Sam was in the process of toweling dry his hair when someone knocked on the bedroom door. He half-turned in surprise to find a man standing in the doorway. The stranger was older, maybe late-40s or early-50s, with graying hair and a kind, open face. Sam slowly lowered his arms, gripping the damp towel in both hands, as the stranger smiled at him in greeting.
"Good morning, Sam." He said politely, "May I come in?"
Sam's eyes were immediately drawn to the stethoscope slung around the stranger's neck. It was an innocuous thing, a stethoscope, but the sight of it made Sam's heart skip a beat. The stranger seemed to correctly interpret his reaction, for he gripped the ends of the stethoscope in both hands, before offering Sam a rueful smile in apology.
"Forgive me. That was insensitive." He pushed his hands into his pockets, making no move to enter the bedroom. "My name is Hoist, and as you've probably already inferred, I am an Autobot medic. How are you feeling this morning?"
Sam stared back at him distrustfully. The stranger looked harmless enough—the argyle sweater vest and collared shirt gave him an almost professorial appearance—but Hoist wasn't exactly a family name.
"Are you an actual person?" Sam asked bluntly, before nodding towards the window, "Or are you one of them?"
The shadow of something crossed over Hoist's face—disapproval, maybe, or consternation. In the next moment it was gone, replaced with an expression of wry humor.
"This is a holoform projection." He acknowledged with a tip of his head, "It is an extension of my primary sensory array—in essence, an extension of myself. It is a useful tool for interacting with humans."
Sam's mouth thinned in a grimace at the distinction. Humans and Autobots. He bundled the towel into a ball, before tossing it through the bathroom door. It landed a short distance away from the pile of discarded clothes. Sam turned back around, folding his arms over his chest to level a distrustful look at the holoform, which had not moved from where it stood.
"What do you want?" He asked, coldly.
Hoist peered at him closely, as though in consideration, before his demeanor shifted, becoming business-like. "I was concerned you may be experiencing lingering effects from the medications you were administered." He replied, "How do you feel?"
Sam frowned faintly at the reminder of what had happened at the compound. He had hazy half-memories of fear and confusion, but he couldn't remember much after being pinned against the table. The whole experience seemed to be bisected into individual snapshots, like stills from a roll of film: his frightened expression reflected in polished metal; the slash of red against the pallor of a dying man's face; the concerned frown knitting a stranger's mouth—
"Sam?" Hoist asked, an undercurrent of professional concern in his voice, "Are you alright?"
"You were there." Sam murmured, gaze flicking up to the holoform's face, "At the barn—I remember you."
Hoist looked momentarily taken aback by the pronouncement, before inclining his head in acknowledgment. "I wasn't sure whether you would remember. Haloperidol and midazolam in those dosages can have a deleterious effect on memory." The holoform scrutinized him closely, a frown playing at the corners of his mouth, "Are you alright?"
Sam huffed a bitter laugh. He wasn't sure how to respond to that, but it certainly wasn't going to be anything approaching the truth.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He muttered.
The holoform's expression sharpened, growing shrewd. "Any nausea, vertigo, or dizziness this morning?"
Sam made his way over to the window, before pushing the curtain aside with his fingers. The cars that had been parked in neat formation earlier that morning were now arranged down the full length of the driveway. The black pick-up truck was idling nearest the road, while the yellow roadster was parked further away. Sam frowned faintly, staring at the luxury vehicles in growing consternation.
"Sam?" Hoist prompted gently.
"Which one are you?" Sam asked without taking his eyes off the vehicles parked below.
"You can't see me from this vantage point." Hoist replied, before his voice turned wry, "I would be easy to spot. I'm the only ambulance."
Whatever Sam might have said was forestalled by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He stiffened as Jazz stepped onto the landing. Hoist inclined his head in greeting, before moving aside to make room for the other holoform in the doorway.
"He good to travel?" Jazz asked, his voice just as irritatingly upbeat as it had been downstairs.
Hoist cast him an exasperated look. "We were just discussing it."
