A few hours earlier…
A helicopter cut through the silent skies over the Nevada mountains, solitary, wrapped in dry wind and arid peaks. In the cockpit, Agent Fowler piloted with a tense expression, alternating between managing the controls and speaking on the radio to a high-ranking military contact.
"I'm telling you, take no action against the forest. I repeat, no military movement!"
On the other end, static answered before a cold, bureaucratic voice cut through:
"Understand, Agent Fowler, your authority in this operation is... limited. The government needs answers."
Fowler grunted and slammed the radio back into its holder with a dry thud. He ran his fingers across his forehead and massaged the bridge of his nose, fighting off a throbbing headache.
"Damn it... things got too complicated too fast. What the hell am I supposed to do now?" he murmured, looking to the sky, seeking divine intervention.
He trusted the Autobots. Respected Optimus like few others did. He knew that, even in the face of chaos, that leader always found a solution… no matter how absurd it seemed. The problem? This time, chaos was growing faster than the answers.
Suddenly, the helicopter's panels began to flicker. Alarms blared.
"Oh no... not now!"
The helicopter shook violently. Fowler wrestled with the controls, trying to stabilize the aircraft. Nothing responded. Communications went dark. Power failed.
"Damn! That's exactly what I needed!"
With skill and nerves of steel, he managed an emergency landing—or something that resembled one. The helicopter skidded across the sand and partially toppled over a dune. Smoke rose from the stopped rotors. Fowler staggered out coughing, brushing dust off his uniform.
But before he could catch his breath, a blinding light struck him. He looked up.
There it was… a colossal aircraft, resembling a mix between a military plane and an experimental drone. It had giant rotors that spun in absolute silence, sending chills down his spine.
"What the hell..." he muttered.
A door on the aircraft opened with a clank, and ropes dropped to the ground. Within seconds, a dozen soldiers slid down. Black uniforms, heavy weaponry. Faces hidden behind dark visors.
Fowler backed up and instinctively drew his weapon, his eyes darting from soldier to soldier. The light still blinded him, making any kind of reaction nearly impossible.
"Who the hell are you?!" he shouted, tense but firm.
The soldiers gave no answer.
They approached with military precision, forming a semicircle around him. No insignias, no identification. Definitely not MECH, but not U.S. Army either.
"If you're Air Force, you've forgotten your manners!" Fowler growled, trying to stay cool.
One of the mysterious soldiers fired a taser into Fowler's back, dropping him to the ground before he had a chance to fight back—knocking him out cold.
Fowler woke with a start, gasping for breath. His arms and legs were restrained by reinforced straps and metal handcuffs. The cold, clinical cabin smelled of new, sterile metal.
In front of him, seated with perfect posture, was a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, clearly not from an ordinary store. His mustache was neatly trimmed, icy blue eyes sharp and intense, and he exuded an authority that didn't need to be announced.
Fowler lifted his head with disdain.
"Who are you?"
The man crossed his legs with elegance before answering:
"I'm a special agent, leader of one of the most classified operations in the U.S. government. I work for Sector 7. You may call me Tom Banacheck, it should make communication easier."
Fowler raised an eyebrow.
"Sector 7? Never heard of it."
"That's exactly the point, Agent Fowler." Tom offered a subtle smile, as if he'd just won a point in a silent game. "Apologies for how you were brought here, but given your record… you're a man who trusts his instincts too much. Admirable, yes. But also notoriously stubborn when it comes to listening."
Fowler narrowed his eyes, still analyzing the man's every move.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing more than your knowledge about your... alien friends. The Autobots."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fowler responded automatically, his tone solid.
Tom chuckled softly.
"Please, Agent. The Autobots' base is just an old, unoccupied Sector 7 facility from the Cold War era. We're more aware than you think. There's no need for pretense here."
Fowler paused for a second, processing.
"If you know all that, what exactly do you want from me?"
Tom leaned forward, hands clasped over one knee.
"Like you, I know how dangerous the Decepticons can be. And I know the Autobots are not our enemies. But we're in… delicate times. Every move must be calculated. And for that, I need your help."
"Help with what?"
"You know the Autobots. You've earned their trust. I need you to help me convince the Secretary of Defense to work with us. The alien forest is our top concern, and we're not going to solve this through traditional or discreet methods."
"You want me to convince the government… to listen to the Autobots?"
"I want you to help us buy time. Time to play our first card the right way."
Fowler reflected for a moment, then asked,"Where are we going?"
Tom stood up, pulled a key from the inner pocket of his blazer, and unlocked Fowler's handcuffs with a firm click.
"To the Sector 7 Base."
He turned toward the window, contemplating the vast rocky mountains stretching across the horizon, bathed in golden sunlight."The view is beautiful, isn't it? But don't be fooled… soon all of this could become the battlefield of a war humanity is not ready to fight."
