Perception

The first thing I noticed was the disappearance of the four men that had been the heads of N.E.S.T. Lennox claimed that there had been no record of any of the names provided, and had fought for new leadership. Now Epps and Lennox alone commanded the small strike-team, and worked with us to try and figure out a way to find the missing Autobots and begin research on how to change us back. As we each would arrive, he would have us see the medical officials, so they could begin running tests.

As for Ratchet, he had indeed figured out to get ahold of everyone. Soon, pair by pair, we were gaining the Autobots back. Prowl and Jazz were picked up together, in the outskirts of Seattle. Their attitudes toward the situation both did and didn't match how Bumblebee, Ratchet, and I felt about the Change. Jazz had seemed to adjust to it much better than the rest of us, though he still was distraught, though comforted by my promise to bring us back to our Cybertronian selves. Jazz took an iPod as a gift from one of the N.E.S.T. operatives and has retreated into the music as a way to cope. Prowl, however, has still yet to say a word to anyone. He seemed to have withdrawn far into the reassesses of his mind, somehow finding comfort in becoming distant from everyone else. He seemed to only talk to Jazz, and even then his words were few in number.

After them, we retrieved Drift and Iron Hide. They had lighter spirits, and they were each looking forward to returning to their forms as everyone else was. Drift's sword had greatly downsized, turning into the form of a human's weapon, like that from their medieval days. Yet it seemed indestructible; it cut through anything that N.E.S.T. set up for him to train with, until all he had left to do was spar with the air. Iron Hide was large; about six feet tall, his body rippled with muscle, yet he wasn't taller than me. Drift was leaner, obviously built for speed, yet was strong, as well. They didn't seem to have changed much in personality from their Cybertronian forms, unlike Prowl.

And then, unlike the others, we found Wheeljack alone. His features were angular, and he was built like Ratchet, a human's example of peak physical condition. However, his hair was snowy white, and seemed to have a metallic silver, subtle and light, running through the strands. The moment he arrived, he began helping Ratchet and I find Smokescreen, who seemed to be the only one left out on his own. He wasn't answering our radio calls, like the others had, and after the third day with no success, we all were beginning to worry.

"Do you think he could be out of range?" Wheeljack asked.

"Impossible." Ratchet sniffed, leaning forward and pressing a foot on one of the buttons, causing the large screen to scroll down and look over the data that slowly moved across the screen. "As long as he's on Earth and within hearing shot of his car, we should be able to reach him. We should have been able to reach him three days ago."

"Hope the kid's alright. He hasn't been on Earth as long as we have. Maybe he got lost." Iron Hide called up from below. Wheeljack, Ratchet and I looked away from the screen to look back at him, and Wheeljack shook his head. "Nah, Smokescreen's a newbie but he has a lot of spark." Iron Hide nodded, at the same time Drift spoke. "That is true. We will find him soon, or he will find us. Either way, I am confident he is fine."

"If he doesn't call soon, we'll begin looking for him ourselves." I said, as I walked over to the ladder and began to climb down, taking it rung by rung.

"I feel like a living facsimile. Do you remember when we tried to make those?" Wheeljack marveled.

"Yeah. This time, though, we're more than projections with creepy smiles, and we got the hair right." Ratchet said sarcastically.

"Yup. Aren't I handsome?"

"Wheeljack . . ."

"Oh, stop being a gearstick, Ratchet!"

"Gearstick? You think I'm being a gearstick . . . ? I'll show you gearstick . . . !"

I turned away from their arguing, deciding it best not to get involved as long as it didn't turn physical. I knew it wouldn't. This had become a normal occurrence, it seemed as though Ratchet's temper had become shorter than ever, and Wheeljack knew just what to do to get on his nerves. I allowed it only because they worked better while they were arguing. It was strange, yet it seemed to keep their performance above average. Everyone else also learned how to avoid them while they were bickering, and continued on talking about Smokescreen.

