The United States. Florida. Miami.
A low-frequency thunder tore through the heavy clouds over Miami, leaving a twin trail of shimmering ionized vapor in its wake.
Arrived already, Nathan thought, his sensors tracking the sprawling grid of city lights below. He began to bleed off velocity, angling his flaps for a shallow descent.
Using his internal navigation array, the flight from the Nevada fortress to the coast of Florida had taken less than three hours. Florida—the "Sunshine State." Known to the world for its beaches and tourism, but known to the criminal underworld and military intelligence as a place that had no room for the weak.
Nathan activated a wide-band terrain scan, searching for a landing zone that met his "low-profile" requirements. His first experience as a flight-capable unit had been... functional. While the thrill of soaring through the atmosphere without a cockpit was a biological dream, the reality for a Cybertronian was often a dull exercise in fuel management and vector correction.
If it weren't for the occasional beauty of the neon-lit cities below, he would have already sought a higher-spec alt-mode—something with a faster engine. His current form was limited to roughly Mach 1. Crossing half of the United States in three hours should have been impossible at that speed, were it not for his primary tactical advantage: Active Optical Cloaking.
Nathan hadn't scanned a terrestrial jet before leaving the base. His T-Cog was a veteran component, salvaged by Starscream from a fallen Seeker during the Cybertronian Civil War. It held the data for a specialized Cybertronian Interceptor—a craft that didn't just absorb radar, but bent light itself around its hull.
Miami Outskirts. Abandoned Industrial Sector.
The corrugated metal roof of a derelict warehouse shattered into a thousand rusted fragments as a massive, unseen pressure slammed into the floor. Dust erupted in a choking cloud.
A nine-meter silhouette bled into reality, as if the air itself were thickening into metal. Nathan stood in the center of the warehouse, his hydraulics hissing as his optical cloak disengaged.
The cloak integrates with the armor even in bipedal mode, Nathan noted, impressed. He had feared the invisibility was restricted to his jet-form.
He checked his customized data-overlay:
[ DESIGNATION: T-22 ]
[ ENERGY CORE: 84% ]
[ STATUS: STEALTH MODULE ACTIVE / DEPLETION DETECTED ]
The three-hour flight at Mach 1 with a full cloak had drained two percent of his total reserves. It was a significant draw, but Nathan calculated it as an acceptable trade-off. Total invisibility in a world of primitive human sensors was worth any amount of fuel. Besides, Starscream's "All-Inclusive" support meant he could always return to the Nevada base for a full Energon top-off.
THUD. CRASH. SLAM.
His four squad members arrived seconds later. The clones lacked his finesse; they disengaged their flight-modes at low altitude and dropped like boulders. The already fragile warehouse didn't stand a chance. The remaining walls buckled, and the roof collapsed entirely.
"..."
"Outside. Now," Nathan commanded, waving away the dust cloud with a heavy metallic hand.
"As you command, Sergeant," the four replied.
They stepped out into the yard of Aethelgard Industrial. The site was a graveyard of 20th-century chemistry—rusted vats, crumbling brickwork, and overgrown weeds choking the intake pipes. It was a relic of a bankrupt era, left to rot when the cleaning costs exceeded the land value.
"This is our Forward Operating Base," Nathan stated, scanning the perimeter.
He hadn't chosen this place at random. It was close enough to the Miami metropolitan area to allow for signal-interception but isolated enough that a nine-meter robot wouldn't be spotted by a casual passerby.
"You are confined to these coordinates," Nathan continued, his voice dropping into a menacing rumble. "No missions, no scouting, and no visual exposure without my explicit authorization. If I find a single human news report about a 'giant robot' in this sector, I will personally rip the fusion core out of the offender's chest. Starscream won't even have time to file the paperwork."
The four clones stiffened, their optics dimming in fear. "Understood, Sergeant! We will maintain zero-visibility!"
In any other faction, such a threat would be seen as toxic leadership. In the Decepticons, it was the only language that commanded respect. Nathan didn't want the "Butterfly Effect" ruining his advantage. If the world learned about the Transformers too early, his knowledge of the Hoover Dam and the AllSpark would become useless.
Squadron Seven was now positioned in the Southern Sector. To the west lay the Gulf; to the north, the heart of the American military-industrial complex.
"Listen well," Nathan said, walking toward the largest remaining hangar. "If any organics approach the perimeter, you hide. You do not engage. You do not 'scare' them. You become the shadows. Understood?"
"Understood, Sergeant!"
Nathan looked toward the Miami skyline. Somewhere in this country, a boy was about to buy a yellow Camaro. Somewhere else, a frozen king was waiting for a spark.
And I'm the one who's going to find it first, Nathan promised his reflection in a shard of glass.