After a few minutes, the aircraft landed with surgical precision. As Fowler disembarked, he was greeted by dozens of armed soldiers, aligned with impeccable discipline, a living example of military elite.
He looked around, surprised by the grandeur. In the distance, he could see a massive dam, too familiar to go unnoticed."Are we at the Hoover Dam?" he asked, frowning.
"Yes," Tom confirmed, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. "Sixty percent of Sector 7 operations are conducted from here. The rest is distributed among strategic allies around the globe."
Fowler let out a soft whistle of respect."Impressive."
They approached a large, armored door guarded by two soldiers who immediately saluted Tom. When the door opened, the dam's ancient, austere exterior revealed steel corridors lit by cold panels and filled with technology.
As they advanced, they entered a large hangar packed with military equipment. Fowler passed tanks that he had never seen in any official records or prototypes. His eyes widened further when he saw a wing full of futuristic-looking jets with aggressive lines and nearly alien aerodynamics. "What kind of military jets are those?" he asked, trying not to sound too shocked.
"Those are sixth-generation prototypes," Tom replied casually. "The finished versions are stored elsewhere."
"Sixth generation?" Fowler muttered, mouth agape. He felt a mix of pride and unease—pride that his country was so technologically advanced, and unease at having no idea any of this even existed. What kind of organization was Sector 7, really?
"What exactly is Sector 7's specialty?"
"Investigation and containment of extraterrestrial life forms," Tom replied naturally, as he opened the next door.
On the other side, to Fowler's surprise, was none other than Secretary of Defense John Keller, sitting calmly at the table, waiting with institutional patience.
"Secretary of Defense," Tom said, greeting him with a slight nod. "Thank you for waiting. This is Agent Fowler. He'll explain, in his own words, some sensitive matters that deserve your attention."
Fowler composed himself and extended his hand to shake the secretary's. He was surprised to see someone with such authority in that place. But something else caught his attention: another man in the room. He was younger than Tom and dressed in military fatigues. He leaned casually against the wall, sipping coffee as if he were at home.
"Simmons," Tom said with a raised eyebrow. "On your lunch break?"
"Since when do I have a lunch break?" Simmons shot back sarcastically, lifting the cup to his lips. "This coffee is the only thing keeping me from collapsing after twenty straight hours of reading alien reports."
Fowler let out a soft chuckle, easing the tension a bit. But he knew that what came next would be anything but simple.
After everyone waited (some more patiently than others) for Simmons to finish his coffee, the group proceeded down a long corridor within the facility. The walls were lined with reinforced steel panels, but soon opened up into a larger space: a laboratory-museum, almost like a technological time capsule.
"This is all really… surreal," John Keller said as his eyes scanned the display cases. "Now I understand where the missing 10% of the military budget went."
Fowler walked beside him, still wearing a stern expression."I get that impressing us is part of the deal, but we've got an alien forest that just sprouted out of nowhere, and no one knows when it'll start spreading again. We don't have time for a tour."
Tom stopped, slowly turning on his heels to face Fowler."I'm not joking, Agent Fowler," he said in a firmer tone. "We have an answer. We know how the forest appeared overnight. But for you to understand what's happening now… you first need to understand how it all began."
They entered the main room of Sector 7's historical archive. It was a mix between a research center and a secret museum. Young uniformed scientists were analyzing ancient images and technological fragments that didn't belong to any known human era.
John Keller stopped in front of a mural. Cave paintings decorated the panel—drawings of cavemen, animals, strange symbols… and one intriguing scene: something falling from the sky, a burning star with an unusual shape, like a capsule or a spacecraft.
"These images… are they real?" Keller asked, stepping closer.
Simmons, with his eternal air of knowing more than he should, pointed with the lid of his coffee cup to a specific section.
"Visitors from another world have been on this planet for much longer than anyone imagines," he began. "These drawings come from African and European tribes that never had any contact with each other. And yet, they describe the same phenomenon — a star that fell from the sky, carrying something we're having problems with right now."
"That sounds…" Keller hesitated. "…like something out of a conspiracy book."
"Yeah, but unlike those books… we have proof," said Tom, as serious as ever.
Tom stopped in front of a massive digital panel, activating a sequence of files. Old black-and-white images began projecting on the wall: ruins, maps, blurry human figures due to poor camera quality, all connected by a red thread across the virtual panel.
"The official story says Sector Seven was born around World War II…" Tom began, turning to face Fowler and John Keller. "…but in truth, our roots go further back. The real trigger was an event that happened right after World War I."
Fowler crossed his arms, paying close attention.
"One of the seven founders of the Sector Seven was saved, along with his family, from a bombing in Paris. Their house collapsed into rubble, twisted iron, and tons of concrete." Tom paused. "...and a boy. A boy who lifted the rubble with his bare hands and saved them."
"A boy?" Keller raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying he was… human?"
Tom didn't respond immediately. He just looked at both men with a serious expression.