Jazz hummed in acknowledgment, before sidling past the other holoform into the bedroom. Sam tensed as he approached, heart kicking inside his chest, but Jazz didn't even look at him. The holoform ambled towards the wingback chair in the corner, before grasping Sam's backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Well, Cinderella, we're ready to go whenever you are." He said, turning towards the door, "Don't take too long or the coach'll turn back into a pumpkin."
Sam bristled at the holoform's casual invasion of his privacy. His backpack wasn't much, but it was all he had left in the world.
"Put that down." He bit out.
"It'll be downstairs waiting for you." Jazz replied, giving him a jaunty two-finger wave as he started towards the stairs.
Sam narrowed his eyes at the holoform, but he didn't protest or follow after him. Jazz nodded to Hoist as he stepped onto the landing. The medic gave him a meaningful look in return, which the other holoform seemed to ignore entirely as he started down the staircase. Hoist watched him go, shaking his head with a resigned sigh, before glancing back at Sam.
"Let me know if your nausea returns." The medic instructed, "Are you allergic to any medications?"
Sam could have refused to answer him out of principle, but it seemed short-sighted. The medic had probably saved his life at the farm, after all.
"No, not that I know of." He admitted, reluctantly.
Hoist seemed to hesitate for a moment, before giving Sam a reassuring smile. "I realize this whole situation is less than ideal, but things will get better soon. You'll see."
Whatever charitable feelings Sam might have been harboring towards the medic evaporated in an instant. He grabbed his shoes off of the bed, before crossing over to sit in the wingback chair. He was keenly aware of the medic's gaze as he tied the laces with short, angry yanks, but he did his best to ignore him.
"Let's just get this over with." Sam muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
The medic stepped aside as Sam approached the door. He paused on the threshold long enough to glance over his shoulder, reflexively checking the room for anything he might have left behind, before remembering that he had nothing left to his name. He flushed hotly as he turned and started down the staircase. The steps groaned under his weight, just as they had earlier that morning. The kitchen had been cleaned in his absence—the countertops and stainless steel appliances gleamed in the warm sunlight. Sam hesitated briefly on the landing, his instincts warring with his common sense, when the sound of Hoist on the stairs spurred him forward.
The house was quiet enough that he could hear the low rumble of engines from outside. Sam's stomach felt like it was sinking as he pushed open the screen door. He was immediately assaulted by the heat—the air was hot and humid and heavy, despite the early morning hour. He grimaced, squinting in the sunlight as he stepped outside. Jazz's holoform was leaning against the rear fender of the sleek, silver coupe that had flashed its high beams at him last night.
"All set?" He asked dryly.
As the holoform spoke, the passenger side door on the silver coupe popped open. Sam stared in dismay as it swung back and forth, as though in invitation.
"Is that… you?" He asked, struggling to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
"Yup." Jazz replied, popping the plosive with enthusiasm, "The one and only."
Sam could feel the color rising in his face, and he desperately hoped it would be mistaken for a heat stroke. It had somehow never occurred to him that he would be sitting inside a sentient vehicle for the duration of their trip—a sentient vehicle that was capable of transforming into a bipedal alien on a whim.
"Is there another car?" He asked, hating the undercurrent of desperation in his voice, "One that isn't… alive?"
"What, you don't like it?" Jazz replied, pressing a hand over his heart, "Sam. Sammy. Sam-my-man. I spent a lot of time choosing this alt mode."
Sam's flush deepened, spreading all the way to his hairline. "It's a very nice… alt mode." He managed, stumbling a little on the unfamiliar terminology, "But, I mean… wouldn't it be—"
"Sam." Jazz interrupted, his voice oddly gentle, "You're okay. It's gonna be fine."
Sam instantly bristled at the tone of the holoform's voice. He wasn't a child in need of placating, and there was absolutely nothing fine about his circumstances. Sam set his jaw, before gathering up the tattered remains of his dignity and stalking towards the coupe. The passenger side yawned wider as he approached—a deeply unsettling thought—but Sam slid into the seat without hesitation. His book bag was tucked in the footwell on the passenger side, just as Jazz had promised. The sight gave Sam a painful twist inside his chest. The door carefully swung shut behind him, and Sam had to resist the urge to flinch as the lock engaged.
