There was destruction everywhere he looked.
Empty shells of ruined buildings with hollowed windows, staring at him like unseen haunted eyes, surrounded him. Jagged, shards of glass looked like terrible fangs spread into a twisted smile. Black scorch marks covered every surface he looked at.
Pieces of skyscrapers crumbled to the ground, some leaning on others, dragged down by the claws of gravity. Other buildings had long fallen into mountains of rubble. Broken and twisted streets were filled with abandoned, rusting, overturned cars.
Mutilated bodies, faces twisted into silent screams, were left to rot.
An eternal storm brewed on the horizon; twisted bolts of purple lightning forked in the pitch-black sky. Great fissures stretched across the ruined land, filled with molten lava, churning and spitting. Dark metallic creatures rose from their slumber, crying and groaning, as they rose.
Hundreds of thousands purple optics stared up at the dark shroud in the sky as the Earth started to shake, and great, gleaming structures rose out of the broken landscape. Long and sharp and curved, they towered over everything, rising into space.
More and more appeared, forming almost a... mouth. Fangs and claws followed, and jagged edges that formed limbs and eventually... a body. It was larger than Earth itself, and finally, wings unfurled into the vastness of space, flaring out as it straightened to its full height.
There was a monstrous roar, and somehow, its hate-filled sound echoed across the universe itself. It was a promise to all that death and chaos awaited the galaxies in which billions lived. Eons of resentment had only made its hunger for destruction stronger.
I AWAKEN...
It was then, hearing that horrible hiss that Jack realized the vision he was seeing was the end of the world.
And the awakening of Unicron.
You must unite them all...
Jack jerked upright, nearly screaming from the dream. He was covered in a cold sweat, and he felt tense, all his muscles coiled. What the—
Then the headache registered in his brain, and he groaned, feeling like someone had taken a jackhammer to his skull. His mouth was dry, like cotton had been stuffed inside, and his stomach twisted, coiling into knots that sent waves of nausea through his entire body.
He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh morning light filtering through his bedroom window. His sheets were tangled around his legs, trapping him in place, but as soon as he moved, his stomach lurched violently.
Nope. Nope. Not good.
The teenager barely managed to untangle himself before he staggered out of bed, stumbling toward the hallway with heavy legs. The floor tilted under him, or at least, it felt like it did. His balance was shot. There was no way this could be just from a hangover, especially with how much his body ached. He felt off.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, his stomach gave one final, angry twist, and he bolted for the bathroom.
He barely made it in time.
Falling to his knees, he heaved into the toilet, his entire body shuddering with the force of it. Acid burned his throat, leaving a raw, painful sting as he coughed and gagged. His stomach felt like it was being wrung out like a soaked rag, purging itself of whatever poison had settled inside him.
His arms trembled as he gripped the porcelain, knuckles turning white.
The vomiting didn't stop.
Jack groaned between dry heaves, forehead pressed against the cool edge of the toilet seat. Sweat beaded along his brow, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Every muscle in his body felt drained, like someone had sucked the energy straight out of him.
What the hell happened last night?
Flashes of memory surfaced in his mind, disjointed and blurry.
The party. The alcohol. The overwhelming anger that had burned inside him like wildfire. The way he had snapped. A broken Vince. Miko. Wheeljack. The argument. And then—his dad.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the memories into some kind of order, but it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. Everything was muddled, and the more he tried to focus, the worse his headache became.
He forced himself to sit back against the wall, chest rising and falling unevenly as he sucked in deep breaths, trying to steady himself. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking. He stayed slumped against the wall for a long moment, trying to collect himself.
Eventually, the churning in his stomach settled into a dull, nauseating ache. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and braced against the sink. With more effort than he cared to admit, he managed to get to the toilet and flush it.
Jack felt uneasy watching the bright green liquid he'd vomited up disappear in a whirlwind. That definitely wasn't normal...
Chest aching, he staggered out of the bathroom, using the wall for support as he made his way toward the living room. When he entered the room, the first thing he saw was his father sprawled out on the couch, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like he didn't have a care in the world.
Irritation spiked through him.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. Or at least, he tried to demand. What came out was barely more than a hoarse rasp.
Jonathan perked up at his voice, turning his head to look at him. His sharp blue eyes scanned Jack's disheveled form, taking in the pale, clammy skin, and the deep shadows under his bloodshot eyes. His expression twisted into a frown.
"You look like hell warmed over," he muttered.
The boy scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "It means you look like shit."
He let out a humorless laugh. "Gee, thanks, Dad. Real supportive."
The man just shrugged. "I'm not in the business of sugarcoating things, sport."
Jack rolled his eyes, the motion making his headache spike again. He winced, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple before leveling his father with a glare.
"Seriously, though, what are you doing here?"
The man's expression darkened slightly, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"I've been waiting for your mother to come home," he answered. "She was working a late shift yesterday. Should've been back hours ago. She never showed."
First of all, how did he...?
Wait—
"What?"
"She never came home," he repeated. "I tried calling her, but she didn't pick up. Figured I'd wait here until she got back."
Dread settled in his gut. His mother always let him know if she was going to be late. Always. Even when she was completely swamped at the hospital, she'd at least send a text. Panic started to claw at him, threatening to overtake what little functioning brain power he had left.
"Where's my phone?" he blurted, patting his pants down for the phone Agent Fowler had given him to replace his old one, but he came up empty. He whirled around, scanning the room wildly, but he didn't see it anywhere.
"It's on the kitchen table," his father said, but Jack was already halfway across the room, his legs nearly giving out beneath him as he pushed himself forward. He stumbled into the kitchen and snatched it up off the counter with shaking fingers, flipping it open so fast he nearly dropped it.
