"My name is Jerry! You can call me the Deep King, the King of the Deep!" Jerry's eyes bulged, his gaze locking onto Sam with wild intensity.
"I know who you are! Samuel Witwicky! You're Samuel Witwicky, right?!"
He looked like a cornered animal, radiating erratic paranoia.
Sam had no idea the pressure at Accuretta could drive someone this unhinged. He shouted toward the main door:
"Security! Somebody help!"
"Shut up! I'm talking to you!"
Jerry shoved Sam down onto the seat and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Look at me! Look at me! Everything is falling apart!"
"You're in six classified photos! Two of them have Autobots in the frame! You were there in Egypt! You know those alien machines, don't you?!"
Time tended to bury the past. Years had passed since the battle in Egypt, and government agencies had deliberately scrubbed Sam's public records.
Though the Fallen had broadcast his face globally back then, everyday citizens had long since moved on, and few recognized him on the street today.
"I can't go to the feds. The Decepticons are tracking the dark side of the Moon. Why do you think no human has set foot up there since '72?"
Jerry kept rambling, but Sam's attention had already drifted. "Your accent sounds really strange. I feel like I've heard it somewhere before."
"Enough!"
Jerry cut him off in frustration, furious that he was being sidetracked at a time like this. He suddenly reached down and began unbuckling his belt.
"Whoa, hold on!" Sam held up his hands, shaking his head frantically. "Don't do that. I might actually have to hit you."
"I will fight back, kid!"
The worst-case scenario didn't happen. Instead, Jerry reached deep into his waistline and pulled out a crinkled, worn envelope.
"The evidence is inside. Read it and you will understand."
"Take it. The Decepticons are purging everyone who worked with them. I know I'm next on the list."
"I should have known from the start. Anyone who works for them already has one foot in the grave..."
"Your Autobot friends are in serious danger. You know who the good guys are. Do whatever you want with it, even if you decide not to warn them, it makes no difference to me."
SLAM.
With that, Jerry kicked the stall door open and stormed out before even pulling his belt tight.
Sam hurried after him, calling out, "Hey, wait a second!"
As luck would have it, someone was standing by the sinks washing their hands.
It was Bruce Brazos, who turned around instinctively at the commotion.
He looked at Jerry, whose trousers were still hanging loose, and then at Sam, who had just rushed out of the same stall.
"Well... I promise you gentlemen, I saw absolutely nothing."
Even though both men worked under him, Brazos merely shrugged with casual indifference. "We're in an office building. Next time, find a private venue."
As a seasoned man of the world, Brazos had seen just about everything. He respected personal choices, though he couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for the kid's girlfriend.
Rip—
Back in the mailroom, Sam tore the envelope open. He hadn't had the chance to clear the air with Brazos before rushing back to his desk.
Several photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings slipped out onto the desk.
The paper was brittle, the print clearly dating back to the previous century.
["Apollo Lunar Landings Abruptly Canceled..."]
["Space Program Director Dies Under Mysterious Circumstances; Deep-Space Initiatives Suspended indefinitely."]
["Proposals to Map the Far Side of the Moon Vetoed..."]
["Uncovering the Classified Secrets of the Lunar Dark Side..."]
The photographs held few surprises, mostly aerial captures from the battle in Egypt showing Autobots, Decepticons, and Sam himself caught in the crossfire.
Yet every single news clipping pointed directly to the Moon and the sudden, coordinated shutdown of the space race.
While the articles mentioned various nations, the true players had only ever been the two superpowers of the era.
"There really is something on the far side of the Moon!"
Even someone who had never crossed paths with giant alien robots could connect the dots from these files.
Sam hastily gathered the papers into his folder and bolted out of the mailroom.
He needed to find Jerry right now.
As a senior analyst, Jerry didn't hold an executive title, but he had earned a private corner office.
If you brought in high-value results for the firm, management gave you the space you needed.
"Jerry, I need to talk to you. Earlier was way too rushed."
"I think we need to sit down and figure this out, because—"
Sam pushed the door open without knocking, only to find Jerry pacing frantically.
"I did everything you told me to do! What else do you want from me?!"
Jerry was screaming directly at the desktop monitor on his desk.
Sam's sudden entrance made him jump in pure panic. "Hey! Who are you?! Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?!"