Suddenly, the other door was being pulled open, and Jazz's holoform dropped into the driver's seat with enough force to rock the coupe on its wheels. One by one, the vehicles parked in front of them began rolling towards the road. The brake lights on the yellow Camaro directly in front of the coupe briefly lit up, before it started down the driveway.
"Buckle up." Jazz instructed, one hand curled loosely around the steering wheel, while the other rested on the gearshift, "Safety first."
Sam hesitated, before turning to grasp the seatbelt and pull it across his chest. As soon as the latch slid into place, the lights on the dashboard lit up all at once. Sam sat stiffly on the edge of the seat, hands in his lap, as the coupe followed behind the Camaro. They slowed down as they approached the road—ostensibly to look for traffic, but Sam was skeptical—before pulling out of the driveway. The safehouse was located on a quiet country road lined with oaks and thick underbrush. They drove the better part of a mile before they encountered another residence, which was set back from the road on a sprawling, well-maintained property.
"Any music preference?" Jazz asked conversationally, making Sam jump, "I prefer the oldies, but different strokes for different folks."
Sam's gaze flicked towards the holoform, before he turned his head, staring steadfastly out the window. Jazz seemed to interpret his silence as an answer in its own right, for in the next moment, the radio turned on. The music was low at first, barely above a murmur, before it steadily increased to highway volume. Sam didn't recognize the song—something twangy and heavy on the brass instruments. He listened in silence as they drove. The countryside was swampy and flat, which provided an unobstructed view of the convoy extending ahead of them. The black pick-up truck was in the lead, followed by a Jeep Wrangler and two flashy coupes—one red, one yellow—in front of the Camaro. Sam glanced into the side mirror. They were being followed at a close distance by a blocky red-and-white ambulance, and further back, a solid looking camper truck.
The vegetation grew steadily thicker as they drove. It wasn't long until the roadside was crowded by overhanging banyan trees and scraggly looking dogwoods. Sam did his best to ignore the holoform in the driver's seat, but he couldn't help watching out of the corner of his eye. Jazz did a passable impression of driving the vehicle. His hands rested on the steering wheel at six-and-four, fingers drumming against the dark leather. The only indication that Jazz wasn't a flesh-and-blood human came whenever he wanted to change the music. The radio dial slid across frequencies of its own accord until the Autobot found something he liked.
And what he liked, it seemed, was everything and anything.
The twangy blues song was followed by Zeppelin, which was followed by Michael Jackson, and then a score from Hamilton. Sam kept waiting for something unfamiliar and alien, but it never came. They crossed the Florida state line a half-hour later to the soulful vocals of Elvis Presley. Sam found himself slowly relaxing in increments: first his hands unclenched from around his knees, then his posture loosened, and eventually, he cautiously settled against the seat. It was only then, reclined against the warm leather, that he risked glancing around the interior. The coupe was small—far smaller than any other car Sam had been inside—with two front seats and a narrow center console. Still, the interior was all dark leather and carbon fiber accents with a top-of-the-line entertainment system.
Idly, Sam wondered whether the coupe's specifications had been copied exactly or whether its features had been chosen individually to achieve a desired result.
The thought occupied him for the rest of the morning. Sam stared out the window as they made their way through rural Georgia. The roads were mostly empty, except for the occasional pick-up truck or semi-trailer. The landscape was equally unremarkable. There was the odd residential property or lumber mill, but otherwise it was farmland and brush as far as the eye could see. They passed a smallish town around the two hour mark that seemed to rise out of the flat, empty landscape without warning. Sam sat up straighter in his seat at the sight of take-out restaurants and road-side motels and traffic lights. The convoy slowed to thirty-five as they passed the city limits. Sam didn't know whether to be exasperated or annoyed by the fact the Autobots scrupulously obeyed every traffic law in the book in the midst of a kidnapping.
The little town disappeared in the rearview mirror shortly thereafter, and Sam was left staring at the empty landscape again. He was tempted to ask Jazz where they were going, but breaking the silence seemed like a capitulation, and so he stubbornly held his tongue. He figured they were going to one of two places: either the embassy in Washington, D.C. or the consulate in Nevada. He didn't have to wonder about it for long. The rural road transitioned into a divided highway, and the convoy took the first exit towards Birmingham, Alabama.