His stomach dropped when he saw three missed calls and one voicemail. He played it.
|"Jack, it's Mom. Call me back as soon as you get this. I don't care what time it is. Just... call me, okay?"|
The teenager found himself on the verge of a mental breakdown and he called his mom. It rang multiple times before he was sent to voicemail. He immediately redialed, and yet again, he was sent to voicemail. He tried a third time, wanting her to pick up, begging silently for her voice to come through the speaker.
Voicemail.
His thoughts quickly spiraled into worst-case scenarios before he forcibly shoved them down. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe she stayed at the hospital. Maybe she got caught up in an emergency and forgot to check her phone.
He needed to check.
With a shaky breath, he dialed Linda's phone number. Mom had him memorize it just in case she couldn't be there. She was one of his mom's closest friends, a co-worker at the hospital. If anyone knew where she was, it would be her.
He pressed Call.
The line rang once and then twice. Then there was a click as the call connected.
"Linda!" Jack blurted, barely giving her time to speak. "Do you know where my mom is?"
The woman on the other end groaned slightly. "Ugh, Jack? What—?"
"Do you know where she is?" he pressed.
"She left early last night..." Linda mumbled, still half-asleep. "Her shift ended, like... I dunno, around eleven? She was struggling pretty bad, so I told her to go home early. Is she not there with you?"
Jack felt his heart drop to his stomach. "Um... no."
He didn't wait for her to respond. He hung up abruptly, and he briefly considered contacting Arcee. But then he remembered what Wheeljack said.
"They ain't allowed to see you anymore. Government's orders."
He didn't bother trying to call her, not wanting her to get in trouble because of him. So he scrolled down and dialed Agent Fowler, who had entered his contact into the phone.
The line rang. And rang. Then went to voicemail.
Jack swore under his breath. He immediately redialed. Once again, voicemail.
"Come on, come on..." he muttered, pressing the call button again.
The third time, the line clicked.
|"What in Sam Hill do you want, Jack?"|
Jack didn't even take a breath before blurting—"Mom's missing."
The Secretary of Defense sat at the head of the long, polished conference table, expression unreadable as he assessed the men before him. He was a man in his early fifties, with angular features pulled tight, and a perfectly straight back. Dark eyes watched everyone in the room carefully, and his silvering hair was neatly combed back.
"Director Galloway informed us that you've been keeping things hidden, Agent Fowler," the Secretary of Defense stated, his voice laced with accusation. "According to the Alien-Autobot Cooperation Act, the Autobots are only to cooperate with U.S. military forces. They are not to interact with civilians."
Fowler barely suppressed a grimace and forced himself not to look at the arrogant man, dressed in a perfectly ironed suit, sitting next to the Secretary. That particular rule had gone out the window within the first three years of their shaky alliance.
The Secretary's gaze bored into him. "He's informed us they've been harboring three human civilians. Children, specifically children. Mind explaining why you forgot to inform us of this?"
"No one would answer my calls," he said flatly.
A snort came from Lennox's direction, and when Fowler glanced to his right, he could see the colonel was barely holding back laughter. His face quickly slid back into a stoic mask, straightening his posture.
Lennox was a man with brown hair cut short to his scalp, hazel eyes constantly alert, and he always seemed ready to move at the moment's notice. He wore a military service uniform, crisp and not a wrinkle in sight. The man hated wearing those stiff, stuffy uniforms as he referred to them. His posture was rigid.
Fowler watched as the Secretary's gaze slid over to General Bryce, another one of his superiors, scrutinizing him. His uniform was immaculate, every medal and ribbon aligned neatly, a collection that could put his to shame, though he was more on the plump side, spending more time by a desk than on the field. That didn't stop him from holding himself proudly, not even a strand of brown hair out of place.
Galloway, sitting next to the Secretary, was far less amused. Fowler had never trusted the bureaucrat, and right now, the man looked like he was enjoying this far too much.
"You disobeyed orders," the man hissed, in a venomous whisper. "Your job is to report Autobot activity to us and speak on our behalf. Not only did you fail that, you withheld information, and you helped them violate the treaty."
Fowler met his glare evenly. He hated dealing with bureaucratic suits who thought they knew better than the men in the field. Galloway was just another in a long line of self-important desk jockeys who had no idea what the hell they were talking about.
"I did now," he responded evenly. It was too easy to rile the man up.
The man's face twisted in frustration, and for a second, the ex-Ranger thought he might start foaming at the mouth. The Secretary, however, didn't react immediately. He simply studied Fowler with that same scrutinizing gaze, as if peeling back layers to see what lay underneath.
Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm.
"You do understand the gravity of this situation, don't you, Agent Fowler?"
Oh, he understood, all right. He understood that the only reason the planet wasn't a smoking ruin was because those same Autobots had risked their lives—along with three stubborn, brave kids—to keep it that way.
"I understand that Autobots risk their asses to save our planet every day, and they only get the treaty stuffed up their tailpipes as thanks."
"I thought you were suspicious of them, Fowler." Galloway remarked sweetly.
The 'Bots saving my sorry ass from the 'Cons was a life changer, he thought. Aloud, he responded, "I know they only want the best for humanity."
Galloway scoffed. "They want 'the best for humanity' and yet they have all the big guns. And we have nothing. Don't you think that's a bit unfair?"
"The Autobots will not share their technology, because it's way more advanced than ours," General Bryce stated calmly. "And because it's destructive. As proven with MECH."
Fowler remembered Prime's comment that he would not hand over their weaponry because he knew humans would abuse it. The mech was not blind to mankind's destructive nature, especially now with MECH showing the darkest sides of humanity.
"Hmph. Yet, they failed to inform us about three civilians they made contact with." Galloway sent a glare toward Lennox, who stiffened under the harsh look. "It makes me wonder if NEST knew something about this and 'forgot' to mention it."
