Jazz's three-fingered metallic claw shifted, the internal magnets humming as they spun. In a sudden blur of motion, the submachine guns were ripped from the hands of over a dozen agents, clattering together into a useless heap of scrap metal.
The disarmed agents stood frozen. Even for the elite of Sector Seven, who lived and breathed the reality of extraterrestrial mechanical life, the sheer power of the machines in front of them sparked a cold, primal panic.
Seeing his side rendered toothless, Simmons forced a jagged, awkward smile and stood up. He raised a hand in a stiff greeting.
"Hello there..."
"Human, you are their leader. Why do you not fear us?" Optimus Prime's optics pulsed with curiosity. "Should you not be paralyzed with shock at our presence?"
Simmons shook his head, his lips pulling back into a grin. "Sector Seven has protocols, you know? My clearance level doesn't actually permit me to chat with you. Well... aside from the part where I tell you I'm not allowed to talk to you."
"Sector Seven? What is that?"
"Sorry. Classified."
Seeing that the man was a dead end for information, Optimus didn't waste another second. "Out of the vehicle!"
"Ah? Oh, right... I'm going, I'm moving. By the way..." Simmons gestured toward Sam and Mikaela. "Do they need to get out too?"
"Out!"
Simmons scrambled from the wreckage of the SUV.
"And release them. Remove their restraints!"
As the agent named Ryan unlocked Mikaela's cuffs, she didn't wait. She snatched the keys right out of his hand.
"Get lost!"
She moved to Sam's side to unlock him, but the boy's expression was cold.
"You're pretty good with handcuffs, aren't you?" Sam muttered, his voice thick with unsaid questions.
Mikaela didn't look up, her hands moving with practiced speed. "Sam, you were never supposed to find out about that part of my life."
"Yeah, well, I did." Sam rubbed his sore wrists as the metal fell away. "And it turns out everything else—all of this—is real, too."
"Sam," Mikaela called out as he turned to walk away. She stepped in front of him, a weary but honest smile on her face. "My record... I took the fall because I wouldn't rat out my dad. Sam, in all the years you've lived, have you ever had to sacrifice everything for someone else?"
Sam stood speechless, the weight of her words sinking in. But he had no time to ponder it. Optimus was looming over him.
"Sam, the glasses. Where are they?"
"Right here, Optimus." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the old heirloom. He handed them over, then marched toward Simmons, who was still surrounded by the Autobots.
"What is Sector Seven? Where is it?" Sam demanded. "How do you know about the aliens? Where are my parents! Answer me!"
Simmons's face twisted with annoyance. "Kid, I don't have to tell you a thing. I'm the one who asks questions here, not you! Don't think because you have these giant metal bodyguards you can do whatever you want. I'll have you back in cuffs before the day is out. I promise you!"
Simmons didn't realize that his current predicament was entirely due to those glasses. Had he known, he might have ordered a more thorough search of the boy from the start.
Mikaela, seeing that the agent was useless for answers, decided it was time for a little payback.
"Take your clothes off. All of them." She pointed toward a streetlamp on the riverbank.
"Excuse me?"
"You threatened my father," Mikaela said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibrato. "That's a line you don't cross."
Simmons looked at the massive mechanical beings looming over him, then at Ryan, who offered a helpless shrug. With a string of curses, Simmons began to strip.
"You're a criminal," Simmons spat. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'll enjoy catching you again..."
Ryan tried to help. "Young man, you have no idea the magnitude of the crimes—"
"Shut up! You too. Over there!"
Mikaela forced Ryan to the other side of the pole. Using the two sets of cuffs, she locked the men together around the streetlamp. Simmons was left shivering in his floral boxers and a white undershirt, literally hugging his subordinate around a cold metal pole.
"Let's go, Sam."
As they prepared to move, the distance echoed with the scream of sirens. Three black SUVs tore toward them, lights flashing, while attack helicopters banked sharply in the sky above.
"Autobots, enemies approaching! Defensive formation!"
Ironhide took point. His massive frame, forged from high-grade Trithyllium alloy, was built to absorb the kind of punishment that would level a city block.
Targets identified. Prepare to engage.
A commander's voice crackled from a chopper, but before he could finish the order, Ironhide slammed his foot down. A concentrated shockwave rippled through the earth.
BOOM!
The tires of the approaching SUVs shredded instantly, the vehicles skidding to a halt.
"Retreat, Autobots!" Optimus commanded.
They could have wiped out the human team in a heartbeat, but Optimus refused. To slaughter those they meant to protect would make them no better than Megatron.
"Sam, get on!"
Optimus stowed the glasses in his chest compartment and swept Sam and Mikaela onto his shoulder. He leaped toward the underside of the bridge, using the massive stone pylons as cover.
The helicopters were relentless, the downwash from their rotors nearly blowing the two humans off Optimus's shoulder.
Target moving left. Locking on. Locking on.
Loss of signal on other targets. Focus on the primary.
Ironhide and Jazz had already vanished into the urban maze in their vehicle forms. Only Optimus remained in the sights of the hunters. The bridge groaned under his weight as he navigated the girders.
Suddenly, Optimus pivoted into a blind spot.
Signal lost! Where is he?
All flight units, return to the bridge! Search the superstructure!
Optimus wedged his massive hands into the bridge's steel truss, hanging suspended over the dark water. Searchlights swept the air just beneath his feet.
The vibration of a passing chopper was too much. The gust of wind caught Mikaela, and her footing slipped on the smooth metal of Optimus's shoulder.
"Mikaela! Watch out!"
Sam lunged, grabbing her hand, his other arm hooked desperately around a joint in the Autobot's plating.
"Sam, don't let go! I'm slipping!"
"I... I can't!"
Sam's muscles screamed. He was just a kid, not an athlete. His grip failed, and the two of them tumbled into the air, screaming as they fell toward the hard ground below.
At that moment, a yellow blur streaked across the riverbank.
Bumblebee roared back into the fray. He transformed in mid-air, a whirlwind of shifting parts, and caught both Sam and Mikaela in his hands just inches from the pavement. He hit the ground hard, sparks flying as his armor scraped the concrete.
The move gave him away. The searchlights converged.
Target located! On the riverbank!
Launch the harpoons! Do not let it escape!
Bumblebee scrambled to stand, but a heavy steel cable hissed through the air, its magnetic head burying into his back. Before he could react, three more cables slammed into his limbs, pinning him down.
"No! Stop it!" Sam screamed, charging toward the helicopters.
The cables went taut. Bumblebee was slammed back onto the asphalt. He could have torn them loose—he could have brought those choppers down in a ball of fire—but he looked at the humans inside. He remembered Optimus's order.
He lowered his head and ceased his struggle.
More SUVs arrived. A now-dressed Simmons stepped out, his face twisted in a cold, triumphant sneer.
"Down! On the ground!"
Agents tackled Sam and Mikaela. Others rushed toward the pinned Autobot, lugging heavy liquid nitrogen tanks.
"Freeze it! Get the temperature down! Now!"
The white mist hissed, coating Bumblebee's yellow armor in a layer of jagged ice. The scout's optics flickered, his blue light fading into the frost as the world turned to white.