They were headed west.
Sam clung to the knowledge like a talisman.
The convoy continued on for another half-hour, before pulling off at a service station on an otherwise empty stretch of highway. Sam sat up straighter in his seat as the black pick-up turned into the parking lot. There were maybe a dozen or so vehicles scattered around the lot, but it seemed relatively quiet. The pick-up truck pulled into a space in front of the building, while the other vehicles found spots nearby. Jazz parked beside the pick-up, directly in front of the double glass doors that led inside. Sam reached for the belt buckle with unsteady hands when the passenger side door swung open without warning. Jazz's holoform crouched down directly beside him, resting on the balls of his feet, so that he and Sam were eye-level with one another. Sam jerked backwards in surprise, before reflexively glancing at the now-empty driver's seat.
"Sam, I want you to listen to me very, very carefully. Do you understand?" Jazz waited until Sam jerked his head in the affirmative before continuing, "Cybertronians have an extended sensory array capable of detecting bio-signatures up to a half-mile. Your body temperature? 98.2 degrees. Your heart rate? 84 beats per minute." Jazz's lips twisted in something like a wry half-smile, "Make that 92 beats per minute. 101. 112." The projection's expression lost its humor as he murmured, "So, do us both a favor and don't try anything stupid. Feel me?"
Sam's heart was rabbiting inside his chest, but Jazz seemed to be waiting for an answer, and so he jerked his head in another nod. Jazz stared at him for a moment longer, before straightening to his full height and stepping aside. At the same time, the belt buckle unlatched and the seat belt retracted of its own accord. Sam climbed out of the coupe on unsteady legs to find Lennox, Epps, and Anderson standing with the two unknown men from earlier that morning. The five of them were milling around the service station entrance—waiting for him, Sam realized belatedly.
"How was the drive?" Anderson asked good-naturedly, "Sorry you got stuck with an alt mode without reclining seats. I mean, honestly, how practical is a coupe?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, the yellow roadster parked a half-dozen spaces away laid on its horn. Sam startled badly enough that he almost stumbled, but Anderson just flashed a cheeky grin in the coupe's direction. The horn abruptly cut-off a moment later, and in the ensuing silence, Sam found himself being herded into the service station. The building was just the same as every other service station that Sam had visited in his life. There was a small cafe with a modest seating section located against one wall, which was separated from the confectionery and overpriced groceries by a long check-out counter.
"Lennox, why don't you grab some coffee?" Jazz suggested, before placing a hand at the small of Sam's back, "It's going to be a long drive."
Sam stiffened from head to toe at the unexpected—and unwelcome—contact. At the same time, Lennox snorted, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, before glancing over at them.
"How do you take yours?" He asked, conversationally.
The situation was so surreal that Sam found himself answering, faintly, "...Cream and sugar."
Jazz applied the barest hint of pressure against the small of Sam's back. It wasn't much, but it was certainly enough to spur him forward. The holoform steered him past the checkout counter, down a long aisle of groceries, towards the far wall. When they cleared the shelving, Sam could see the 'BATHROOM' sign affixed above the entrance to a unisex toilet.
"This is you." Jazz said, nodding towards the door.
Sam flushed at the not-so-subtle command. The bathroom was located in the far corner of the service station between a magazine rack and a display of windshield washer fluid. It was about as far from an exit as feasibly possible without violating some kind of building code.
"Listen, kid, not to hurry you or anything." Jazz prompted wryly, "But this is the last stop until Oxford, so it's sort of a 'speak now or forever hold your peace' situation."
Sam narrowed his eyes at the amusement undercutting the holoform's tone, but Jazz just shrugged, seemingly unaffected by his anger. It was enough to provoke Sam into yanking open the bathroom door. Jazz folded his arms and leaned against the wall as Sam stalked inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He knew a moment of petty satisfaction, before he turned around and froze. The bathroom was small, barely large enough to fit the sink and toilet, but there was a hopper window located on the opposite wall. It was open a crack, just far enough that Sam could catch the smell of asphalt from outside.