"No, sir," the man responded quickly with a vehement shake of his head.
The man turned his icy glare back to Fowler. "Then why did you withhold this information from us?"
"Because you would've taken the children away from the Autobots," he said evenly. "And they are the only ones that can provide proper protection to them."
"Oh real—"
"The Decepticons aren't the only threat to them," Fowler cut in before the man could start his rant. "MECH is."
The Secretary of Defense pursed his lips. "And why would MECH target three ordinary children?"
The ex-Ranger knew the words coming out of his mouth next would be damning, but there was no sense in sugarcoating it. "Because of their ties to the Autobots," he replied, flatly.
Across the table, Galloway's expression lit up like a Christmas tree. "My point exactly!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Their involvement with the Autobots is what put them in danger in the first place! The problem is the Autobots. These children are being hunted because for their association with them. Remove the Autobots, and the problem disappears."
Fowler clenched his jaw, biting back the angry retort threatening to spill out. "With all due respect, sir," he said instead, keeping his voice as even as possible as he addressed the Secretary, "without the Autobots protecting them, these children are in even greater danger from MECH. They have no defense against them if they're taken again."
"That's why they were in Connecticut, wasn't it?" Galloway accused. "Prime told me they were there to stop MECH, but I didn't believe him for a second. There had to be more." His eyes were alight with something dangerous. "We managed to scavenge some security footage from the wreckage. They were holding a boy. Presumably one of the three civilians fraternizing with them."
Fowler swallowed hard, knowing exactly where this was going.
"They burned down a base," the man continued, his voice rising, "and killed humans for a child!"
"Three," he muttered.
"And they even failed at that," he sneered. "The one called Rafael Esquivel is in Decepticon hands. They broke the treaty without sharing their actions with us. And this is only the beginning. Who knows how many times the Autobots have gone behind our backs and did something without telling us."
Silence followed the statement.
"MECH doesn't play by any rulebook we know. They don't care about treaties. They don't care about collateral damage. They're a rogue paramilitary group operating outside of any government jurisdiction. They had rights to take back what is theirs."
"After they alert NEST!" Galloway smiled thinly. "That makes me wonder if the forty million dollars' worth of alien tech that was being sold on the black-market was also them going behind our backs." Galloway accused, narrowing his eyes.
"We already discussed this," Fowler responded, feeling his patience being tested by the man. He planned to continue when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Slowly, he reached down, silencing the device as quickly as he could.
"Should an emergency occur," General Bryce stated firmly, "the Autobots have the right to react in any way they see fit."
Galloway's expression twisted in disdain. "Even if it means violating the treaty?" he shot back, on the verge of sneering.
Bryce opened his mouth, no doubt ready to give the man a well-deserved verbal lashing, at least that's what he hoped, but before he could get a word out, the cocky bastard turned his full attention to Fowler.
"Your job," Galloway said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dense recruit, "was to monitor the Autobots and report directly to your superiors."
Fowler, annoyed by Galloway, didn't notice his wording. "I am a liaison," he corrected. "I don't spy on the Autobots."
His phone buzzed again.
It continued to buzz and his eyes briefly flicked down as he reached down to silence it once more. His movements did not go unnoticed, judging by the glances exchanged by Bryce and the Secretary. Thankfully, no one said anything.
"You even failed at that," he sneered. "You're just not suited for this job—"
The ex-Ranger's phone buzzed again and in irritation, he looked down and pulled the device out of his pocket.
Galloway threw up his hands in exasperation. "For crying out loud! Are you going to answer that, or are we just going to sit here while you're distracted?"
Fowler ignored him and read the name on screen. It was Jack. Why was he calling right now?
Pushing back from the table, he stood and moved a few feet away, bringing the phone to his ear. "What in Sam Hill do you want, Jack?"
The frantic voice on the other end made his hair stand on end.
|"Mom's missing!"| Jack blurted out in a higher-pitched tone. |"I... I think MECH took her!"|
The government liaison's blood ran cold.
"Jack, calm down," he ordered, falling into the controlled tone he used to use in the field. "Do you have proof of this? Has MECH made any demands?"
There was a pause on the other end. Then, "W-well, no. But she didn't come back from her shift."
It wasn't much to go on, but given what had already happened to the kid and his friends, he wasn't about to dismiss it.
Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling through clenched teeth. "Jack, calm down. I'll see if I can... I don't know, work something out. I'll call you back."
He ended the call with a press of his thumb, already feeling the room's collective gaze on him as he turned back.
The Secretary of Defense narrowed his eyes. "Who was that?"
"Jack Darby," Fowler answered, straightening his posture as he sat back down. "One of the civilians associated with the Autobots."
"Hmph. You've been compromised. You're too emotionally invested in these civilians to do your job properly. It explains why you've been distracted and forgetful lately."
What? What did that have to do with anything! This man was just looking for any excuse to get him in trouble, he knew that for a fact.
"They're kids, Galloway," he stated pointedly. "You think—"
"Well, you won't have to worry about them anymore," the smug bastard drawled, leaning back in his seat. "They're not your problem anymore."
Something in his tone made him feel uneasy. "What the hell does that mean?"
The Secretary of Defense sighed, folding his hands on the table. "Agent Fowler, as of this moment, you no longer have jurisdiction over Autobot-related operations. You're being relieved of your duties," the Secretary continued, his voice cool and measured. "Effective immediately."
Fowler's brain stalled for half a second before he processed the words. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he shot to his feet. "You're firing me?" His voice came out like a snarl. "After everything I've done, you're gonna pull me off the field because of one damn phone call?"
"Director Galloway has made an excellent case of why he should be the government liaison, and considering your... track record, I have decided Galloway would be best suited for the job," the Secretary answered.