I couldn't help but begin to worry about him, as well. He was the youngest and most inexperienced of all of us, and without knowing what the Decepticons were up to, there was no telling what could be happening to him at that moment. For a while, I began to think that perhaps he was somehow separated with his vehicle, and that he was just trying to find a different way back, but if that were true, then at least another one of us should have been separated, as well, yet all of us had somehow been accompanied by their vehicles. So it was quickly omitted, and I tried to think of other things as to why Smokescreen would still be missing.

"Optimus?" Lennox's voice called from behind me, and I turned, my eyes focusing on him as he walked forward, a slip of paper in his hand. "Since when do you get mail?"

"I . . . I do not." I said. To a large percent of the human world, I wasn't supposed to exist. Lennox raised his eyebrows, and then his brown eyes drifted down to the paper as he came to stand by me. I looked at it as well, my mouth slanted. It was rectangular, about four inches long and three inches wide. On one side, there was a picture, a scenic view of Nevada's deserts, shrubbery as dry as sunbaked paper withering in the cracked, sandy ground. Along the top edge, Welcome Back! was written in red, the letters cursive in nature. On the left side, an address, my name and our address, which was supposed to be top-secret, was placed on a sticker in the middle, and a return address was on the top left side. "Perception." Lennox read.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Hm. Some kind of company. You can tell by the P.O. Box address." Lennox answered. He looked to the cursive writing that was off to the right of our address, written in an elegant hand. "'We look absolutely forward to your visit at 10 o' clock p.m. on March 21 . . . Optimus, that's today."

"Continue. There is more." I said.

"'At 10 o'clock p.m. on March 21st. We have planned an elaborate party in your honor. We expect to see you with the utmost level of excitement. Should you wish to back out, a fair warning: We have something of yours that we believe you would be very interested in getting back."

-the C.E.O. and Chairman of Perception

Lennox looked up at me, and after a moment's pause I grabbed the card out of his hands and began to walk toward the garage, where my truck was stationed. The Autobots looked at me as I passed by, and then followed me as I continued by them.

"Optimus!" Ratchet called, and I could hear their footsteps as they followed me. "Where are you going?"

"To a party." I said, my voice low.

"Wait. You can't go alone. Let some of us go with you."

"We do not know these people at Perception." I argued, stopping my pace for a moment. "And we are not as protected as we were before. I cannot risk any of you going in with me."

"They don't have to go in." Lennox said suddenly. "You guys have different ways to stay in contact now. Come on, we'll get you suited up, with anyone you choose to come with you."

I hesitated for a moment, looking over all of the eager faces. Each pair of striking blue eyes said the same thing: They were each willing to help in whatever way they could. "Iron Hide. Drift. You both have the stealth and the muscle. You will be coming with me. Ratchet, Wheeljack, stay here in case Smokescreen calls in, in case my hunch is wrong. As for the rest of you, await our return." With that, I motioned with my hand for Iron Hide and Drift to follow me, and then we followed Lennox. The man kept in step with me, almost two of his strides needing to keep up with just one of mine. "We'll put bugs on you. You'll be able to keep in contact with Drift and Iron Hide the entire time you're there, as long as they're in your ear."

"Very well."

"Do whatever you need to do."

Within minutes, we were suited up and ready to go. I led them back to the garage, clutching the postcard tight in my hand, my eyes unable to look away from the final sentence. I could not help but have a foreboding feeling about just what this Perception could have for us. Were they behind the Change? Or was it something else entirely? We were going to find out tonight. I climbed into the truck, and typed in the address into the GPS, my patience just barely long enough to allow the device to plot out our location. And then I tore out of the garage, Iron Hide and Drift close behind me.

It took us no more than a half an hour to get within sight of Perception. The building was large, a skyscraper that reached gargantuan heights. In my ear, Lennox's voice said, "It says here that Perception is now the tallest building in Death Valley. But it doesn't say much more. I can't even figure out what these guys sell. It says it's a walk-in business only."