"Your heartbeat just jumped to 122." Jazz called through the bathroom door, "Don't get any smart ideas, kid."
Sam swallowed against the sudden choke of emotion. He knew the opening wasn't big enough to slip through even if he managed to get the window pane off without breaking it. He stared at the rectangle of clear, blue sky in crushing disappointment. He knew it was pointless—knew in his bones that Jazz had cased the bathroom before they had even stepped foot inside the service station—but still, he stared.
And then, as though on auto-pilot, he relieved himself and washed his hands. When he pulled open the bathroom door a few minutes later, he couldn't quite look Jazz in the face.
"C'mon, kid." The holoform murmured, tipping his head towards the café, "Let's go."
Sam let himself be guided towards the exit without protest. Lennox and Anderson were waiting near the front doors. Lennox pried a disposable coffee cup out of the drink tray he was holding as they approached. He offered it to Sam, before transferring the tray to his other hand to pass Sam one of the paper bags he was holding.
"Here." He said, adjusting his grip on the tray, "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got a few things."
Sam silently accepted the offering, before brushing past Lennox to step outside. It was just as hot here as it had been in Florida. Sam grimaced as he made his way over to the silver coupe—the passenger door swung open as he approached. He ducked into the cabin, putting the coffee cup in the center console, before leaning over to pull the door shut behind him. As he settled back against the seat, Sam happened to catch sight of Lennox through the windshield. The older man was frowning hard enough to pinch the corners of his mouth. Sam stared at him for a moment longer, before turning to fasten his seat belt. The sound of the latch sliding into place seemed loud in the confines of the cabin.
When he turned around again, Lennox was nowhere to be seen.
A moment later, Jazz pulled open the driver's side door and leaned down far enough to peer at him. Sam stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his presence. The holoform scrutinized him for a moment longer, before climbing into his seat. Sam took a sip of his coffee as they pulled away from the curb.
It was a long, silent drive to Missouri.
They pulled into the parking lot of a Four Seasons just after nine o'clock that evening. The sun had slipped beneath the horizon twenty minutes earlier, and the stars were already coming out overhead. The pick-up truck parked in front of the motel office, before cutting its engine. The other vehicles pulled into spaces, one after the other, down the length of the building. Jazz parked in front of a nondescript door near the end of the row. His headlights briefly illuminated the front stoop, before going dark.
"Go on." Jazz murmured as the passenger side door popped open, "Stretch your legs. Lennox will bring the room keys."
Sam stumbled out of the car without a word. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't sore—his neck and backside were the worst, but his knees and hips weren't much better. The Pontiac Solstice might have been a luxury vehicle, but it was still a damn coupe. Sam rubbed his neck as he paced back and forth in front of the motel room. He was aware of Jazz's holoform leaning against his alt mode, watching him, but Sam steadfastly ignored him. His tolerance for Jazz's constant supervision had petered out somewhere in northern Tennessee.
The crunch of gravel alerted Sam to someone's arrival. He turned to find Anderson and Kelley making their way towards him. He resisted the urge to grimace. He wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat right now—not by half.
"Hey, Sam. How're you feeling?" Kelley asked.
"Fine." He replied stiffly.
Kelley gave him a sympathetic look. "That bad, huh? Have a hot shower. It'll help."
Sam's mouth twisted by way of answer, but otherwise he didn't reply. Anderson glanced back and forth between them, before offering Sam a cheerful smile. "We're taking dinner orders. What'll you have? There's a restaurant in the motel, but Jason's also heading into town. There's a Thai place with decent reviews that's not far."
"I'm not hungry." Sam bit out.
A look of consternation briefly knitted Anderson's brow, before he forced his smile a little wider. "Oh, come on." He coaxed, "It's been a long day—you must be hungry. What do you want?"
What Sam wanted was to go to sleep and wake up in his own bed as though none of this had ever happened. He grimaced deeply. Unfortunately, it didn't seem that option was on the menu. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, before starting to pace again. He was aware of the look that Anderson and Kelley exchanged with one another, but Sam ignored them too.