Galloway smirked and added, "Well, it's not just a phone call. Repeated insubordination. Withholding information. Breaching security protocols. A clear disregard for the chain of command." He tilted his head, pretending to consider something. "Honestly, you're lucky you have people vouching for you."
"Vouching for me?"
"Because if it were up to me, you'd be in a prison cell."
Something hot shot up his spine as red flashed across his vision, and blood rushed in his ears, drowning out whatever Galloway said next.
His voice was low and dangerous when he finally spoke. "On what charges?"
Galloway didn't answer.
"On. What. Charges?" he repeated hotly.
The man still refused to answer, giving him the impression there were no charges. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the tension coiling in his muscles. Fury boiled in his blood as he realized that this... cocky bastard just brought him here to tell him he was fired.
Now, he would have a five-hour flight to get back to Jasper, Nevada. To Jack and June.
"You," the ex-Ranger seethed, "are a very, very petty man."
Galloway just smiled. "I'll enjoy your job very much."
Raf heaved again, his stomach churning violently as bile and half-digested food splattered across the guard's boots. His whole body convulsed with the force of it, ribs aching, throat raw from the acid burning its way up. The nausea didn't stop, not even when there was nothing left to throw up.
He coughed, gasping for air, chest seizing painfully. It felt like someone had shoved a red-hot poker straight through his sternum!
The guard recoiled with a curse, stepping back to avoid any more of the mess. "Ugh, are you kidding me?!" he growled, shaking his foot off in disgust.
The preteen barely managed to life his head, but he still had enough energy to rasp out, "I did tell you." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The man glared at him, wiping the bottom of his boot on the grimy floor. "Damn brats," he muttered. "Can't even handle a meal without puking their guts out."
His stomach twisted again, but there was nothing left to bring up. He just curled in on himself, arms wrapped weakly around his middle as he trembled on the floor. His entire body was slick with sweat, chills wracking his frame even though the air in the silo was warm.
The guard sighed in irritation and pulled out a radio. "Subject's throwing up again," he reported, sounding frustrated.
The static-filled response came after a moment. |"Vitals?"|
The guard crouched down, grabbing Rafael's wrist with rough fingers. His grip was too tight, like he was handling an object instead of a person. He frowned, pressing two fingers to the inside of Rafael's wrist.
"Eh, he's fine," the guard remarked dismissively.
There was a crackle of static from the radio clipped to his belt, followed by a curt, "Very well. Get him back to work."
The preteen groaned when the guard grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up. Pain shot through his joints, muscles screaming in protest as his legs wobbled beneath him. He would have collapsed immediately if not for the iron grip hauling him upward. He was dragged forward and practically dumped onto the stool next to Steve's stool.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably, though he doubted there was anything left in him to expel. His head pounded, the dull throbbing behind his eyes making it hard to think.
The guard gripped his shoulder roughly, forcing him to sit upright. His body protested, a wave of dizziness washing over him as the room spun dangerously. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to push past the nausea.
"Get back to work," the guard barked. Then, in a lower voice, he muttered, "I'm going to go clean this shit off."
Raf cracked one eye open and saw the man grimacing down at his boot, still smeared with vomit. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door to his prison shut.
For the first time since he had been brought here, Rafael found himself alone. Well, almost alone. The only other presence in the room was the slab of metal resting beside him, holding the dark frame of Steve the Vehicon.
It was a good thing that the other guard was on an extended bathroom break that had lasted the past twenty minutes...
The boy genius let out a long, shaky breath and allowed his forehead to drop onto the keyboard in front of him, the cool surface pressing against his heated skin.
"You are not looking well, fleshy."
Rafael groaned, not even bothering to lift his head. "Gee, thanks, Steve. Real helpful observation How long was I out?" he murmured, not expecting an answer.
"Four breems, twenty-two kliks, and eleven nano-kliks."
His brain supplied him with the Cybertronian measurements, and figured he was out for about five hours before the guard came and stuffed food down his throat. He grimaced. It felt like minutes at most. Time was slipping away from him, and it felt like an endless cycle of forced labor, brief unconsciousness, and more forced labor.
"You should not be functional in this condition," Steve remarked.
Raf let out a mirthless chuckle. "Tell that to them."
When he lifted his head, he immediately regretted it. The room around him felt like it was swaying, a cruel trick of his overworked mind. He looked down at the keyboard, and wanted to groan. It would take a few more keystrokes, and he'd finish with the protocols.
That meant his use was done. What would MECH do to him? Would they kill him?
"I don't like the protocols invading my systems, fleshy." Steve's metallic voice sounded uncomfortable, cutting through his dark thoughts.
"It's Raf," he corrected hoarsely. "And tell that to MECH."
If the Vehicon had a proper face, the preteen imagined he would be frowning.
"They are rebuilding my frame," Steve continued, lowering his voice. "I don't like it."
MECH had been making modifications to Steve's body for days now, deconstructing him until his protoform was visible and rebuilding him with a frame that kept the standard Eradicon look, yet it was completely different.
Purple plating had been turned black. Three digits had been replaced with five. They had modified the visored faceplate, added visible eyes, though kept the mouthpiece. While Steve's visor could express emotion, seeing him with actual optics was strange. And, they had made him bulkier.
Starscream had been overseeing the work, which made the whole thing even worse.
Raf had no idea why the Air Commander was bothering to work with humans. He thought Decepticons hated them. But Starscream had been present for most of the modifications, directing MECH's engineers, like an artist perfecting a sculpture.
"I wish I could help you," the boy genius whispered, and he meant it. He slowly returned to his work and finished up the last of his work in the mech's processor.
Steve was silent for a moment. Then, almost too casually, he said, "You could release my bindings."
The preteen opened his mouth to respond, but the Vehicon cut in.
"You're smart for a human," he added, almost like an afterthought.
