Optimus Prime, oblivious to the existential dread swirling in Lennox and Epps' minds regarding "robotic romance," continued the introductions.
"These are Elita-One and Chromia. While they share a structural template with Arcee, they are distinct, independent sparks."
Chromia rolled forward, her optics scanning the two humans with a clinical curiosity. "So, you are the apex predators of this world? The 'dominant' species?"
"Apex predators?" Lennox looked at Epps. "Uh... yeah. Something like that. On a good day."
Before Lennox could elaborate, the two small, hunchbacked bots who had followed the sisters pushed their way to the front.
"And these," Optimus rumbled, "are Skids and Mudflap. Brothers."
The twins were a chaotic sight. Skids had an oversized right arm, while Mudflap's left was disproportionately large. Since their spark had been split from a single core, their personalities were nearly identical—and twice as annoying.
They immediately began posturing in front of Optimus. "Prime! Great job! I knew Megatron wasn't a match for you!" Mudflap cheered.
"Yeah! If I'd been there, I woulda kicked his exhaust pipe so hard his intake would rattle!" Skids added, before Mudflap shoved him aside.
"Hey! Watch it, Mudflap! Stop crowding me!"
"Crowding you? I was standing here first! Your ugly green paint job is giving me a processor headache!"
"Ugly? You're lookin' in a mirror, genius! We're twins!"
The two began scuffling near Optimus's feet, their bickering echoing through the hangar until Ironhide let out a warning growl that sent them scurrying back.
As Optimus led his reinforced team back to the NEST barracks, Lennox filed a formal report to his only superior: Secretary John Keller.
Keller was pleased. More Autobots meant a stronger front against the Decepticon remnants. But in the world of high-stakes politics, one man's joy is another's bitterness.
At the Dumen Building, the heart of the Cabinet's operations, Director Lawrence clutched a fresh intelligence brief. He marched straight toward the office of Secretary of State Clarice.
Clarice had just turned sixty, but she carried herself with a sharp, lethal grace that defied her age. Her rose-gold bob was perfectly coiffed, and her business suit radiated a terrifying competence. She looked up as Lawrence burst in without knocking.
"What is it, Lawrence?" She signaled her secretary to leave, showing no annoyance at his intrusion. Her trust in Lawrence was more than professional; it was a partnership of shared ambition.
"Madam Secretary, you need to see this." Lawrence slammed the file onto her mahogany desk. "More of them have landed. They're treating our planet like a base camp! We haven't even neutralized the hostiles yet, and the 'refugees' are doubling their numbers!"
Lawrence was a staunch oppositionist. It was his silver-tongued whispering that had nearly prevented the alliance with Optimus in the first place, forcing Keller to bring in the President to override the Cabinet.
Clarice glanced at the file but didn't open it. "How many, Lawrence?"
"Five. So far. And there's no guarantee more aren't screaming through the atmosphere right now."
Clarice narrowed her eyes. She didn't care much for the "Alien War" in a vacuum, but five more Autobots meant their footprint on Earth had doubled. This was a battle for sovereignty.
"John Keller has the President's ear right now," Clarice mused. "The Air Force One 'incident' was swept under the rug. When I tried to move that Colonel Lennox to a backwater base in a combat zone during the last meeting, they blocked me. Both of them."
Lennox was a flea, but NEST was the dog. Since Sector Seven had been disbanded, all of its former authority had been transferred to NEST. In the eyes of the law, NEST could kick in a door and claim a house had a Decepticon in the basement—even if that house belonged to the Secretary of State.
To a woman who lived by the rule of power and checks, such an autonomous entity was an abomination.
"What does Mr. Homanton think of NEST?" Lawrence asked.
Clarice scoffed. Her husband, Homanton, was a political titan in his own right and a frontrunner to challenge President Mitchell in the next election. Their marriage was a well-known "partnership of convenience"—a secret that everyone in the elite chose to ignore because the couple had a habit of making their enemies disappear.
"We need to clip their wings, Lawrence," Clarice said. "Keller is riding high on the 'Alien Alliance.' If we want to move against him, we need a foothold inside the unit."
Lawrence smiled. He wasn't young, and he wasn't particularly handsome, but he was a master strategist. He spent the next hour outlining a series of moves to place a "monitor" within NEST—a role that would eventually grant him a hand on the throttle.
Two Weeks Later. Miami.
The late July heat hung heavy over Florida. High schools, including Miami Central, were out for summer break.
In a modest suburban home, Karl was bored. He sat in his darkened room, mindlessly playing a PC game. The encounter with the aliens three months ago felt like a fever dream—a secret that he and his five friends had sworn never to speak of. Life had returned to its mundane rhythm. The ten-thousand-dollar check Skygnaw had given him was long gone, spent until only three digits remained in his account.
As the moon reached its zenith, Karl shut off his computer and climbed into bed. But sleep wouldn't come. He felt a familiar, prickling sensation—the feeling of being watched.
He bolted upright. In the corner of his room, near the wardrobe, two pinpricks of crimson light ignited.
Before Karl could scream, the shadow stepped forward. It was a mechanical beast with glowing red eyes. Black Panther.
"Come," the drone rumbled, its voice a low vibration. "Master wishes to see you."
Karl's heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at his bedroom door, just three meters away. He could make it. He could scream for his parents. But a primal instinct told him that if he ran now, he'd be throwing away the only interesting thing that would ever happen to him.
He climbed onto the panther's back, gripping the cold metal as it leapt out the window. The wind whipped his face as the drone blurred through the Miami streets, moving with a speed no human vehicle could match.
When the wind finally stopped, Karl opened his eyes. He wasn't in the city anymore. He was standing in a familiar, rusted workshop.
The abandoned factory.
And there, standing in the center of the floor, was the nightmare.
"Alien... Mr. Alien. We meet again." Karl held out a hand, then laughed nervously, realizing how ridiculous he looked.
The robot looked almost the same—terrifying, jagged, and massive. Though it seemed a bit shorter than Karl remembered, the aura of lethal power hadn't faded.
"I... I haven't told anyone about you! I swear!" Karl babbled, his face pale. "If the government knows you're here, it wasn't me! I kept the secret!"
Skygnaw watched the boy's frantic attempt to sell out his friends to save his skin. An internal processor flickered with a cold, mechanical amusement.
Yes, Skygnaw thought. I definitely found the right man.
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