A/N: revised 10/20/24
A young woman, likely no older than her early twenties, stared upward intently.
Insouciant to the rain falling against her face, she looked past the clouds—past the heavens itself—and into the realm of oblivion.
She understood why many despised the rain. If she were to be perfectly honest with herself, she reviled the watery torrent for causing the indecent, squishy feeling that resided within her boots.
Ignoring the sensation, she watched as if the world around her was attempting to wash away the sins of its residents, both native and alien alike.
All in vain, of course.
The polychromatic lights of the metropolis hypnotized her as she looked around, her eyes glazed as she absorbed her monumental surroundings. Beads of besmirched rainwater trickled from the ends of her luxuriant hair, and she could feel the once wispy, elaborate makeup that had colored her sepulchral eyes begin to drip down her cheeks dolefully.
She blinked hard in a feeble attempt to be rid of the dazed feeling that beleaguered her brain. She had a mission at hand.
She officially snapped back to reality when she noticed a stygian vehicle careen into a spacious alleyway in the remote distance. It was dented and covered with deep scratches and scorch marks. Its configuration suggested it was a Ford Crown Victoria.
Without any reasonable doubt, this was her quarry.
The woman clenched her fists in anticipation. She had found it again. Although it appeared innocent enough to the average passerby, it was, in fact, quite the opposite.
Following a beep and a dash of static, the comm-link in her ear emitted a baritone voice; in a split second of disconcertment, she allowed her attention to be diverted by the incongruous tone.
"Bingo. Go get that son of a gun. We're gonna wreck it good and thorough," he said without an ounce of remorse, enjoying this game of cat and mouse far too much.
She nodded as if her unseen companion was right there beside her and then flipped a toggle on her wristband.
A light whir hummed resonantly throughout the frigid, moist air, before a trenchant duo of rocket boosters abruptly shot out of the bulky metal pack that rested firmly on her back.
Wanting to make haste, she quickly picked up a large case that had been resting on the ground beside her burnished combat boots. It was a sorrel mahogany color, and there was a bizarre engraving stitched into its riotous textile.
With a perfectly neutral expression, she unzipped the integument and pulled out her sole possession: a state of the art MA91 rocket launcher. After strapping the massive weapon to her shoulder, she took off in a sudden and spontaneous flash, a twin pair of cerulean lights wisping behind her both serenely and reticently.
She readied herself as her target drew nearer.
Once she reached it, death was not a mere possibility, but an inevitability.
Detecting a pursuing object from behind, the Ford Crown Victoria screeched to a halt.
Civilians who were startled by the bedlam began to rush away, fearing whoever—or whatever—it was that had caused the commotion.
Once alone, it began to transform. The clashing of parts being disassembled and reassembled temporarily took over all of the other sounds in the precinct, including that of the all-encompassing pitter-patter of the pouring rain.
It stood tall, revealing its true form to be that of an impossibly enormous, eldritch mechanical being. It was nearly twenty-five feet in height, and its optics blared a violent crimson as it searched back and forth frantically.
"Come out, Autobot! Fight me servo-to-servo, you coward!" it shouted.
The mechanical being—or, to be more specific, the Cybertronian life-form known as a Decepticon—was answered with a rocket exploding into its—or his—exposed chassis.
He roared in fed-up rage. "I'll exterminate you, you worthless pile of scrap metal!"
Another blast came; this time it hit him straight in his kneecap, immediately causing his armor to disintegrate into a flurry of metal and Energon droplets.
He dropped to his remaining knee, oscillating vertiginously from the unrelenting pain. Then, he held up his remaining arm-cannon and fired a warning shot up into the air.
Much to his shock, the unknown blasts actually ceased. His audio receptors twitched as they picked up the muffled, albeit discernible maelstrom of someone approaching him. Instantly he noted that something was amiss.
These footsteps couldn't have possibly belonged to an Autobot.
The advancing noise could only be described as...dainty. Soft.
His optics widened in dubiety; he growled in vexation.
Indeed, this was no Autobot. His attacker was human—a vile sack of flesh. His mind reeled, for there was no possible way that such a pathetic little creature had been hunting him for the better part of three Earth cycles. He promptly fired at the noise but was taken by surprise when a blurry object flew directly into his face. Whilst stumbling backward from the force of the hit, he attempted to swat at whatever it was.
Dodging the motion, the woman rocketed in reverse and alighted herself atop a building. She had lodged a boxy orb into the exposed, tubular circuits of his countenance; however, he failed to register this.