He forced himself to swallow past the lump in his throat and ignore the way his hands had gone clammy with sweat. His first instinct was to refuse, shake his head and say there was no way he could ever do something like that, but the words caught in his throat.
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"I—I..." He sucked in a ragged breath. "Yes, but... if they catch me..."
"They do not have your friends anymore, fleshy."
"How do you know that?" he challenged.
"When the fleshies connected to my system, I reverse hacked into their primitive systems and accessed their security. I saw the Autobots take them."
Hearing those words was like a weight lifted from his heart. It was something he suspected, after all the Autobots did come, but nobody from MECH told him anything. And being unsure, he didn't want to risk anything.
Then, his relief was overshadowed by shock.
Raf gaped. "W-wait. If you could do that, why haven't you escaped yet?"
"I have tried once before, and it ended in failure. Those meatbags—" He growled, optics flaring. "—they deactivated my weapon systems."
The boy could only assume he had managed to get out of his bindings, only to be electrocuted. It was probably similar to what happened to Arcee and Bulkhead when they were taken, even Breakdown.
"What if I fail?" he whispered. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he wholly blamed MECH for his emotional state right now. They hadn't let him sleep (well, up until this point) they didn't let him rest, and they stuffed food down his throat, while the lady with black hair watched him, writing stuff down on her clipboard. And they tortured him with that serum, injecting it into him.
"How do I know you won't just crush me the second you're free?" A sob breaking free despite his efforts to suppress it. "I'm nothing compared to you. I mean, y-you're a 'Con!" His voice cracked. "You've—you've done evil things!"
Steve didn't respond right away. His optics dimmed to an almost non-existent glow, but they were studying him intensely.
"The Decepticons have done some... extremely gruesome things." His voice was quiet, and he sounded almost regretful. "Things that I—things that many of us—aren't proud of."
The boy genius swallowed hard, his throat burning, but he refused to look away from the towering form beside him.
"But at least we admit it," the Decepticon continued. "Can you say the same about the Autobots?"
The boy said nothing.
"They paint themselves as the good guys," Steve went on bitterly. "But they are just as bad as us—if not worse. They... they prevented life from ever coming back to Cybertron when they ejected the Allspark into space. You know this. Cybertron will never see a spark again."
"I—" The words caught in his throat. He choked on them, unable to force anything coherent past his lips.
Steve vented deeply, and he would've thought he was frustrated if it were for his relaxed posture. Had he made peace with the words he was speaking?
"This is war, -Raf-." There was no malice in his tone, only a quiet, weary resignation. "Everyone has done something bad at least once."
The preteen wanted to argue and say that wasn't true, but he knew that wasn't right. How many times had humans done bad things in their own wars? How many times had the Autobots done bad things and never told them? They would have to be ashamed of the actions, at least the Autobots were remorseful.
But hearing Steve's words, it seemed there were Decepticons who were remorseful too.
The mech let out another slow vent. "I wouldn't kill you. I don't think I could bring myself to murder a youngling," the Vehicon admitted. "You're a -child-, caught up in a war you should've never been in."
His nails bit into his palms.
"And the Autobots allowed that."
"T-they were trying to protect us!" His voice was weak, breaking apart at the edges as he grasped onto the one truth he had left, the only justification that kept his world from completely shattering.
Steve didn't react at first. He just stared, taking in the trembling boy before him. He responded in the softest tone he had ever heard from the mech. "If they were trying to protect you, they would have never involved you."
Overwhelming fury bubbled up inside him. His nails dug into his palms so hard it hurt. His chest burned, and he hated how unfair everything was.
"You don't- you don't get to say that," he spat. His voice was shaking but the rage behind it was genuine. "You don't get to sit there and act like you care about what's happened to me!"
Steve remained quiet, watching him carefully.
He could feel the heat rising to his face. "If you had met me before," he hissed, body trembling, "before I knew about your stupid war and before I was involved with the Autobots, would you have killed me?"
Steve didn't answer.
The preteen let out a bitter laugh. It was shaky, bordering on a sob. "That's what I thought."
Hot tears streamed down his face, and he angrily wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. He felt like a dam had broken inside him, everything he had been holding in since MECH had taken him, spilled out in a flood of anger, grief, and exhaustion.
"Y-you are a monster," he choked out.
Steve let out a low vent, and when he finally spoke again, he simply remarked, "You're distressed."
"You think?" he snapped.
Silence fell between them, and it was not broken for a long while. It wasn't until Steve spoke up that a shiver ran down his spine.
"Raf," Steve murmured, sounding dreamlike. "I think I'm hearing things."
This was the first time he had ever used his name without the preteen correcting him. There was something wrong if he used his name first time, and he was speaking English. He blinked at him, confused. "W-what?"
"I heard the strangest, most wonderful voice," the Vehicon continued. "It was... I don't know how to describe it. It wasn't just a sound—it was something else."
Raf had the feeling he knew exactly what the Vehicon was talking about.
"What did it sound like?"
Steve was silent for a moment, struggling to put something so unfathomable into words. Finally, he spoke. "Ancient... and wise," he said, sounding like he was having a hard time coming up with the words. "It's hard to explain. It wasn't just speaking—it was knowing. It felt like it understood everything."
He knew that voice. He had heard it before, in fleeting whispers that felt more like dreams than reality. But if Steve had heard it too...
"You hear it too?" he whispered, eyes wide.
The Vehicon turned his helm to look down at him. "You hear this voice?"
Raf nodded rapidly. "Just a few times," he admitted. "It calls me its child and promises that everything will get better..." He hesitated, swallowing hard, before finishing in a whisper, "but only after it gets worse."
Steve let out a thoughtful hum, optics dimming as he processed the information.
"What did it tell you?" the boy pressed.
"I finally get to go... free."
