Interrupted by Robert's outburst, Galloway lost interest in whatever Lennox was about to say. He decided to get straight to the heart of his visit.
"Optimus," Galloway said, turning his gaze back to the towering Pri. "While many Decepticons have been neutralized, your own numbers have doubled since you arrived. I know you've been broadcasting ssages into deep space, an open invitation for more of your kind to co here. But you've never allowed us to vet them!"
"Let stop you right there, Mr. Galloway," Morshower said from the screen, sitting up straighter. "Vetting happens right here. I've spoken with Mr. John Keller, and to my knowledge, Colonel Lennox and his team have made perfect tactical calls across seven successful operations against Decepticon cells."
"Fine, General," Galloway didn't argue the point. "Even so, the President believes the current national security situation is precarious. They can't be perfect forever. Look at what happened in Shanghai."
The "imperfection" of the Shanghai operation had subjected President Mitchell to more than just external diplomatic pressure. Much like ancient tis when people blad the Emperor for the corruption of his officials, the heat on Mitchell was reaching a boiling point.
Finally, Galloway drew his taphorical blade. "We all know the Decepticon leader, gatron—NBE-1—was dropped into the Laurentian Abyss, the deepest trench on Earth. By now, he's likely rusted into a pile of scrap. The only remaining shard of the AllSpark is kept in an electromagnetic vault in the most secure naval base in the world."
Despite the presence of the Autobots, NEST was technically a joint facility. But the US governnt had decided to store the shard elsewhere—a move that spoke volus.
"No one can tell exactly why the Decepticons are still hanging around this rock, but I can take a guess," Galloway said, pointing a finger directly at Optimus. "You! It's you Autobots! The Decepticons are here to hunt you. Because of you, they keep flooding our planet."
If a Decepticon had been there to hear him, they would have laughed until their gears ground. Hunting Optimus Pri? They weren't that suicidal. But as the saying goes, you can't wake soone who is pretending to be asleep. Recalling the President's parting instructions, Galloway doubled down.
"...Otherwise, what else does this planet have that they'd want? As for this 'Fallen'..." Galloway waved a hand dismissively. "It sounds like a major disaster in the making, but only if you people stay here."
"I understand your aning, human," Optimus's tone turned cold and distant. "You believe the insecurity of this world is a direct consequence of our presence."
Galloway shrugged, his silence an admission. He had dropped the facade entirely. "Optimus, one last question. If we ultimately determine that for the safety of mankind, the Autobots must leave Earth for another refuge... will you go peacefully?"
"You possess that right. If you ask it, the Autobots and I will respect your choice." Optimus leaned over the command platform, his massive fra exerting a crushing pressure on Galloway. "But before that, I ask you to pose one question to your President. If you are wrong... is there a pill for regret?"
"Good question!" Lennox whispered, giving Optimus a subtle thumbs-up.
"That needn't concern the Autobots," Galloway replied, wiping his glasses and re-tying his tie. He had his answer. It was ti to report back to the White House.
...
Space: Near-Earth Orbit.
The hijacked military satellite began to accelerate, maneuvering along a specific vector. Suddenly, a small aperture opened in its chassis, glowing with a spinning blue light.
THUMP.
Like a cannon shell, a small fireball was spat out toward Earth. It followed a precise parabolic arc, plunging into the waters near an island in the Atlantic—ho to the "safest naval base in the world," Point Mugu.
The fireball hit the ocean with a hiss of white steam. Monts later, a beast-mode Cybertronian the size of a large dog leaped from the waves and sprinted onto the sand.
Ravage. A mber of the Cassette Corps, an expert in infiltration and sabotage. He was over three ters long, standing 1.2 ters high, with a long tail ard with retractable armor-piercing missiles and a dark grey alloy skeleton. His hydraulic struts and energy lines were exposed at the joints, and his spine whipped with lethal grace as he ran.
Lifting his snarling head, Ravage's single cyclopean eye emitted a green scanning laser. Before him lay a mountain-hollowed base surrounded by high-voltage fencing and warning signs: [RESTRICTED MILITARY ZONE].
Ravage lunged, clearing the electric fence in a single bound. His magnetic levitation pads absorbed the shock and sound of his landing. Within the dark periter of Point Mugu, a duty officer noticed a red blip on the radar and picked up his radio.
"Black Lion Radiance, this is Black Lion Tango. We have an anomaly on the western periter. Investigate imdiately."
Ravage reached a vent on top of the underground facility. He tore the cover off with a single swipe and bit down on the opening. His lower jaw split into four serrated sections, and he vomited hundreds of tiny steel spheres into the duct.
Clink-clink-clink.
The magnetic spheres rolled through the ventilation system, bypassing filters and machinery until they dropped into the empty vault below. Once inside, the spheres transford into milliter-scale robots. They sward together, clicking and locking into a singular, razor-thin entity: Reedman.
Reedman unfurled two pairs of blade-like transparent wings and flew toward the center of the vault—a cryo-case holding a jagged tallic shard. The mont Reedman's blades began cutting through the glass, alarms blared across the entire base.
"Move, move, move!"
Transport trucks sward the vault entrance as Marines spilled out. "Sector B-14 is compromised! Open it up!"
After bypassing layers of heavy security, tactical flashlights cut through the gloom of the vault. But when the soldiers reached the center, they found the cryo-case shattered. The shard was gone.
...
Los Angeles: Mission City University.
Sam and his three roommates walked out of the dorms, all of them dressed up for the evening.
"This is our first frat-group outing and our first party. Nobody lose their cool," Leo Spitz said, acting as the self-appointed boss of the room.
Leo had founded a "news" website called The Real World, operating it directly out of their dorm. He had already recruited the other two roommates—Shasky and Fabinder—as his employees. Now, he was working on Sam.
"So, Sam, have you thought about my offer?" Leo asked, winking. "Mainstream dia is tight-lipped. They're afraid to show the world as it really is. Like that fight in Mission City last year. Rumors of aliens everywhere, but zero official reports."
"Yeah!" Shasky added, his bald head gleaming in the streetlights. "There were aliens! I saw the footage before it was scrubbed! They fell from the sky, spitting fire and missiles!"
Sam's heart skipped a beat. He looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "That... sounds like fake news. I an, I wasn't there, so I can't really guess..."
"How can it be fake?" Fabinder joined in. He had long, wavy brown hair, a black cap, and narrow-frad glasses, reminding Sam of his old friend Miles. "The internet doesn't lie. Video evidence is king!"
The group arrived at the campus auditorium. It was move-in day, and the university was hosting a massive welco party.
"I heard the girls here are top-tier. Let's cut loose and have so fun!" Leo was practically vibrating with excitent.
"I can't stay too long. I have a video chat with my girlfriend later," Sam said honestly.
Thanks to the latest smartphones released by the Aura Group, everyone in the country was already accustod to high-speed video calls. They truly had the "benevolent" Skygnaw to thank for that.
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