"You think you can play with the big 'bots, eh, bug?"
The woman observed the squirming behemoth beneath her in absolute silence. Her expression was reminiscent to that of a child watching a burning ant under a microscope—disgusted yet intrigued.
The battered Decepticon sneered, his fiery optics locked onto her unexpressive face. "Nothing, huh? Unsurprising. I suppose a simple response is too much to expect from you and the rest of your brain-dead kind," he riled scathingly.
Upon hearing her prey's absinthial words, the woman felt a rush of relief. At last, the wild goose chase was finally done and over with. Tired of his insipid and inane meanderings, she returned his steely gaze with equal fortitude. Waiting...
The Decepticon sneered once more. He was more than well aware of what she was doing. She was looking down on him, for she had him right where she wanted him. Not only did she hold enough firepower in that little pea-shooter of hers to terminate him in an instant, but she had successfully backed him into a corner with no partner, medic, or anything else in between. Glaucous Energon was spewing out of his mammoth leg wound like a frenetic spigot, and the pain he was experiencing was so intense that he felt as though he could fall into stasis lock at any given moment. But still, the hostile other-worlder determined that he would never yield, especially to the secondary race his kind strove to conquer.
"That's it," he said lowly, aiming his disjointed arm-cannon at her. "You're done, bug. It's time you DIE!"
There was an explosion of epic proportions, and once it quieted, the woman—with her abnormally tenebrous gray eyes, and her serrated, sopping wet pigtails—turned to look up at the ashen, charcoal sky yet again. Now with the rain, excoriated pieces of the Decepticon's severed helm crashed down against the asphalt-covered Earth.
As if on some kind of queue, she smiled a smile that was clearly fake, as it failed to reach her eyes.
Suddenly, a familiar beeping noise droned from the device in her ear, and the same baritone voice from earlier sounded from the opposing end. "Mission complete, agent Techno-0. You may return to base. Excellent work."
With that, the taciturn woman known as Techno-0 bowed her head and rocketed away, leaving the Cybertronian carnage far behind her.
It was someone else's problem now.
The ambiance of the Autobot base was anarchic and disorderly, and malcontent soldiers—both human and alien alike—were racing around in haphazard incertitude.
A fire had broken out in the dining hall, and it was threatening to spread outward into the main lobby. Flames licked the ceiling and soot clung to the thick armor of the yellow Autobot known as Bumblebee. Having no mercy on him, it stained the glistening new paint job he had received only a few weeks prior.
As he endeavored to halt the germinating flames by his lonesome, he was taken by surprise when the sound of rushing footsteps permeated his audio receptors. One after another, dozens of men aligned at the vestibule of the kitchen in perfect synchronicity, each directing their anti-firepower towards the now weakening inferno.
Without any time to vacate the premises, Bumblebee found himself just as caught up in the foamy onslaught as the raging flames were.
Swiftly transforming into his prototypical Chevrolet Camaro visage, he merely sat and waited impatiently for his colleagues to stop their involuntary attack on him.
Several minutes later, the fire was no longer in existence; he chirped in a mock sigh of relief.
Once he finished metamorphosing back into his bipedal mode, the mighty Cybertronian disgruntledly trudged through the sea of foam, glaring at each and every one of the chuckling soldiers beneath him. The little mech had been completely doused, so much so that he now resembled a giant cotton ball more than he did a deadly alien robot from outer space.
NBE-Major General William Lennox made his way through the assemblage towards Bumblebee. His stature was standard for someone of his rank: pin-straight and formal. His face, however, deceived his otherwise serious posture as he vainly scrunched his lips together in a subdued attempt at holding back a laugh.
"Care to explain just what in the holy hell happened here, bud? Or am I going to have to weed out the story from one of you?" he said, gesturing to the small troop of men who had gathered around.
Bumblebee whirred in annoyance, shooting a metallic digit towards the charred scene behind him. His vocal processor crackled with static as he sifted through thousands of radio channels in the span of milliseconds. "I'll have you know, (static) if I hadn't been around the corner, (static) your ass would be grass."
"Ah, so for once you didn't cause this m-m—" Cutting himself off before he could finish, Lennox exploded with laughter, no longer being able to hold it in. A mass of foam had dropped straight from Bumblebee's helm, landing against the floor with a resounding 'plop!'