"Free?"
Steve didn't respond immediately. His helm turned back, and he stared at the ceiling of the silo. "The nightmare will be over soon."
A chill crept down Rafael's spine. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved... or terrified.
That was... eerie. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and forced himself to speak, though his voice came out smaller than he intended. "A-are you okay?"
Steve didn't respond.
"Steve?" he tried again.
The Vehicon finally stirred, his head shifting just enough for Rafael to see his optics more clearly. There was something distant in his eyes, and the preteen didn't like it.
"I don't know," Steve admitted at last. His voice lacked its usual sarcastic bite, replaced instead by something disturbingly serene. "I feel... different."
Rafael's brows knit together. "Different how?"
"I'm drifting. I think..." His optics brightened. "...I think I'm waking up."
"W-waking up?" he echoed.
"I don't know how else to explain it," Steve admitted. "I think I will be with my maker soon."
Primus? he thought. There was no way the Vehicon was dying. But what if he was? Did MECH place malware in his system and it was slowly eating him up? That wouldn't make sense though. Silas had him working on protocols (which he had no idea what they did), and he doubted the cruel man would make him work for his 'weapon' to die.
Maybe Starscream, when he hurt Steve, really did a number on him.
"So, are you going to free me or not?" The Vehicon sounded completely normal again, and he was speaking Cybertronian.
"Okay."
The word left his mouth before he could second-guess himself again.
"Didn't think you had it in you, fleshy."
"It's Raf," he muttered absently, already working through the logistics of what he needed to do. His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard in front of him, pulling up the commands that kept Steve bound. It would be easy enough to activate the release sequence.
However, Steve would need his weapons systems.
Raf glanced toward the door. The guard would be back soon, or the other one who was still taking too long in the bathroom. What was he even doing? Not that he wanted to know.
The boy knew that he didn't have much time before the head technician came to check his work.
"Don't just stare at the screen, fleshy. Hurry up."
"I am hurrying," the preteen snapped back. "Do you want me to mess up and set off an alarm?"
The Vehicon hummed. "Fair point."
Surprisingly, the bindings securing Steve to the table were reinforced with multiple fail-safes, all designed to ensure that once a Cybertronian was restrained, they stayed that way. So not as easy as he thought.
MECH didn't take chances, and they probably had added safety measure after Steve's first escape attempt.
It wasn't long before the final command prompt blinked at him, waiting. All it would take was one keystroke. Just one. His hand hovered over the enter key.
Once I do this, there's no going back.
He swallowed hard and pressed the key.
A hiss filled the room as the clamps securing Steve's arms and legs released, and Steve immediately ripped them off of him. His frame shuddered violently as he flexed his limbs, joints creaking from disuse. He groaned low in his vocalizer, rolling his shoulders, plating shifting into place with a series of metallic clicks.
"Oh, that feels good," Steve rumbled, stretching out his servos. "I was getting sick of being stuck like that."
After going through all his stretches (which Raf thought was a waste of time), the Eradicon knelt down and extended a servo toward the boy genius, palm up, fingers splayed in a silent offer.
This was it. This was the point of no return. He had already freed Steve from his restraints, but stepping onto his servo—actually placing his trust in a Decepticon—felt like a much larger leap.
Steve tilted his helm slightly. "Well? You gonna keep staring at me, or are we getting out of here?"
Every second he hesitated was another second closer to being discovered. Another second closer to failing. He swallowed hard and climbed onto the Decepticon's servo.
The metal was warm beneath his hands, and it made him long for the Autobots, especially Bumblebee. It made him wonder how Bee was holding up. He missed him a lot, and he wished, desperately wished he could see him again.
Steve's digits curled around him in a metal cage. There was enough space for him to see between the gaps of his digits.
"See? Was that so hard?" Steve rumbled, sounding amused.
Raf didn't answer. He was too busy thinking of a dozen different worst-case scenarios. MECH bursting into the room, alarms blaring, Steve suddenly deciding he didn't need a human slowing him down. None of these came to pass.
Instead, Steve turned his helm toward the door, his optics narrowing. "Now comes the fun part."
The preteen inhaled sharply. "What- what do you mean by fun part?"
The Vehicon huffed out what could almost be considered a laugh. "Breaking out of here, obviously."
"How is that fun?"
"Is your sarcasm detector broken, fleshy?"
"No."
"It seems like it is," the Vehicon muttered. "I was being sarcastic. Hang on, fleshy."
The world tilted. His stomach lurched as Steve smashed through the wall like it was nothing, concrete and metal shattering around them in a deafening explosion of debris. Dust filled the air, and the shrill alarm pierced through the night sky.
Raf stared up at the expanse of darkness beneath a star filled sky. Is this actually happening? Are we actually escaping?
Steve cursed. "Well," he muttered, "that didn't take long."
The Vehicon held him close to the warm plating of his chassis as his optics scanned their surroundings. The industrial sector they had landed in was a sprawling mess of silos, abandoned warehouses, and cracked concrete roads littered with debris.
Headlights appeared on the horizon, piercing through the darkness like hungry eyes. Humvees sped toward them, armed with harpoons and machine guns. Helicopters quickly joined their welcoming committee.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Steve growled. "I literally just got out."
The Vehicon's plating shifted and formed, sliding to connect to one another. Panels folded over one another, hydraulics compressed, and before by the time Raf had blinked, Steve was a racecar, and he was in the drivers seat.
A seatbelt snapped over his chest.
The interior of Steve's alt-mode was dark but comfortable, reminding him a bit of Bumblebee. The second the seatbelt was secure, tires screeched against the pavement as Steve launched forward, the acceleration slamming Raf back into his seat.
And they were driving straight to the enemy.
"Oh, slag," the Decepticon muttered. "Okay, I may not have thought this through."
