Born of Risen Apes, Not Fallen Angels

Chinatown, San Francisco, CA
5 years ago...

Smoke drifted through an open window, out into the streets. California was in the throes of summer, and it showed in a barely-lowered temperature that still meant people walking about in cotton shirts and shorts. Even in the midst of Chinatown, where parts of the wreckage from a gas leak still littered the streets in the midst of clean-up, people wore hats and sunglasses, and tourists were readily apparent by how they stopped to take pictures of nearly everything, including the green-tiled pagoda roofing and the group of old people in the middle of a public park, moving through different forms and stances.

"Why the old people?" one of the guys wearing a khaki cap commented to his friend. "It's not like... whoa."

"What?" his friend blinked, before he spotted the picture and gave a low whistle. "Oh, when did you appear, beautiful?"

"I wouldn't mind a piece of that," the other commented, before looking up.

"She's hot," he admitted, looking back up to meet twinkling dark slanted eyes.

He jumped back. "Oh, erm-"

The black-haired woman in an exercise vest and jogging slacks tilted her head, indicating the group of old people still in mid-form.

"I'm sorry," he swallowed. "It's- I'm sorry for disturbing you guys. A- Are you with them?"

She shrugged. Eyebrows furrowed, and her lips thinned. It had the effect of a pout.

"I'm sorry, do you speak English?" the man tried again. "My name's Graham, er, sorry, David Graham."

"Day. Vid. Gram." she enunciated.

"That's right," he nodded quickly in relief. "Erm, do you...?"

"Yes, I do," she continued in perfect English, smiling. "My name is Dahlia Su. Very nice to meet you."

Nellis Air Force Base,
present day

"Pretty sure it's The Nutcracker," was Will's final pronouncement upon the final of eleven repetitions. Not significant, given that the recording took place in the middle of a war-zone, but long for the Autobots. Even returning to Diego Garcia had been put off to track the signal down, hours after the San Francisco debacle.

Ratchet tilted his head, or what passed for it. The glazed look of hardcore online surfers, gamers and Autobots immersed in the World Wide Web passed over his optics before he came up with a reference. "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, composed by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, a Russian composer from-"

"Fine, we get it." Epps nodded, interrupting what sounded like a Wikipedia entry. "So, the Decepticons have a sense of humour, and a flare for the dramatic. They didn't just want to kill you guys, they wanted to make you all look like idiots too."

Bumblebee made another chirrup in Cybertronix, that had the younger Autobots and Ratchet sniggering at Ironhide.

Will looked up. "What?"

"Tooth fairy," Ratchet translated.

Ironhide gave a snort and a cannon roll in reply.

"But Bumblebee can communicate with his radio!" Will argued.

"That is correct," Optimus finally gave his contribution. "Which leaves us two possibilities. One, that the song itself holds an interesting auditory effect on all Cybertronians. Two, that the instrument playing it can produce a signal beyond the spectrum of human hearing, to give such an effect. Thus, one of us must-"

A mass of metallic giant limbs pushed the black mech amongst them forward.

"-thank you, Ironhide, for volunteering yourself."

"Wait, what! No-!" More cannons rolled.

"Come here, Ironhide," Ratchet raised a buzz-saw. "Don't make me throw a wrench at you."

"Slaggit!" Ironhide roared, before other Autobots got the drop on him.

"Make sure he's intact," Will called. "Graham needs a ride to pick up his girlfriend later, and he's the transport."

North Las Vegas Airport, NV,
present day

The electronic piano was propped in its trolley, and Dahlia strapped it down with a rubberised rope and attached hooks. The instrument might look out of place, being nearly as long as she was tall. Yet, it was her source of income, and thus precious.

"We made it out of San Fran," she patted the casing. "And into Sin City. Now, the Strip."

The piano did not reply.

"I knew it," Dahlia turned. Beside the baggage carousel, quite a few men – and women – turned their heads, almost in acknowledgement of her presence. More than one pair of eyes lingered, before sliding back to watching for their own luggage. For an airport filled with jaded travellers, it was actually a miracle.

Hard-soled shoes clicked as Dahlia strolled out with her carry-on and instrument, clicking her tongue as she lingered by the taxi stand.

"Hey."

Dahlia barely turned her head. "You're late, Captain Graham."

"Yeah, I had to borrow my superior's ride," Graham carefully patted the GMC Topkick next to him. "I go on tour for eight months and you're using Captain Graham now?"

"Well, usually we keep in contact even if it means talking about Dungeons and Dragons."

"Ouch," Graham joked as the Topkick rumbled. "How long are you gonna be in Vegas, love?"

"Three days," Dahlia replied, hoisting the electronic keyboard. "Am I still due to play for the boys at Nellis?"