"I'll get a spread." Kelley offered eventually, "Lennox and Epps can never agree on what they want, so there'll be plenty to choose from."
"Someone talking about us?"
Sam's head came up at the sound of Epps' voice. The older man was walking across the parking lot with Lennox at his side. Neither one of them seemed any worse for wear after twelve hours on the road.
"Did you hear me cussing?" Anderson asked back good-naturedly.
Lennox gave him a wry look as he tossed something in Anderson's direction. The redhead caught whatever it was with both hands.
"Neato burrito." Anderson laughed, holding up a motel room key for inspection, "Who's bunking with me?"
"You can figure it out." Lennox returned wryly, before extending one of the key's in Sam's direction, "You're in Room 22, kid."
Sam accepted the motel keys, before twisting to glance down the long row of identical doors. He was entirely unsurprised to find that Jazz had parked in front of his assigned room. He gripped the key chain tightly enough that the hard plastic dug into his skin. It seemed the Autobots had planned their excursion down to the very last detail.
The knowledge made him feel nauseous.
"So, what's everyone getting for supper?" Epps asked.
All at once, Sam had reached the end of his patience. He walked over to the motel room door, sliding the key into the latch and unlocking the deadbolt. Sam snapped on the light as he stepped inside, before pushing the door shut behind him. He locked the deadbolt again with a twist of his wrist. Sam pressed his forehead against the door, before reaching blinding for the privacy latch. It locked into place with a metallic-sounding thunk.
Sam took a moment to compose himself, before turning to inspect the room. It looked exactly like he would have expected: faded wallpaper, queen sized bed, flat screen television. He ambled across the room to snap on the bathroom light. The overhead fan immediately began to rattle against its plastic casing, but Sam hardly noticed—he only had eyes for the shower. He briefly toyed with the idea of demanding his backpack, but ultimately he decided against it. The shower sputtered and groaned when he turned it on. It took a few minutes to figure out the temperature gauge, and then he stripped down and climbed into the bathtub. He stood under the steaming spray for a long time, letting it cascade down his back, before he actually went about the process of getting clean. He only felt marginally better after he had finished.
Sam ambled out of the bathroom wearing nothing but his boxers. He was toweling dry his hair when he noticed his backpack sitting on the armchair near the door. Sam went still at the seemingly innocuous sight. He quickly glanced over at the motel door—the deadbolt and the privacy latch were still in place—before cautiously padding across the room. He unzipped the bag with unsteady hands, rooting around inside, but nothing seemed to be missing. The unfamiliar crinkle of plastic had Sam unzipping the front pouch only to find that someone had stuffed a ziplock baggie full of personal hygiene products inside it.
Sam stared at the baggie for a long time, before glancing at the door again. Still locked. He snorted softly in disbelief as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"My entire life is a fever dream." He announced to the empty room.
Silence was his only response.
Sam shook his head in resignation, before going about the process of getting dressed. He was left to his own devices for the better part of an hour when someone finally knocked on the door. Sam steadfastly ignored whoever it was. The knock came again, louder this time, and Sam responded by upping the volume on the television. He aimlessly flipped through the channels until the late night talk shows had been replaced by infomercials. He glanced at the door again. No one had tried to bother him for hours.
Sam set the remote control on the bedside table, before silently padding towards the window. He drew back the heavy black-out curtains just far enough to peek outside. The parking lot was dark and quiet, distant streetlamps casting long shadows. Jazz was parked directly in front of the motel room, but the next nearest vehicle was located two or three rooms away. Sam let the curtain flutter shut, before making his way back to the bed.
Surely, the Autobots had to rest at some point, but how would he know whether they were awake or asleep?
Sam laid down on the mattress, before rolling over onto his side. The clock radio on the bedside table read '2:14 AM' in blocky red letters. He stared at the time with a sort of sinking resignation. There were half-a-dozen Autobots between him and freedom, but what would he do even if he managed to slip away? He had no cash, no cell phone, and no contingency plan—and the Autobots weren't the only ones pursuing him.
Sam ground the heel of his hand into his forehead. What in the fuck was he supposed to do?