"Steve!" Raf shouted. "Do you actually know where you're going?"
"...Define know."
"STEVE!"
The MECH vehicles were quick to correct their course when they went flying past them, skidding to a halt and turning around. They quickly fanned out as much as the road would allow, blocking off potential escape routes as they closed in.
Spotlights flared to life from above, casting harsh beams of white across the industrial sector, illuminating the way they were going. The whup-whup-whup of rotor blades followed them as Steve made a sharp turn, weaving through the silos and onto a narrow road between two warehouses. The concrete beneath them was cracked, littered with debris that rattled as they sped over it.
Raf flinched as bullets struck the ground near their tires, sparking against the pavement. The Vehicon growled in annoyance, while the preteen craned his neck to see MECH soldiers leaning out of the sides of their cars and shooting at them. The person manning the turret on top was taking aim but hadn't fired yet.
It was obvious that they were holding back, probably to prevent either of them from being too damaged.
Steve swerved hard, avoiding another spray of gunfire, his tires skidding as he navigated the increasingly narrow alleyways between the decaying structures.
"Tch. They're going to have to do better than that."
"They're shooting at us!" Raf shrieked.
Steve didn't seem fazed. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's shot at me."
The vehicle jerked to the left, narrowly avoiding a large piece of debris leaning against a silo. Tires screeched against cracked pavement as the racecar spun around, driving in reverse at breakneck speed. Plating on either side of his alt-mode opened, allowing twin barrels to emerge, flashing purple as they powered on.
Superheated energon shot forth in rapid succession, each shot a scorching blaze of red light that streaked through the darkness. Boom—boom—boom!
One Humvee jerked sideways as its engine block was struck, the metal twisting and melting from the heat. It swerved violently, tires screeching before flipping onto its side, rolling multiple times before crashing into the rusted remains of an abandoned truck. It burst into flames.
Raf could barely breathe as he strained to look out the window, where he saw a red bolt strike the underbelly of one of the helicopters. It lurched sideways, smoke billowing from the impact site before flames consumed its engine. It spiraled before crashing into one of the abandoned silos with a deafening boom.
The energon blasts continued, and another struck another one of the pursuers, causing them to swerve to the side.
"STEVE, WHAT THE HELL?!"
Raf immediately covered his mouth and wondered if his Ma had super hearing. She would never ever let him curse, ever. He had been spending too much time with his friends.
"Would you rather I let them capture us?!" Steve snapped through the speakers, and if he had been in bipedal form, he probably would've been glaring.
"I—I don't—"
The Vehicon swerved again, and there was a sickening metallic crunch as something slammed into Steve's frame, embedding itself deep into his armor just below his left wheel. Sparks erupted from the wound as Steve jerked, his entire frame shuddering from the impact.
"AAGH—!"
Raf peered out the window and saw a cable being pulled taut as the Humvee started to pull them backward. "Oh, those scrap-eating little—!" Steve snarled through the pain, hissing in pain as the harpoon pulled at his compromised plating.
Raf's mind raced. "W-what do we do?!"
"We do what I do best!"
Steve slammed on the brakes, spinning around to the vehicle and transformed, much to the dismay of Raf and his stomach. The shift was violent, his frame unfolding, injured plating grinding painfully against itself. A clawed servo snatched the harpoon cable, and with a furious snarl, the Eradicon yanked.
The Humvee was ripped from the ground, flipping end over end before it crashed onto its roof with a sickening crunch. Steve wobbled. His left side was leaking energon, wires and metal pulled outward in a gruesome display.
Raf, still queasy, pointed out, "Y-you're bleeding!"
"Yeah, thanks, I noticed—"
A shadow passed over them.
A sleek, silver-and-red jet plummeted from the sky, twisting in midair before transforming and landing in front of them gracefully. Directly in their path.
Straightening, he folded his servos behind his back. Steve glared at the Decepticon Second-in-Command, curling his servos around the preteen.
"Ah, the Vehicon." Starscream's voice was mocking, almost bored. "How quaint to see you out and about." His gaze flicked down to the small, squirming figure in Steve's claw. His lips curled. "And with a pet, no less."
Steve snarled, immediately bringing his other claw up to shield Raf from Starscream's leering optics.
"Oh, don't look at him," the Vehicon snapped. "You don't get to—" His frame trembled, rage bubbling to the surface. "How could you do it, Starscream?"
The Seeker raised an optical ridge. "Do what, exactly?"
His optics flashed dangerously. "How could you assist the humans against your own kind?!" he bellowed.
Starscream laughed. "Oh, please." He gestured lazily to the trembling boy in Steve's grip. "You're one to talk, fraternizing with one as we speak."
Steve's plating bristled, plating flaring. "You tortured me!" he spat. "You- you destroyed my medical port! You let MECH break into my processor! You helped them put things in my head, Starscream!"
The Seeker tilted his helm. "And?"
"And?" Steve's voice was dangerously low. "And?"
Steve lunged, but Starscream merely stepped back, lips curling into an amused smile. "You are drones," the Seeker said. "Expendable. Nothing more than fodder in the grand machine of the Decepticon cause. Why should I concern myself with the suffering of something so... beneath me?
"Now, don't misunderstand me." The Seeker inspected his claws idly. "The Decepticons possess better processed energon. And in any other circumstance, that alone would be worth fighting for." He sneered. "But the mech we are forced to serve? Oh, he is not worth any of it."
"So, what?" Steve snapped. "You work with humans to enslave, degrade, and dissect your own kind just because you don't like Lord Megatron anymore?"
The SIC scoffed. "My kind?" His optics narrowed, glinting dangerously. "You are constructed cold, drone. You were never meant to be more than cannon fodder. You were made to die."
"That's not true!"
