Why sink a castle into the sea? And the architecture was so bizarre.
Sam Witwicky's final vision had shown him a colossal dragon—one built entirely of metal, with three heads. What was that supposed to mean? He couldn't figure it out.
"That dragon is content from the next expansion pack. We've only developed this much for now. Thank you for your participation—you've provided us with extremely valuable gameplay data."
The Weyland staff kept their voices completely flat as they walked Sam Witwicky to the exit.
"When does the game come ou—" The door clicked shut before he could finish.
He let out a contemptuous snort. "Real professional. Hope your company goes bankrupt."
A second later he was grinning. He'd walked away without a scratch, and three days of work had put fifteen thousand dollars in his pocket. Almost too easy. He was going to buy a car—forget the used car plan, with this kind of money he could buy something brand new. He pictured his classmates' envious faces and let out a whoop right there on the street.
Back at the facility, the moment Sam Witwicky was out the door, the entire team threw themselves into coordinate calculations.
Bella was turning something over in her mind. This operation carried a real level of risk, and in her estimation, that risk came from one source: Merlin.
In the Marvel universe, Merlin was one of the cornerstones of multiversal stability. The man had shaped entire timelines. His influence eventually transcended time and concept itself, placing him above the very fabric of reality.
Using Sam Witwicky as an Animus subject had been partly a test—Bella wanted to gauge this world's version of Merlin. She wanted to know what he was made of.
She wanted to know what role Merlin played in the world she had transmigrated into.
She wanted to know what role Earth played.
From a purely astronomical perspective, a planet like Earth was a dime a dozen—unremarkable by any cosmic standard.
But factor in the Transformers universe, and the picture changed completely.
She knew about Primus and Unicron. Cybertron itself was Primus incarnate—an enormous Transformer in the mold of Rodimus Prime, only on a planetary scale. And deep within Earth's core, Unicron lay dormant. She had confirmed this intelligence long ago.
In the Transformers cosmology, Earth was one of the twin poles of the universe.
Combine that with the Marvel framework, where Earth was the Heart of Eternity—Eternity being the living embodiment of all creation—and its heart was unquestionably the most vital point in the cosmos.
Merge the overlapping elements of both universes, and a theory began to take shape: Could Unicron be Eternity's son? If Unicron was Eternity's child, then where did Cybertron—Primus—fit in? Did the original Seven of Eternity just become nine when you counted those two?
As for Merlin—that omnipotent guardian who transcended both time and concept—Bella wasn't even a microbe by comparison. But Unicron carried real cosmic weight. She wanted to see how Merlin regarded something of that magnitude.
The results were roughly in line with her predictions. The Merlin in Sam Witwicky's ancestral memories was nothing more than a drunk old man—perpetually reeking of alcohol, and the staff he'd wielded in the final battle had come from Cybertron. The man himself hadn't possessed a drop of genuine magical power.
Whether it was a disguise or the genuine article, such a figure theoretically wouldn't spare a thought for someone as insignificant as Bella.
If someone held a gun to Natasha's head, she would absolutely drop the act and reveal everything she had—because Natasha was the most important person in the world to her. There would be no point in hiding then. But if someone tossed a handful of sunflower seed shells on her doorstep, she wasn't going to blow her cover and go murder them over it. Some things simply weren't worth it.
In her experience, the truly powerful operated the same way. If they concerned themselves with every little thing, they'd have burned out a thousand years ago.
So: don't disturb Merlin's remains, don't touch the staff, just poke around the ship and maybe chat with whatever guardian constructs she encountered in there. Nothing to worry about.
"Location confirmed. Approximately 300 nautical miles northeast of the Puerto Rico Trench."
A Weyland analyst had extrapolated the coordinates from Sam Witwicky's ancestral memories.
Huh. Bella was mildly impressed. That was a long way out—those ancient English knights had really committed to secrecy, dumping the ship all the way into near-Caribbean waters.
From Sam Witwicky's vantage point alone, the spacecraft had looked absolutely colossal. No technology currently available on Earth could pull it from the ocean floor—not even with magic.
She didn't need to haul the entire ship to the surface. She just needed what was inside: the spatial engine, the hyperdrive engine, the atmospheric propulsion system, and the plasma power supply. With those four components, Earth's existing technology base could construct a faster-than-light starship.
The optimal technology would have been aboard the Cybertronian Ark on the Moon—but Earth and the Moon were too close, and military satellites blanketed lunar orbit. How was she supposed to slip onto the lunar surface undetected, retrieve the ship, and bring back both it and Sentinel Prime sealed inside? The answer was simple: she couldn't. The wreck deep in the Atlantic would have to do.
The Brotherhood had proposed acquiring a submarine. Bella turned them down flat. Unnecessary. The Flying Dutchman had navigated the Mariana Trench like it was a shallow stream. The Puerto Rico Trench, at only about 9,000 meters (roughly 29,500 feet) deep, was practically a puddle by comparison.
006, the Vanko father and son, and Gavin Banks would accompany her. So would Bumblebee and Shatter—they were Cybertronians, after all. Surely any guardian constructs on that vessel would extend some professional courtesy.
When the Weyland and Brotherhood contingent actually laid eyes on the three-masted silhouette of the Flying Dutchman—and the two colossal robots flanking it—every single one of them was dumbfounded.
"Mentor..." Gavin Banks could barely get his words out, his voice urgent. "Can this... can this actually go underwater?" He caught himself and added quickly, "I mean—the pressure at that depth is enormous. A ship like this would—"
He wanted to demand: Do you understand basic physics?! Nine thousand meters down, the water pressure would be catastrophic! A wooden sailing ship would get crushed flat!
"Relax. It's my ship. There's nowhere it can't go."
Bella stepped aboard first. 006, by this point, trusted her implicitly. He'd follow her aboard if she claimed this ship was sailing to the Moon—and he'd believe her. The others filed on one by one.
Only Bumblebee hesitated.
"Come on, stop dragging your feet." Shatter gave him a shove.
Bumblebee just had a bad feeling about this ship. A creepy feeling. He shuffled onto the deck reluctantly, taking his sweet time about it.
On the first day at sea, the living passengers started noticing something was off. Sit quietly in your cabin, and you'd hear footsteps pacing outside the door. Lie down in your bunk, and water drips seemed to echo from every corner. In that hazy half-sleep state, you could have sworn someone breathed a long, slow sigh right next to your ear.
The ship, in short, was lively.