"You're thinking too much, kid." Jazz said, "You should get some sleep."
Sam startled so badly that he almost fell off the bed. He whipped around, staring incredulously at the sight of Jazz reclining in the chair next to the door as though he'd been there all night. The holoform's legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and he was watching Sam with a benign expression on his face.
"What in the fuck? " Sam yelled, pushing up onto his knees, "Get out!"
Jazz clucked his tongue regretfully. "No can do, kiddo. I'm on watch-duty.
"I said get out!" Sam shrieked, his voice rising in pitch and volume.
"Believe me: I heard you the first time." Jazz replied dryly, "And I wasn't jokin' about getting some shut-eye. We have an early day tomorrow."
"I couldn't care less!" Sam seethed, "Now get the fuck out or so help me god, I'll—"
"You'll what? Pitch a hissy fit?" Jazz asked mildly, "Go ahead. We booked the whole place out. Scream the walls down, if it suits you."
The retort was delivered in the same wry tone as most of Jazz's smart remarks. It made Sam's blood absolutely boil.
"What is your fucking problem?" Sam demanded, scrambling off the mattress.
Jazz gave him a decidedly put-upon look in return. "At the moment? Fussy little cassettes that don't wanna go down for the night."
It was just too much.
All of the fear, the uncertainty, the desperation, and the mortal terror of the last week suddenly boiled over. Sam reacted without thinking—he grabbed the ceramic lamp off the bedside table and threw it across the room. Jazz leaned to one side, narrowly avoiding the lamp, before it shattered against the wall beside him. Sam stood frozen to the spot, chest heaving, as he stared in shocked disbelief at what he had just done.
Jazz glanced down at the shattered lamp, before giving Sam an unimpressed look.
"You done?" He asked.
Sam stared at him in helpless anger, before turning and rushing into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him with enough force that the medicine cabinet rattled against the wall. He backpedaled one step, and then another, until the edge of the tub pressed against the backs of his knees. He stared at the door as he waited to see whether Jazz would follow. The moment stretched on, taut and horrible, but the holoform never appeared.
Slowly, Sam sank down onto the floor. The cheap linoleum was cold against his bare skin. A sudden, horrible helplessness was beginning to take root inside his chest. It felt like drowning.
They were never letting him go.
Sam's breath hitched in his throat. He reached blindly for the stack of towels beneath the sink, before hugging the starchy material against his chest. He spent the rest of the night on the bathroom floor.
No one else disturbed him.
MECH Dossiers: Sam Witwicky
M.E.C.H.
DO NOT COPY/CONFIDENTIAL
File number: HX0011
Name: Samuel James Witwicky
Born: 10 October 2000
Place of Birth: Tranquility, California
Laterality: Right
Languages: English
Height: 173 cm
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Abilities:
Highly intelligent. (No IQ score available)
Highly adaptable and self-sufficient
Although unconfirmed, it is suspected that HX0011 has
preternatural abilities on pa with other cassettes (e.g.,
accelerated healing, enhanced lifespan).
Notes:
Asset HX0011 is a known supporter of Separatist ideologies.
He is active on the dark-web under the alias 'Cypher217'.
The Autobots mad contact with HX0011 on XXXXX.
An Autobot Search and Retrieval team led by Lennox
HX0001) attempted to extract the asset, but efforts
proved unsuccessful.
HX0011evaded SAR until he was tracked to a diner in
XXXXXXXXXXX MECH Agent XXXXXXXX secured
the asset on XXXXXX, but containment and extraction
was unsuccessful.
HX0011 was involved in an altercation with Autobot S&R
teams that resulted in n electromagnetic pulse of unknown
origin that incapacitated all mechanoids in tr immediate
vicinity.
HX0011 was involved in Incident #XXXXXX that resulted
in the deaths of four MECH operatives- refer to Appendix A.
Agent XXXXXXXXX successfully retrieved field sample
from asset on XXXXXX. Laboratory test results available in
Appendix B.
Opportunity level: Undetermined
Threat level: Undetermined
Priority level: High
On-Sight Orders: High-priority target. Alive-only. Contain and
extract by any means necessary.