Both Cybertronians startled as Raf snapped. Starscream looked especially surprised.
"A human who can understand our language?"
The preteen ignored his comment. "Steve is not just some disposable soldier! He has thoughts, and feelings, and he—" His voice cracked. "He saved me!"
Starscream merely arched a brow ridge. "Oh, how touching." He said in English, rolling his optics. "But let's be realistic, shall we? If—"
The conversation was abruptly interrupted by the roar of an approaching Humvee. Its tires ground against the cracked asphalt as it abruptly came to a halt. The driver's side door swung open and out stepped a man who Raf hated more than anyone.
His expression was one of thinly veiled annoyance, cold, calculating eyes raking over the scene before him. Silas came to a stop a few feet away, arms clasped behind his back. His lips curled slightly in a smirk.
"Well, well, well," he drawled. "It appears you've been busy."
Steve snarled, optics filled with pure hatred. "You," he spat.
"Me," he confirmed. "It seems despite my generosity in reconstructing you, here you are running away with my prize."
Prize? I though Steve was the—
"You tortured me," he growled, optics brightening with each word he said. "You monsters tore into my processor, violated my systems, and—"
The cruel man merely raised a brow. "Yes," he interrupted, pulling a small device from his pocket. It looked like a remote.
A sinking feeling coiled in Raf's stomach. "What... what is that?"
"Ah, yes," he mused. "The boy genius. You did good work, you know." He gestured absently with the remote. "Your great contributions to our cause ensured that this asset will forever be MECH's. It's a shame, really. You almost made it."
His blood turned to ice. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.
Silas didn't answer and instead pressed the button.
A horrible, strangled sound tore from the mech's voice box, and his frame locked up as something invisible seized his frame, forcing him to one knee. His optics started to flicker wildly, dimming terribly low.
Raf screamed. "STEVE!"
Starscream merely watched with mild curiosity, crossing his arms.
The Eradicon's free servo clutched at his helm as if he could physically fight off whatever was happening to him.
"Chimera."
Steve jerked, a strangled static noise escaping his voice box.
"Twelve."
His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, trembling. Somehow, the Vehicon managed to keep Raf in his grip without dropping him.
"Pillar."
There was a whimper. "Please..."
Raf struggled, pounding his fists against the servo that kept him in a clawed prison "Stop it!" he screamed. "You're hurting him!"
Silas didn't even acknowledge him. "Eight."
Everything was still. Steve stopped moving, going eerily silent. Raf craned to get a look at the Decepticon, who tilted his helm downward, looking directly at him.
"Steve?" he whispered. There was no response.
Those crimson optics were devoid of anything emotions, and it terrified him. They slowly drifted to Silas, who smiled, looking pleased.
"Good," he praised, stepping forward. "Now... hand over the boy."
The preteen started screaming. "No! No, no, no! Steve—Steve, please!"
The Vehicon didn't react in any way. It was like he didn't exist. Raf struggled, kicking and shoving against the massive metal fingers as they lowered him toward Silas. Steve's servo rotated, angling so that Raf could do nothing but slide helplessly into Silas's waiting arms.
"No—Steve, please—look at me!" Raf begged, hoping that somehow he could break through whatever had just been done to the Vehicon.
The human caught him with ease, hands tightening painfully around his arms, yanking him close. Raf writhed, twisting in the cruel man's hold, but he was too strong. Silas merely chuckled, ignoring the boy's thrashing. "Now, now," he murmured. "No need to fight. You were instrumental in ensuring this moment happened, after all."
Raf froze, stomach twisting into knots. He looked up, horror creeping into his expression. "W-what?"
"This was your work. Your programming." He gestured slightly to the device still in his hand, the small remote that had stolen Steve from him in mere seconds. "Brilliant, really. Without you, this would have taken weeks. Months, even. You did in days what would have taken my best men years."
He felt like he was going to be sick. That's what Silas had been making him do. "N-no—"
"Yes," Silas corrected. "It was your hands, your understanding of Cybertronian systems. Your code. Your work." He leaned in slightly, and he flinched when hot air was on his ear, lowering his voice to a near-whisper, "You did this to him, Rafael."
Raf shook his head, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. "No," he choked out, but he knew he had done this to him. He had built Steve's cage, even though he was unaware of what the protocols did. He assumed it was going to shut down his systems or something, but this was so much worse.
A living hell.
Silas dumped him into the arms of other soldier. Raf didn't have any energy to resist, and he could only cry like a baby as he was dragged away to the Humvee. He managed to hear snippets of conversation, something about Starscream stealing energon.
Then—
"Dispose of Starscream."
Admittedly, I didn't enjoy writing this chapter as much as I thought I would, specifically the escape scene. But I wanted to let Raf shine (even though it was just for a little bit). Plus, I know some of you wanted Steve and Raf to have an escape attempt, so I did it for the few of you who wanted it :)
Steve and Raf's relationship are big (ginormous) bro and little bro, and I love it. It's a shame that it has to end. My precious Steve hears the voice...
Anyways, each of the words that Silas used to activate the 'Winter Soldier Programming' (I'm workshopping the name) in Steve had something to do with something personal in Raf's life. A cruelty, really.
Chimera - for obvious reasons.
Twelve - how old Raf is
Pilar - his older sister (she's canon)
Eight - the size of his family (I know that the underwhelming blob of a photo briefly shown by Raf in the show had seven people, but I'm adding a baby to the family).
Okay, lastly. The vision about Unicron Jack experienced is "kind of" similar to the one in One Shall Rise series. Yes, I know that he's 'asleep' and all, but his energy form isn't. This storyline is going to have some season 3 elements (without the whole bones hunting) and replace the Predacons Rising, which I am not a big fan of.
I will have Predaking in the story, somehow, because I like him. A lot.
Hope you enjoyed :)