"We should soon find out what exactly they do." I said, glancing down at the postcard, the words we look absolutely forward to your visit popping out at me. My hands gripped the wheel tighter for a moment, before I reached up and pressed two fingers to the earpiece, the thin, circular device picking up my words as I spoke. "Split up. I want the both of you to park a block away from the establishment, yet close enough that at a moment's need, you can enter the establishment."

"We hear you loud and clear, Optimus." Iron Hide said, and I looked in my side mirror to watch them swerve away, splitting up and going down different directions, as I pulled into the large, elaborate parking lot that Perception provided. A line of lights guided my way, and trying to avoid them was impossible, for the rest of the parking lot was blocked off by closed gates. I arched an eyebrow, my lips pursing, just hoping that my hunch was correct. As I pulled closer to the front door, I could hear the music spilling out of the open doors, and there were a number of people gathered around the opening. A lone person stood at the edge of the walkway, and even through the dark I could see the flashy smile he had on his face. I slowly slowed down, coming to a stop inches from where the walkway cut off, before the fence started up again. He motioned for me to come out of the truck and join him. I grabbed ahold of the postcard and slipped out, pressing the button that locked all of the doors to my truck, warily eyeing the crowd of people that were trying to push past each other to look as I approached the man carefully, my eyes studying him.

"Welcome to Perception." he greeted, outstretching a hand, yet I didn't take it.

"I got your postcard. I am-"

"Oh, we know who you are, Mr. Prime. Come, follow me." Instead of waiting for me to comply, he grabbed me by the arm, surprising strength not allowing me to dig my heels into the pavement and stay where I was. He half-dragged me into the establishment, the music only getting louder as we entered. Once we went under the boisterous canopy that stretched over the walkway and through the double doors, I could feel the blasts emanating from the speakers that were set up everywhere, in a row on the wall, one for every five-foot length. My optics looked over the room, trying to see through the blue smoke that hung in the air, and the flashing lights that were displayed overhead. On stands, there were females, their bodies slender and fully curved. Their hands were in the air, and they languidly swayed their hips to the music, all in synchronization, performing the same pattern of moves at exactly the same moment. The moment I was in the room, the male raised his free hand that wasn't holding onto my arm, a bright smile on his face.

The music was turned to an almost inaudible volume, and everyone stopped moving, every pair of eyes focused on me.

"Our guest of honor has arrived! Bring him a drink!" the male shouted, and the crowd parted to the sides of the room, clapping, laughing, and cheering. Quickly I shook my head, proclaiming, "That will not be necessary . . ."

The man turned to me, his crimson eyes staring into mine, and while there was a smile on his face, there was something about his gaze that made me feel strange. "Oh, but we insist, Mr. Prime. We prepared all of this for you . . ." he purred, turned to take a drink from one of the woman that had gotten down from their pedestals. Her optics trailed along my frame, and she smiled and turned away from me, one of her eyes closing as she returned to her place. "And you must be so thirsty. I can tell."

At first, I was about to deny such a claim; I had gotten my fill of liquid back at the base. I wouldn't need a drink from them. Yet to my surprise, my mouth was dry, my throat almost in pain; the moisture had disappeared. I looked to the drink that he was offering me, his angular features reflecting endless patience, a white smile spreading across his lips, almost as though it had been plastered there. I hesitated, looking at the drink, then to him studying his form again. His black hair was short, and he wore a black dress shirt, the cotton so thin I could see elaborate, swirling tattoos across his chest and arms. Black jeans clad the lower half of his body, and black suede shoes hid his feet.

"Just one drink, to accept our gracious hospitality. That's all we ask for." He insisted, his voice smooth like velvet, a purr underneath the tones that pleaded with me. I looked around, and realized that everyone was watching, waiting. I reached my hand up, slowly, hesitantly, once or twice almost bringing it back down to my side. During those times, his gaze caught mine, their ruby sheen almost daring to put my hand back down at my side. I then took the glass, the cold material covered in condensation, a single disappearing cube in the middle. I looked to him, and he smiled again, his voice sliding through the quiet room once more. "Go on."

