The moon hung fat and silver over Seattle, bathing the city in a cold glow. Its light spilled down glass towers and wet asphalt, catching on the chrome of moving cars and the faces of pedestrians still drifting home. The air was crisp, clean—the kind of night that made you think nothing bad could possibly happen.
But in the shadows, something moved.
A shimmer of blue, so faint it could have been a trick of the light, rippled along the brick wall of an alleyway before melting back into the dark. It came again, sliding up a drainpipe, glancing off the corner of a rooftop. A predator's motion. Silent. Purposeful.
In the glint of moonlight, a figure took form—a towering man, easily 6'11, wearing matte-black armor traced with faint cerulean lines. A helmet concealed his face, its visor a narrow slash of blue light. Despite his size, he moved like liquid, every step precise and unhurried.
Agent Bumblebee, Recon Division, Section 6. Unit 9.
The voice in his earpiece was low and grainy, the product of a man whose best days were half a century behind him. "This is headquarters. Section 6 Recon, Agent Bumblebee, do you copy?"
Bumblebee tapped a finger against his helmet. "Copy. Closing in on the objective. I'll update once I have visual confirmation."
"Roger."
He kept moving, vaulting a chain-link fence, ducking beneath a low-hanging neon sign that buzzed weakly in the night. Ahead, rising like a needle into the heavens, was his target—five hundred feet of steel and glass tapering to an illuminated crown.
The Space Needle. The city's pride. A relic from an older time, now retrofitted with scanners, comms relays, and enough defensive shielding to repel a small-scale aerial assault.
Bumblebee stopped at its base, scanning the plaza. No civilians at this hour. Just the low hum of the Needle's perimeter defenses. Without another glance, he bent his knees and ran straight up the side of the structure, boots magnetizing to the steel. His climb was fluid, almost lazy. In forty seconds, he was crouched just below the observation deck.
"Bumblebee, report," HQ's voice crackled.
"At the top. Beginning sweep now."
He vaulted onto the roof, eyes scanning the panorama. The city stretched out in every direction, lights winking against the black. For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
Then, movement. In his peripheral vision—a blur of white, low and fast, streaking past without a sound.
Bumblebee straightened. "I'll only say this once: If you can speak, do so now. Otherwise… you'll be eliminated."
Silence.
He began a slow circle of the roof, scanning every shadow. Ten minutes passed. Nothing. Then—a faint growl, right behind him.
He spun, rifle raised. And froze.
Two creatures crouched on the steel surface, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. One was black as midnight, its form almost absorbing the surrounding light. The other was pure white, glowing faintly, as if lit from within. Both were no larger than hounds, their wings tucked tightly against their bodies.
Dragons.
Real, breathing, impossible.
Bumblebee's throat went dry. "Comms, this is Bumblebee. I need backup at my location. I have two creatures—white and black, draconic in appearance. Potential threat. I'll hold them until—"
A sound cut him off. A deep, resonant growl, not from the creatures in front of him, but from something behind.
And then—he couldn't move.
It was like his body had been encased in stone. Every instinct screamed to run, to fight, but his muscles ignored him. The air felt thick, crushing against his lungs.
In the corner of his visor, a shadow rose. Massive. Towering. The faint glow of eyes the size of his helmet lenses locked onto him.
His comm unit slipped from nerveless fingers, clattering to the roof.
"Bumblebee, do you copy?" HQ's voice was sharp now. "We need a status report. Bumblebee?"
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head.
Two more dragons loomed above him, each the size of a three-story building. The black one's scales rippled like liquid shadow; the white one's hide shimmered with the brilliance of frost under moonlight. Their wings spread wide, blotting out the stars.
The last thing Bumblebee saw was the white dragon lowering its head, its gaze piercing straight through him. Somewhere, faint and alien, a voice brushed his mind—Found you.
The world went black.