Diego Garcia, NEST Base.
One C-17 Globemaster after another touched down on the tarmac. As the cargo ramps hissed open, Lennox and the Autobots filed out. After nearly thirteen hours in the air, they had finally returned to familiar territory.
[Autobot twins, please report to Hangar 3! Repeat, Autobot twins to Hangar 3!]
Hearing the announcent, the red-and-white ice cream truck honked its horn as it wove through the base personnel.
"Excuse ! Comin' through!"
"Watch it, beat-up ice cream truck coming past."
"Last night was a total disaster, Skids. I think we need an image upgrade," Mudflap beeped.
"For once, you actually said sothing useful," Skids replied.
The twins rolled into Hangar 3, where two shiny, brand-new Chevrolet Trax hatchbacks sat waiting.
"Look at that! Check 'em out! Fresh paint, ready to go."
One was green, the other red—positioned as if they were waiting for their new owners.
"Green! I knew it! My favorite color!" Skids shouted. The ice cream truck split apart, and Skids lunged toward the green hatchback with excitent.
But before he could touch it, Mudflap grabbed him and perford a clumsy over-the-shoulder throw, tossing Skids aside. "Green is mine! I'm taking the green!"
"Ow! My skid-plate!" Skids scrambled up, rubbing his rear.
"Course it hurts. I kicked ya, didn't I?"
"I thought you were allergic to green!"
"I changed my mind!"
...
anwhile, a military helicopter touched down on the public landing pad at the base entrance. Two white n in sharp suits stepped off—envoys sent by President Mitchell.
It was September, and the election was less than three months away. Mitchell's standing was shaky at best, and in his desperation, he was looking for a miracle cure. NEST—or more specifically, the Autobots—was his new prescription.
The lead suit, a man with glasses nad Galloway, flashed a set of papers at the gate guards and marched into the base without a word. Lennox, forced to break away from a morial service, hurried to intercept them.
"Counselor Galloway. A pleasure." Lennox stood with his hands behind his back, blocking Galloway's path. "I received word from the Secretary. I'd love to show you around, but unfortunately, you don't have clearance for classified areas."
Galloway walked right up to Lennox and slapped the docunt against the Colonel's chest. "Actually, I do now, Colonel. Direct authorization from the President."
Lennox glanced down at the paper but remained silent.
"You blew the Shanghai operation. Blew it completely," Galloway snapped, leaning in. "I'm here with a few choice words for those robots. Lead the way, Colonel."
...
Space: Near-Earth Orbit.
A US military satellite drifted along its pre-set path. Behind it, a massive shadow drifted closer, deploying several chanical tentacles. The mont they gripped the satellite, they branched out like invasive vines, wrapping around the hardware.
Having successfully hijacked the feed, Soundwave began his daily routine of monitoring. But today, he was about to hear sothing that would change everything.
...
"Major Bruce, patch us into the secure line to the Pentagon. We have an important guest!"
Entering the command center, Lennox barked the order. He turned to Galloway. "That's for the Joint Chiefs. I assu you don't mind having more people in on this?"
"Whatever," Galloway replied coldly.
"Lennox, who is this?" Lawrence asked, stepping into their path uninvited.
"Mr. Galloway, Presidential Liaison."
"Liaison?" Lawrence looked Galloway up and down. Having once been a consultant for Clarice, he knew exactly what the title ant. It ant a "confidant"—the kind that got blad when things went wrong and got fired when it was convenient.
"Let's move, Colonel," Galloway said, ignoring Lawrence.
Lennox felt a twinge of disappointnt; he'd hoped Lawrence and Galloway would butt heads. He was always happy to see either of them miserable.
"This area serves as the Autobots' garage and barracks," Lennox said, leading Galloway into the depths of the hangar-turned-command-center.
Inside, a row of vehicles sat in silence: three Ducati motorcycles, a silver Corvette, a yellow Camaro, a Humvee, a black pickup, a blue Volt, and the red-and-blue Peterbilt. Even the two new hatchbacks had joined the line.
Galloway stared at the legendary machines. "Colonel, I need to speak with him directly."
"Fine," Lennox nodded. "Follow ."
He knew exactly who Galloway ant.
Climbing up to a tal command platform crowded with monitors and equipnt, Lennox called out:
"Optimus!"
Chi—
The headlights of the Peterbilt flickered to life. The truck rolled forward into the center of the circular platform.
"Sir, we have the Pentagon on the secure line."
"Good work, Bruce!" Lennox walked to a screen displaying General Morshower, the Army Chief of Staff.
"Sir, I have critical intel to report. I can't let you see Optimus, but I can let you hear him."
Despite the fall of Sector 7, direct contact with the Autobots remained highly restricted.
"Proceed," Morshower said.
Clang-clash—
The sound of shifting tal filled the hangar as the Peterbilt transford. Robert stood beside Galloway, looking up at the towering Pri. "Sir, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering: if God made us, then who made them?"
Galloway adjusted his gold-rimd glasses and stood with his hands on his hips, studying Optimus without answering.
"General," Optimus began. "Our combined forces have neutralized six Decepticon cells across every continent. But last night, the Decepticon we executed left us with this."
Optimus tapped his chest plates. A recording bood through the hall:
"The Fallen has returned. The Decepticons will rise again!"
"What does 'The Fallen' an? A na, or an object?" Morshower asked, his brow furrowed on the screen.
"We do not know," Optimus shook his head. "There is no record of such a na in my mory files. Our history was stored within the AllSpark, and with its destruction, that knowledge is..."
"If I may," Galloway interrupted suddenly. "Since this 'AllSpark' thing is destroyed, why haven't the Decepticons left our planet as you predicted?"
"Who is speaking?" Morshower asked.
"Mr. Galloway, sir," Lennox explained. "National Security Liaison. The President sent him to deliver a few... directives."
"I see... I wasn't notified of this," Morshower said, clearly annoyed.
"Sorry to interrupt, General," Galloway shouted toward the screen, then pushed past Lennox to the edge of the platform. "Yesterday's operation caused massive damage. The President is... grudgingly declaring it a success."
He turned back to Optimus, loosening his tie. "Under the 'Autobot Secret Cooperation Act,' we have a frawork. But you only share intel. You never share your advanced weaponry."
"I have witnessed your species' capacity for war," Optimus said, pointing a massive finger at Galloway. "To share our technology with you would result in more harm than good."
"Whoa," Galloway looked up at the Pri, scoffing. "How generous of you. But since when did you start making decisions for us?"
"Counselor, if I may offer an objective perspective," Lennox cut in, unable to take anymore.
"Go ahead, Colonel. Let's hear your 'expert' opinion."
"Optimus and I have fought side-by-side for a long ti—"
"We've bled and sweated together!" Robert shouted from the floor below.
"Soldier!" Galloway leaned over the rail. "Do your job and keep your mouth shut!"
Robert clenched his fists, shaking them at Galloway. "I'd advise you not to push ." He had thought the suit seed like a decent guy when he first arrived, but he realized now his first impression was dead wrong.
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