted head of their artificial intelligence project.
"Ms. Beller I presume," he said regarding the medium height blonde as Scalpel clicked his own greeting. "How goes the research?"
"On schedule," She said with a smile that was both awed and proud. Ferrex cracked his own smirk.
"No thanks to that bugger Powell," he laughed while Beller continued uninterrupted.
"We just finished simulations on the new A.I.'s. 79 to one kill ratio over the old constructs, and we're already making adjustments for the different field models."
"Excellent," he smiled slightly. "Keep up the good work Doctor, and keep me posted."
"Of course," She nodded eagerly, dropping out of step with the two, before calling after them. "And welcome back Sir!" He smiled and nodded to more technicians and soldiers, all repeating the same greeting in one form or another and it truly did feel good to be back in the saddle after his exile. Soon Ferrex was guiding him up a flight of metal stairs, the agents corrosive grip held in check by a pair of thick rubber arm length gloves.
"Sorry about the kids," He said in regards to the initial greeting. "Had to clean out the old rot Silas left behind when he went awol."
"Their age is not important. What is is how fast and how well they accomplish their tasks." He felt the temperature increase with the heat rising up from below, and his partner quickly ducked into his jacket's inside pocket as they left the stairs and entered the main manufacturing area.
"After all," He said walking up to a railing, hands clasped behind the back of his forest green leather knee length trench coat as his vision focused in and out on the soldiers above and the workers below. "What is the value of one cog compared to another in the great machine of order? Any number of combinations will succeed, so long as the care is taken to find them."
"Of course," Ferrex agreed taking a spot beside his friend on the railing, smiling broadly as he took in the sights and sounds all around them. "Look at it," he beamed like a proud brother. "Over a hundred thousand soldiers and personnel, from every navy, every army, every air force on earth. Technicians and engineers of every kind; mechanical, genetic, and of course, theoretic." He laughed in his throat. "Hard to believe that six years ago this was all just a tiny little back room conspiracy. Now we're a bona-fied army, ready to make the world our oyster. All we've been missing," he said looking at his friend, "is our General."
Now he allowed himself a full honest smile, white teeth flashing orange from the light below, the same light dancing across the metal plates now covering his face's scared right side. His head had been shaved clean for the procedure, allowing for a half skull cap that curved forward over his ear then arcing down to wrap part way round his chin leaving his mouth and nose untouched, while his eye was completely obscured behind an assembly of three rotating optical lenses mounted directly into the plate mounted to his head.
"You like?" Tar's voice sing-songed as he skipped up the stairs behind them and slipping onto the railing beside Ferrex. "I dusted all day just for your big arrival."
"Really," Ferrex said taking a gloved soot covered hand away from the railing, "How thoughtful of you."
"Aww, whats the matter Rusty?" Tar mock pouted as Ferrex bristled. "Are you sad that you didn't get such a big welcome? I'm not."
"Call me Rusty one more time ya little psycho-freak!," Ferrex growled reaching for the hem of his glove. "And I'll turn that steel plate you got in your skull to dust before you can blink!" But if Tar was threatened there was every sign to the contrary.
"Whatever you say buddy," he sighed. "At least we're not gonna run out of craaaaazzy any time soon."
"Look who's talking Hannibal Lecte,"
"ENOUGH!" Both men cowered at the Generals bark, not wanting to become familiar with the bite that could follow. "Tar, how's our boy genius?"
"More useful every shock," He smiled sadistically. "We're already more than 50% complete on half of the suits. But," he hesitated, "There is the issue of bodies for them to drive." The general said nothing as the surgeon explained their problem. "As you know Sir, Silas was a liiiiittle paranoid about the data he and his team recovered, so there are considerable gaps in the specifications that we would need for an actual functioning body."
"So," Ferrex sighed, "We have the drivers, but no rides." But while his friend's mood was dejected, The General noticed the mischievous gleam in Tar's eyes. He didn't like guessing.
"What?" He snapped, but the surgeon didn't even flinch.
"Our boy has been busy," Tar grinned. "Not only is he delaying Unit:E's suits, he's also made contact with the Decepticons. "Secretly" of course."
"What a moron," Ferrex laughed, "Does he really think he can just slip something like that by us?"
"It appears he's struck a deal with them for a little firepower, perhaps enough to win back his freedom."
"Whats the status of the Decepticons?" The General suddenly asked, confusing both his lieutenants.
"Uhh, hiding Sir," Ferrex said slowly. "From the looks of things they just recently came back from a big loss." For once Tar nodded in agreement.
"They're not exactly in a position to keep the Autobots occupied if you ask me. Could make it harder for us." But the General remained silent, brooding over some idea unknown to the others until finally.
"Stretched thin are they? It would be a shame if such scant resources were wasted on an insect such as Masterson. Tar," he barked suddenly, "I want you to establish a communication line with the Decepticon commander." Tar's look was one of utter astonishment, opening and closing his mouth a few times before looking The General dead in the optic.
"Come again?"
"You heard me," He said calmly, leaning forward onto the railing. "Silas was far too close minded when it came to dealing with his problems, focusing on his experiments and nothing else. Especially the consequences of his actions. His blind ambition made enemies for us out of both factions. I on the other hand will not waste the chance for such a valuable ally." He right himself again, then walked away down the walkway.
"Would you rather peer at the top of Olympus through the clouds? Or look down on earth from the side of Zeus?" He asked without looking back at them, knowing the words would fester in their minds just as his message had done with the thousands that now toiled at his feet. They would latch onto the implications of his message and in turn ignite the fires of ambition within, ambition that would drive them into a new world. A world unrestricted by the moral dogmas and stifling regulations. A world free to progress and grow in every direction until Humanity had ascended from apes crawling out of the muck to a Godhood of technology supreme.
This was his eternal goal. This was the new world order he envisioned. This was the vision at the core of M.E.C.H..