"Get out! I don't know you! Leave me alone!"
Jerry shouted at the top of his lungs, though curiously, his right hand remained locked tightly onto his mouse, as if an invisible weight pinned him to his chair. Otherwise, given his furious glare, he would have lunged across the desk to throw Sam out.
Sam raised his hands in confusion. "Look, earlier in the restroom, you were right in my face in the stall."
"It's not every day someone does that to me, so the memory is pretty fresh."
"We're not together, alright? Why would I ever do that with you?!"
"Of course we're not! I'm talking about the envelope you handed me in the stall—"
"Shut up! Be quiet!"
"There was no envelope!"
Jerry looked desperate to get rid of Sam, practically standing up on his seat. "Get out of my office right now!"
"One phone call and I will have your badge revoked!"
"Alright, fine, don't lose your mind," Sam backed toward the door. "I can come back later. When works for you?"
"Come back when you learn some basic manners!"
Once Sam stepped out, Jerry collapsed into his chair, turning to the dark computer screen in a cold sweat. "I don't know him! I swear I don't know who that was! I didn't say a single word!"
"Jerry, you are not being entirely honest."
A distorted mechanical voice cut through the room as the desktop computer shifted and folded with sharp, fluid snaps, transforming into a sleek metallic bird.
Laserbeak spread his razor-sharp wings, his glowing crimson optics narrowing down on the trembling human. "Jerry, out of all our associates, you were always my favorite."
"What did you tell that Witwicky boy?"
"Nothing! Believe me, no one is looking into the far side of the Moon, just like I promised!" Jerry waved his hands erratically, his voice cracking. "I can slip the data into the dummy project proposals! No one will ever catch on!"
"Whatever you want me to do, I will do it!"
"Is that so?" Laserbeak leaned down, whispering directly into Jerry's ear. "My master wants you to do something very specific..."
"What? What does he want?"
"He wants you to kill yourself."
"No!"
Jerry leaped up, hurling his glasses aside as he pulled two loaded handguns from behind his back.
He had prepared for this moment, refusing to go down quietly.
"You miserable piece of scrap! I knew you'd wipe us out when you were done! I've hated looking at your ugly metal face! How about I turn you into a pile of melted junk?!"
"Let's see who walks out of this room alive!"
"Your courage is noted, Jerry. However..."
With a lightning sweep of his metallic wing, Laserbeak knocked both weapons cleanly out of Jerry's hands, sinking his talons deep into the man's shoulders as he dragged him airborne toward the glass facade.
"You are far too naive."
One entire side of Jerry's corner office consisted of floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows. He had always enjoyed looking out over the city skyline from this view, but now, the showcase office had become his execution ground.
CRASH!
Shatter—
"Aaaaargh!"
The reinforced glass shattered into a thousand shards as Jerry was hurled through the opening, his terrified scream echoing down into the concrete canyons below.
"Dear God! What was that?!"
The sound of shattering glass and the dying scream instantly threw the entire sixty-fourth floor of Accuretta into pure chaos. Dozens of employees rushed down the hallway toward Jerry's office.
Sam was among them.
"Whose office is that?!"
"I think that was Jerry's room..."
"Call security! Call the police!"
While everyone around him shouted in panic, Sam stood frozen in the doorway, staring silently at the gaping, wind-swept hole in the exterior wall.
The danger had just become deadly real.
Twenty minutes later, Bruce Brazos escorted a team of badge-wearing investigators onto the floor.
"Alright, everyone, listen up. Yes, exactly what you are thinking: a colleague has passed away."
"Staring out the broken window won't bring him back to life."
"Besides, we are on the sixty-fourth floor. Unless you brought high-powered binoculars, you won't see a single—"
Brazos paused, spotting someone holding a heavy shoulder camera among the onlookers. His face darkened instantly. "Hey! You with the lens, put that away!"
"Which press outlet do you work for? Who cleared media past the lobby? Get them out of here immediately!"
"We all knew Jerry. He was a quiet man, but the firm will remember his dedication. Executive leadership has already confirmed that a memorial service will be held on the property in three days..."
Under Brazos's steady damage control, the crowd of employees slowly dispersed back to their desks, leaving only forensic investigators taking photos and securing the perimeter.
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