Following their leader, the men began to chuckle as well, the sight of the drenched Autobot before them just being too comical. But Bumblebee, who would have normally chortled right alongside them, just wasn't in the mood on this particular day. Too much had been going on between his team and their human superiors for him unwind. His mental state was currently weighed down by the incommodious responsibilities of leadership, and this pointless situation really didn't alleviate matters for him in the slightest.
When the soldiers' amusement came to pass, Lennox spoke yet again. "Yeah, so this fire got pretty dang massive and that really isn't great. We need our kitchen in working order, so I've gotta get to the bottom of whatever caused this. You boys—" He pointed towards an outlying trio of men. "—gather further assistance so we can get this off our workload. The faster, the better. Chop-chop."
With that, the triumvirate of soldiers gave a salute, vanishing down the capacious corridors of the base.
Lennox rotated to face the looming Autobot above him. He raised an accusatory eyebrow. "For real, 'Bee, you had nothing to do with this mishap, right?"
"Ayy, we've got a winner!" Bumblebee cheered imperiously. "This guy's smarter than he looks!"
The good ol' commander had really been busting his solenoids as of late, what with keeping him and his remaining Autobot team in the dark about the latest Decepticon assassinations, along with several other essential things.
And that wasn't even mentioning Lennox's reprimanding of him whenever his teammates went and did something even moderately out of order on their own time.
He was just covered in foam and over the day. He didn't feel like himself at all and was well overdue for a protracted session in recharge. At the very least, all he wanted to do was go on a long drive. Alone. But of course, he wasn't allowed do that much either, what with him being required to keep a low profile and all—which, by the way, seemed pointless considering the fact that the human race had been more than well aware of his existence for a good fifteen years now.
Lennox turned towards the group of remaining men and viciously cleared his throat. "Listen up," he said brusquely. "This place is loading up with smoke, covered in fluffy shit, and crusted up worse than my backyard grill. Video feeds will be reviewed to see just who or what started this. But I imagine it was nothing but a gas leak."
Lennox returned his focus to Bumblebee.
Softening his tone but remaining stern, he said, "Listen to me, 'Bee. When you're not happy, I'm not happy. But one thing I refuse to tolerate is you talking down to me in front of my guys. Understood?"
Bumblebee's antennae faltered. "Understood."
Lennox beckoned to the two who were closest to him. "Aberdeen. Jackson. I want you both to escort our boy 'Bee to the indoor car wash in Division-4." Leaning in close to them, he whispered, "And make sure the foam he drags around the base is kept to a minimum. Nobody wants to deal with all that."
They responded with a grandiloquent "Yes, sir," saluting their leader floridly before walking away.
Bumblebee galumphed behind them, chirping discreetly as he wiped the downy substance from his metallic pedes.
The longer they walked on, the more he thought to himself. And the more he thought to himself, the more he found that an especially cynical part of him felt it was a joke that Lennox—who was both leagues younger and smaller than himself—had the gall to talk down to him as if he were a little sparkling. But the non-cynical, adult side of him knew that even though he was somewhat justified in his sass, Optimus wouldn't ratify it.
And for that, he mentally reprimanded himself, opting to follow behind his small pair of comrades in a muzzy, toneless silence.
Drift, Hound and Epps sat in a tight annulus, each carefully ogling a set of cards.
The klaxon signifying the end of everyone's work-day had sounded off a good half-hour ago, leaving the troika with little to do. Since all of the training rooms had been locked up for the night, they had ultimately settled on a card game to relieve their boredom.
Because the cards were fun-sized when compared to their typical bipedal forms, the two Autobots activated their holoforms in order to play the game with Epps.
Drift's was a lissome, dark-haired Japanese man of about the age of thirty. He had an attenuated but modish mustache, a slight goatee, and wore a standard suit and tie. His human equivalent was well-trimmed and statuesque, radiating an aura of seriousness and respectability.
Hound's holoform, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired when compared to that of Drift's. His was a slightly over-weight American man who looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. He had a scraggly beard that came down past his shoulders; his physiognomy appeared to be somewhat flushed from rosacea; and—with an indecorous cigar hanging loosely from his lips—he sported a tattered, camouflaged military uniform.
When compared to one another, both Autobots were like night and day. On one end, there was Drift, who regularly spoke of honor and respect, whereas on the other, Hound existed for one purpose and one purpose alone: to blow things up and wreck people's shit.
While training, it wasn't uncommon for the duo to clash heavily with one another. They often got themselves into irrelevant contretemps that either Lennox or some other officer would have to reprimand them for. But outside of battle, they coexisted like butter on toast.