"I'll arrange a concert and everything," Graham answered, helping her to shove the instrument into the trunk, albeit with some degree of care. One arm then looped her close in a hug as they shared a light kiss. "You alright?"

"Mild airsickness," Dahlia shook her head. "I'm fine. If my grandparents could survive the trip across the Pacific, I'm fine."

"Yeah, like Bruce Lee," Graham rebutted, but hastily closed the trunk and waited for her to board before getting in. "Where are you headed?"

"The Luxor."

Slowly, Graham sucked in a breath of air. "That's gonna be a lot."

"Does it matter?"

"You're performing there and you're asking if it matters?" Graham echoed.

"The music is the entertainment," Dahlia reasoned. "Its medium does not matter so much."

"Doesn't hurt to look," Graham teased, as they headed out towards the Luxor Las Vegas. "I mean... the Luxor. Ancient Egyptians and so on."

Dahlia did not reply, simply patting the dashboard.

"The keyboard's new," Graham commented.

"It's really the same keyboard," she admitted. "My RPG buddies put it together for me, since I play a bard in real life and in our games."

"Dahlia."

"Yes?"

"This is the bit where I ask you to play me like an instrument-"

The radio coughed, sputtered, and tuned into something like a litany of "NONONONONO-!" then died.

"...the car is right," Dahlia finally said. "That is a horrible pick-up line."

Sure, Cybertronians had their physical differences too, Ironhide grumbled to himself after being subjected to the tinkling music that was Ratchet's choice of torture, both from the signal in San Francisco, and whatever recording dredged from the cesspool of humanity's Internet. Filtered through the sensors of the bloody medic and several other Autobots that had been on-scene, the sub-audible signal had been lost, leaving nothing but ill will towards Tchaikovsky in general.

Physical differences, though. The range of human differences were minor, and yet cumulative in a unique product. The woman Captain Graham said was his girlfriend, for one, was clearly Asian, which brought up some things about national security. Aesthetically pleasant, for a human. Not that Ironhide cared.

Dahlia Su Daji, the profiles had read of her name and entire identity. No matter her name, or that she had multiple names – apparently a common result of the Chinese diaspora, he learnt – he was still an altogether insignificant woman who would never know what it was that had chauffeured her through Las Vegas, or Sin City, as humans called it. The reason why, the Autobot hardly knew or cared. Until interrupting human mating overtures created this entertainment.

"Radio problems?" the woman continued, seated in the back while Captain Graham drove, one arm looped around her instrument.

"Y- Yeah," Captain Graham stuttered. "It's Major Lennox's ride."

Technically accurate. No need to mention that not even Major Lennox drove his own ride.

"So, what are you performing tonight?" Graham finally asked.

"Mio Isayama, Tsuki no Waltz," Dahlia answered, her fingers beginning to tap out a rhythm on the keyboard strapped next to her. It resounded with a single-note melody. "Konna ni tsuki ga aoi yoru wa/ Fushigi na koto ga okiru yo/ Doko ka fukai mori no naka de/ Samayou, watashi."

The radio hissed, spat out a few sparks, and the GPS panel died.

"...I hope your superior has excellent auto insurance." Dahlia mentioned.

No other accidents happened until Dahlia was out of the truck, Graham had parked outside of the Luxor, and she had left man and pseudo-vehicle behind, carrying her keyboard. Graham got back inside, finally brushing the steering wheel in worry. "You okay, Ironhide?"

"...my locators are on the fritz, but other than that I shall be fine," Ironhide admitted through the radio. "They are being repaired as we speak."

"What happened?"

"Another signal," Ironhide groaned. "Unable to establish point of origin. Though, I noticed one thing."

"Yes?"

"Captain Graham... that keyboard your girlfriend's toting about, is looking really suspicious right now."

Ironhide's location perception was still off, hence accounting for why Graham took so long that he missed the opening number. The cure, however, came in the form of an errant bar of music, also being played by Dahlia.

"Ironhide?" Graham slowly asked, seated inside of the transformed Topkick.

"...what song was that?"

"What song was..." Graham lifted his head to listen. "Erm... Amazing Grace? You know?"

"I do not know. Enlighten me."

"It's a favourite," Graham shook his head. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound/ That saved a wretch like me./ I once was lost but now am found,/ Was blind, but now I see."

"...we need to call Prime."

So here, I set the story after the first film, but before the second took place. Partly because I have no idea how to locate this.

I will, however reveal that the inspiration of the fic came from the Supercell song 'The Everlasting Guilty Crown', performed by Egoist from the animé Guilty Crown. No matter how the animé itself was pretty bad, the songs are quite good.

Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!