Inside the Sector Seven armory, Secretary John Keller and his group remained oblivious to the fact that a full-scale Decepticon mobilization was screaming toward Hoover Dam. Their focus was entirely on the immediate threat: the silver giant currently prowling their halls.
They were frantically selecting gear, desperate to neutralize the intruder—or at the very least, pin him in the AllSpark Isolation Hall until reinforcements arrived.
Near an open-top armored transport, Lennox slammed a grenade launcher into a mounting bracket on the roof. He turned and roared at Epps, "Robert! Grab those forty-millimeter sabot rounds from the table! I need them now!"
"I'm a little busy here, Will! Get 'em yourself!" Epps shouted back, struggling with a heavy belt of ammunition.
The room was a cacophony of metal on metal—the clack of bolts, the heavy thud of crates, and the shouts of soldiers being hastily briefed by Lennox. In the corner, the contrast was sharp. Maggie and Glen were huddled together, whispering in low, frantic tones, while Sam and Mikaela stood paralyzed. They were teenagers caught in a gears-and-piston nightmare they weren't trained for.
Keller paced the perimeter. He wasn't a front-line soldier, and at his age, grabbing a rifle would only get in the way. He was a man of policy, now watching his world dissolve into chaos.
"New update!"
Tom Banacheck strode into the armory, his black suit crisp and his signature aviators still firmly in place, despite the dim subterranean lighting.
"My security teams have been broken," Banacheck reported, his voice tight. "The intruder and his mechanical unit have cleared the Isolation Hall. They're moving deeper into the facility."
The news was a gut punch, but Banacheck wasn't finished. "The entity has deployed an active energy shield. Small arms are useless. Sabot rounds aren't even denting the kinetic barrier."
Clang.
A heavy armor-piercing shell slipped from Simmons's hand, ringing out against the concrete floor. The sound echoed through the suddenly deathly quiet armory.
Banacheck popped a piece of gum into his mouth, his jaw working rhythmically. "There is, however, one piece of good news."
"I'm listening," Keller said.
"Our 'ultimate treasure'—the Cube—is still in the hall," Banacheck said, gesturing toward Sam. "The giant didn't take it. Perhaps it's too massive for him to carry?"
"Or maybe," Maggie interjected softly, "he's going for NBE-1 first? Once he thaws his leader, they take the Cube together."
Banacheck looked at her. "Why do you assume that?"
"Megatron tracked the Cube here. He's the one who knows how to use it," Maggie explained. "This new guy... he's a latecomer. He might not know how to move something that size without help."
Sam couldn't stay silent any longer. He burst forward, stopping inches from Simmons. "Did you hear her? He's going for Megatron! You can't stop him! You have to take me to my car!"
Simmons looked down at the shell he'd dropped and shook his head. "Your car? Forget it. It's government property now."
"Then un-confiscate it! Let him out!"
"Kid, use your head. We have no idea what happens if we let that thing loose."
"You don't know, but I do!"
"Right. You're the expert. Unfortunately, you don't call the shots."
"So you're just going to sit here and wait to die?"
"Listen, kid!" Simmons's face flushed, the veins in his neck bulging. "I don't have time for this. The fate of the human race is on the line, and you're obstructing the only people who can do anything about it!"
The sheer arrogance of the response snapped Sam's patience. He stopped holding back. "My car is the only thing that can stop that giant! Bumblebee is an Autobot! He's not with them! Megatron is a monster—if he wakes up, we're all dead! Bumblebee is strong! Trust me!"
Lennox, who had been watching the exchange, finally stepped in. He had seen enough to know the kids weren't lying. He grabbed Simmons by the lapels and slammed him back against the hood of a nearby jeep.
"Let the boy see his car," Lennox hissed.
"Hey! Back off!" Simmons's agents instantly raised their rifles, aiming at Lennox.
Lennox didn't flinch. He drew his sidearm and pressed the cold muzzle against Simmons's forehead. Behind him, Epps hefted a rocket launcher, his expression saying he was perfectly willing to blow the whole room to hell.
"Whoa, whoa! Captain! Put the heat away!" Banacheck shouted, raising his hands to signal his men to stand down.
Simmons stared into the barrel of the pistol, his eyes cold. "Put the gun down, Captain. There's an alien war starting and you're aiming at me? You really want to pull that trigger?"
"I don't want to kill you," Lennox growled. "I want you to take this kid to his car."
"Not happening," Simmons snapped. "I'm the Director of S7. Put it down."
"A director of a department that doesn't exist?" Epps countered, his grip tightening on the launcher.
Lennox leaned in. "We take orders from the Secretary of Defense, not a ghost agency."
"Simmons?"
Keller's voice cut through the tension. He had remained silent until now, but he saw the resolve in the soldiers' eyes.
"Yes, Mr. Secretary?"
"If I were you, I'd do what the Captain says," Keller advised. "Losing isn't in their job description."
Simmons looked at the Secretary, then back at Lennox. He exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath. "Fine. Fine! You want to put the world's fate in the hands of a yellow hatchback? Be my guest!"
In the tunnels outside the Isolation Hall, the air was thick with the smell of ozone and burning rubber. Black Panther led the way, his claws clicking rhythmically against the stone. Skygnaw followed, with Frenzy skittering in his shadow.
As they passed the smoldering wrecks of the base's defense fleet, Black Panther would occasionally lash out, crushing a chassis or shredding a tire with its newly evolved claws. It was a cold, vengeful display of dominance.
Skygnaw didn't stop him. He used the drone's scouting data to bypass the larger troop concentrations. Time was of the essence. He knew the Autobots were close. The narrative of this world was shifting under the weight of his interference, and he could no longer rely on the "script."
The command to rescue Megatron suited him perfectly. He hadn't forgotten that there was another prize in this base—the yellow scout.
"Stop! Stop! Let him go!"
Sam burst into the cryo-chamber, his heart breaking at the sight. Bumblebee was pinned to a massive platform, half-buried under a layer of jagged frost as technicians continuously blasted him with liquid nitrogen.
The workers ignored him until Banacheck arrived and shouted the order.
"Cease fire! Stop the cooling!"
The white mist dissipated. Banacheck ordered the high-voltage restraints disconnected. "Let him up. We need him."
As the frost cracked and the cables fell away, Bumblebee's systems surged back to life. He sat up instantly, his right arm shifting into a plasma cannon and aiming it directly at the crowd of humans.
"Whoa! Easy! Easy!" Sam stepped forward, his hands raised. "It's me, Bee! It's Sam!"
"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
Bumblebee's optics pulsed, recognizing his ward. The cannon remained raised, but the glowing heat in the barrel dimmed slightly. Behind him, the S7 guards kept their rifles leveled at the scout.
The tension was suffocating. Everyone held their breath, terrified that a single twitch would trigger a localized explosion.
"Bee, listen to me," Sam said, his voice urgent. "The Decepticons are here. One of them is already inside the base!"
At the mention of his enemies, Bumblebee stood fully, his combat mask sliding over his face with a metallic shhhk. He chirped a frantic, electronic query.
"I don't know who he is," Sam said, turning to look at the nervous guards. "Put the guns down! You're scaring him! He's not going to hurt you!"
Banacheck reached out and pushed a guard's barrel down. "Lower your weapons. All of you. That's an order."
As the rifles lowered, Bumblebee retracted his cannon.
"Bee, the Spark is here. In this base," Sam explained. "But there's a Decepticon at the vault. He's strong, Bee. We saw him. We need your help to stop him."