One major thing they had in common was this: life with Bumblebee as their leader while the humans breathed down their necks twenty-four/seven was nothing short of a nightmare straight from the Pit.
However, in spite of those feelings, they still got along with many of the soldiers on the base—Epps being one of them. The unearthly pair understood that the human warriors were pieces of a larger system just as they, too, were. Like themselves, it wasn't as though they had the authority to call any of the shots.
Epps proudly placed a card on the ground. "Go Fish."
Hound let out an interminable grumble. This was the third time he had lost. "These human games, I tell ya."
Drift sighed and rubbed his facial hair, deep in thought. He had also been on a losing streak and was tired of Epps's cocky gloating.
Suddenly, his reverie was interrupted by the floor vibrating beneath him. An Autobot was coming, and whoever it was clearly hadn't had the best of days.
No surprise there.
The three looked above them in a laid-back silence. Bumblebee, fresh out from the car wash, stood before them, leftover water droplets almost shamefully trickling down his yellow and black frame.
"You alright, big yellow?" Epps asked lightly, getting a read on the tension that Bumblebee was exerting. "Need a shot of motor oil to calm those grinding gears of yours?"
Bumblebee narrowed his optics. "I ain't havin' that shit."
Epps gregariously patted the spot next to him on the floor. "Alrighty, then. How about a round of Go Fish? Maybe you'll pose a real challenge to me, unlike these loser chumps," he said jovially, a smug grin plastered across his sprightly face.
Hound shuffled the deck and spat his cigar at Epps. Epps dodged the playful attack; Hound slapped the pile against the even terra firma in faux scorn. Bumblebee smiled at the bizarre squabble. Drift shot daggers at his rotund compatriot for his indecency. Epps, who was technically the victim in the situation, stifled a chuckle at Drift's sanctimoniousness.
It was a fun little moment, but like all good things in life, it was cut short. Abruptly and brutally.
The sickly-sweet voice of NBE-Lieutenant General Leland Bishop (or Silas, his middle name, for brevity's sake) was suddenly broadcasted throughout the entire NEST base.
"This message goes to all Autobots and superior officers~" he said as if he were on cloud nine. "We have a situation. I repeat, we have a situation. Make your way to the Command Center immediately. I repeat, make your way to the Command Center immediately."
Despite his light and bright tone, Silas was no man to be trifled with. With a constant smile slathered across his reptilian mien, he served to disturb and dragoon many on the base, both with his acts of incredible violence during training and his unnervingly thorough way of threatening someone.
He was never to be joked around with or addressed casually. Humans and Autobots alike made a point to steer clear of the hulking mass of muscle, as he was often just too overbearing to handle.
Even though he'd never admit it out loud, Hound himself was also a bit caught off-guard by the eldritch fleshling. His triple-faced nature reminded him of a particularly insane Decepticon he had once done battle with in the distant past.
The message went off yet again.
Not needing another reminder, Bumblebee, Drift and Hound transformed.
Epps climbed in with Bumblebee. The three set off, morbid curiosity taking the threshold of their minds.
Bumblebee was unsurprised to find that he was the first Autobot to arrive in the Command Center. One of the things he was most well-known for was his speed, after all.
Not long after his entrance, Drift, Hound and several other Autobots filed in.
On the massive screen that stretched the entire length of the room was an unambiguous picture of a singular, mangled Decepticon. Energon pulsated from the metallic beast's headless corpse like a free-flowing river, causing Bumblebee to cringe. Lennox stood tall in the center of the room with Silas at his side. Dead silent, they both waited.
Five minutes passed, and once all of the necessary personnel had arrived, Bumblebee decided to say something to Lennox. Allowing his authentic yet broken voice to be heard, he asked, "Wha-at is t-this, Ma-j-jor?"
Sideswipe, who had entered the room alongside Windblade, immediately recognized the victim. Internally noting that it had belonged to a medium-level Decepticon known as Blackout, he said nothing as their leader spoke.
"Autobots," Lennox said stiffly, opting to address all of the aliens rather than just Bumblebee himself. "I believe it's about time we let you in on a pretty big secret."
A/N: At the end of T:TLK, Bumblebee got his voice back. There's a lot I don't like about that movie, so in this AU, I'm retconning that portion of his development…for now.
Transformers: Prime—Silas. I don't think they ever actually stated his full name in the show but that's what it says it is in the wiki.
NBE—non-biological extraterrestrial
Blackout—G1