While Frenzy was venting his frustration on the server stack, the heavy hydraulic doors of the cargo bay hissed open. Two agents from the Secret Service Tactical Detail, sidearms drawn, moved into the hold.
Frenzy didn't have the luxury of reconfiguring into his radio-disguise. With a sudden hiss of hydraulics, he lunged upward, his clawed digits digging into the overhead support struts. He hung from the ceiling like a tallic spider, his blue optics dimming to a flicker.
The two agents moved in a disciplined back-to-back formation, their flashlights cutting through the gloom. It didn't take long for them to find the ruined server.
"Command, this is Cargo Lead. We have localized structural damage to the primary trunk. It looks like a physical breach—"
"Contact!"
The lead agent barely had ti to shout before a jagged, tallic blur dropped from the ceiling.
"Hostile! Open fire!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The agents dumped their magazines into the shadows, but Frenzy was a master of asynchronous kinetic evasion. He scurried across the ceiling, gravity seemingly irrelevant to his fra. Mid-descent, he flicked his wrists. Two circular, high-frequency serrated disks—shuriken—whistled through the air.
THWIP. SQUELCH.
The blades achieved precision kinetic neutralization, tearing through the agents' tactical vests and into their primary organs. They collapsed without a sound, their blood pooling on the cold alloy floor.
The sound of the first discharge sent Executive One into a state of systemic panic.
"Shots fired in the cargo hold! Repeat, shots fired!"
"Ergency descent initiated! All personnel, brace for rapid depressurization and landing protocols!"
The aircraft's internal broadcast added a layer of chanical dread to the chaos. Ard details were already converging on the cargo lift, safeties off, ready to engage an unknown number of hostiles.
In the executive suite, President Mitchell Keller was shaken awake.
"Report! What is the status?" he demanded, looking at the stone-faced Secret Service agents surrounding his bed.
"The periter has been breached, sir. We have an active firefight on the lower decks."
Keller's first thought was an internal coup—a traitor within the detail. But there was no ti for a debrief. Under the guidance of his detail, he was rushed toward the High-Altitude Ejection Protocol—a specialized safety node designed to jettison the President from the craft if the structural integrity was compromised.
"Go! Get him to the bunker!"
The Pentagon. War Room.
"I want Mitchell in the subterranean shelter now!" Secretary John Keller shouted, his voice echoing off the tactical maps. "We discuss the network breach only after the Commander-in-Chief is secure! That is our singular objective!"
A technician looked up from a console, a look of relief on his face. "Sir! Executive One has touched down at Trumble International. The President is disembarking under heavy guard."
"Good," Keller exhaled. "Secure the periter. No one goes in or out of that airport without a Level-5 clearance."
Trumble International Airport. 01:00.
The airport—the busiest military-civilian hub in the region—was under a total blackout. Thousands of soldiers and local law enforcent had created a wall of steel around the primary runway.
Under the cover of darkness, the President's motorcade roared away, leaving the hulking silhouette of the Boeing VC-25 alone on the tarmac. As the primary security detail followed the President, the periter around the plane loosened.
A small, jagged head poked out from the landing gear housing. Frenzy scanned the area, his optics registering the thermal signatures of the remaining guards. He dropped to the asphalt, scurrying between the shadows of the fuel trucks until he reached a black-and-white police cruiser—Unit 643.
He slid into the passenger seat. The driver's seat appeared occupied by a holographic human officer, a flickering image that dissolved into static the mont Frenzy closed the door.
ROAR.
The engine of the Saleen S281 scread as it tore out of the airport, leaving the sirens of the pursuing units in the dust. Above, a Silver Fox interceptor banked low, its afterburners painting a streak of blue fire across the night sky before it reconfigured and dropped to the earth.
Nathan—now in his bipedal Skygnaw form—landed with a heavy thud as the police cruiser screeched to a halt in front of him.
Frenzy tumbled out of the passenger side, his vocalizer redlining with erratic data-bursts. "Siphoning complete! The organic vermin tried to terminate , but I neutralized them! Their biological fras are pathetic—fragile! I could have purged the entire craft if the Spymaster hadn't signaled for extraction!"
Nathan looked down at the twitching Mini-Con, his expression a mask of cold alloy. "Your arrogance is a logic-error, Frenzy. That 'pathetic' craft is a mobile fortress. You're lucky to be in one piece."
Barricade reconfigured from the cruiser, his five-ter fra looming over the scout. He didn't offer a word of praise. Instead, he delivered a kinetic disciplinary strike, kicking Frenzy across the dirt.
"Enough of your data-purging fantasies!" Barricade rasped. "State the intelligence. Did you secure the Witwicky coordinates?"
Frenzy scrambled to his feet, his optics flickering. "I found the lead. NBE-1 and the AllSpark."
A high-resolution projection erupted from Frenzy's chest.
[ DATA RECOVERY: CAPTAIN ARCHIBALD WITWICKY ]
[ SUBJECT: DISCOVERY OF THE 'ICE MAN' ]
"A human nad Archibald," Frenzy buzzed. "He encountered the High Protector. He laser-etched the map onto his personal visual-augntation devices—glasses."
Frenzy swiped through the data, pulling up a web-browser: eBay. On the screen was a listing for an antique pair of round-frad spectacles.
Item: 19th Century Arctic Explorer's Glasses
Seller: LadiesMan217
Nathan stared at the photo of the seller—a gawky, wide-eyed teenager nad Sam.
The ga is on, Nathan thought, his Spark pulsing with a dangerous frequency. And I'm the only one who knows the boy is already being watched.
"Locate the user," Barricade commanded, his engine revving with a predatory growl. "We have the scent."
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