"That boy vanished shortly after the rescue. Disappeared as if he'd never existed. The founder never forgot. And that, gentlemen, is what we call Event Zero."
Simmons chimed in, working on a terminal as he spoke:
"For years we tried tracking down any lead, any similar case. That's when we stumbled on some bizarre records from North Africa."
"Event One," Tom continued. "In 1940, the Germans discovered something we later codenamed The Jewel. They were conducting research for a nuclear project, and while excavating in a desert region… they stumbled upon it."
He activated another image. A map of Africa marked in red. Then came photos of devastation: craters, charred bodies, twisted tanks.
"But they didn't know what they were getting into. One of the tanks was..... infected, so to speak. This tank stopped being a simple vehicle and became sentient. Its structure became extremely complex, as if by magic—ironically."
"You're saying a tank turned into… a Transformer?" Fowler's eyes widened.
"Yes. Nicknamed by the Germans and the survivors as Scorponok."
Tom walked over to a heavy door at the end of the room, entered a numeric code, and placed his palm on a scanner. The door opened with a deep mechanical clunk.
Behind him was a hangar lit by intense white lights. In the center was the enormous skeleton of an eight-meter-long metallic scorpion with a segmented body, a broken tail, and jaws frozen in a menacing pose. Bullet holes riddled its rusted chassis.
"NBE-01," said Tom. "Our first official specimen. As you can see, its design is very similar to the creatures from the alien forest."
Fowler stepped closer, cautiously inspecting the body.
"Definitely Cybertronian… but different. Looks… primitive and brutal."
John Keller slowly turned toward Fowler, eyeing him with suspicion.
"How exactly do you know what that is?" he asked, pointing at the scorpion's corpse.
Fowler crossed his arms, locking eyes with the Secretary.
"Because I work in a division that houses Cybertronians… allies." He walked up to the NBE-01. "Unlike this thing here, they're much more civilized. More, in fact, than a lot of people I've met out there."
Keller raised his eyebrows. Simmons, as always, took the opportunity to jump in.
"He's right. Some of our metal 'buddies' have better manners than certain diplomats."
"What about the Jewel? I'm curious about that thing." Keller shifted the subject, clearly intrigued.
Simmons grinned. "Ah, the star of the show. After everything that happened, it was obvious we needed to research what the Jewel could do or what its purpose was."
"The radiation it emitted was… unusual," Tom added. "Undetectable by conventional equipment at the time. Only certain configurations, discovered more by luck than science, allowed the Germans to find it buried in Africa. So, the government did what it does best — brought the world's greatest minds here to study it."
Keller narrowed his eyes. "Radiation? Is that why they set up Sector Seven here? For safety?"
"Safety and secrecy," answered Simmons. "The President authorized the installation of Sector Seven at Hoover Dam to contain any 'accidents' and protect the truth. The Jewel's energy had to be deeply hidden, so no one could detect it. The dam's power grid and the surrounding rock mass helped isolate and mask the energy signature. That's why we're based here."
Fowler moved closer to the screen, examining one of the ancient documents being projected. He suddenly stopped, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Wait a second… is that Einstein?!"
"Yes," Tom answered calmly. "But before you get too excited: he wasn't officially part of Sector 7."
"Officially," Simmons added with a mischievous smile.
Tom continued:
"Einstein was the first to understand the unique properties of the Jewel. He was the one who theorized that the boy from Event Zero might be a key figure… and that the Jewel could be a kind of 'compass' to track these beings on our planet."
"He found the boy?" Keller asked.
"In theory, yes—at the time," Tom replied with a hint of mystery. "But he never revealed how. Or what they talked about. That left us in the dark for over twenty years."
"Fortunately," Simmons interjected, already moving down a hallway toward another section of the facility, "we figured out how he did it. And now, you're going to see one of our discoveries that came from that method."
Everyone followed.
The doors that opened released a wave of cold mist, as if the Arctic itself had been sealed within this underground chamber. The ceiling was made of ice, literally. Stalactites hung from the metal framework. The cold was so intense that everyone's breath became visible vapor.
At the center of the room, surrounded by cables, steel supports, and dozens of silent scientists at work… there it was. A humanoid giant. Frozen upright, like a statue embedded into the Earth by ancient gods.
John Keller and Fowler instinctively stepped back.
"Gentlemen," Simmons announced, as if introducing a movie star, "Meet NBE-02. Event Two. Found in the North Pole in 1961. Frozen for thousands of years."
Fowler could barely take his eyes off the Cybertronian.
"This... this is bigger than Optimus."
"Unlike NBE-01, this one bears the same symbols found on the Jewel. Which leads us to believe they came from the same place… or the same star system," Tom said, used to the imposing sight of a frozen iron giant like a statue.
Keller swallowed hard. "And… he's dead, right?"
Simmons laughed. "Technically? Frozen. But dead? We haven't placed our bets on that Russian roulette yet."