I placed the cup to my lips, the cold glass shocking me, and the burn of the liquid filling my mouth and then scorching my throat as it slid down, yet something was preventing me from putting the glass back down, and wouldn't release me until the glass was empty. I brought it back down, my eyes watering and a cough escaping from my lips as the music was turned back up to its original ear-splitting volume, and the crowd surged to the entire floor again, the women beginning to dance. The man smiled at me, his optics flashing as he said, "Enjoy the party, Mr. Prime. You will be attended to as soon as your host is informed of your arrival."

I turned toward him as he took my glass, trying to stop him, yet by the time my eyes had stopped watering, he had already disappeared through the swelling masses of people. "Wait . . ." still escaped my lips, and in my ear a voice buzzed, trying to ask what was going on, yet I had no idea how to describe what I was seeing, so I shook my head, muttering only just loud enough for them to hear. "It must be nothing." I then tried walking forward, looking for what they could have that would be something of importance to us. Yet everything was new, and smoke had filled the room again, making it hard to see. As I walked through, males and females alike shot me glances that made me uncomfortable. All of the females that were free brushed up against my body, their barely-clothed forms reaching out for mine.

I tried to casually and respectfully walk away, my expression most likely showing off how unsettled I was. Yet it seemed there was no way to escape them. I was cut off by an entire group, who surged around me and seemed to herd me into a corner, all of their bodies pressing against mine, pushing and pulling me to a designated area. "Ladies . . ." I began to protest, putting up my hands and struggling to get out of their grasps. Yet they remained, stubbornly keeping their place, their eyes catching mine. "Oh, please, Mr. Prime . . ."

"Don't go, Mr. Prime." "Stay here, with us, Mr. Prime." "Please." "Please." "Please." "Stay." "Stay."

I tried pushing them away, despite their entreating voices, all coming to meet my audits at once, their hands touching my bare skin. Yet the more I fought them, the more they seemed to get stronger. Soon, my sight, my hearing, it began to be warped, the music sounding strange, and the edges of my vision becoming blurred. After that, my head began to swim, a terrible grogginess falling over it, making my mind clouded. My thoughts seemed to run together, becoming entangled as the women continued to press me, until my back was against a wall and they surrounded me, all of their bodies holding me in place. I had given up pushing them away, instead brushing a line of sweat that had accumulated on my brow, and then holding my head, which in its swimming state had started up a fiery headache that stayed right behind my brow. The music made it worse, as well as their pressing as they touched my body despite my now-feeble warnings.

I let my strength accumulate for a moment, and when one woman had gone too far, her hands reaching underneath my jacket to try and slide her fingers underneath my shirt, I pushed them away, breaking through their group and retreating through the crowd. I went where they were parted enough for me to go through, horrified at how terrible I had become at walking. A straight line away from them seemed to be unachievable. Yet at last I seemed to finally be able to break free, getting out of the crowd at a random spot that led to a stairway that elaborately led upward to a balcony that overlooked the large room. I placed a hand on the purple wall, clutching my stomach as it twisted inward, an unsettled feeling coming over it as the room continued spinning on whatever axis my head was turned. Now desperate to escape the crowd, which I feared would follow me, I stumbled up the stairs, until I was at the top, where my body seemed to lose all of its sense of balance.

I dropped to my knees, my hands gripping the red banister so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. The mirrored support bars reflected my pale face, and my blue brows rose in surprise at myself. I looked terrible. Immediately, my mind withdrew to the drink the man had offered me. What in Primus's name was in that drink? I thought, taking notice of my heavy breathing. A sound came from behind me, and my back straightened, becoming rigid, the voice making my body tense. "My, my, Optimus Prime. It looked like someone has done a little too much partying in their very short visit."

I turned to look up into the crimson gaze that looked down at me, my voice shaky as I tripped over a response.

"Who are you?"