Edge State (Alaska), Northern District.
While Shanghai was shrouded in the dead of night, the sun beat down brightly over the frozen tundra. A massive missile carrier rumbled toward the perimeter of Base One, followed by a fleet of heavy engineering vehicles.
"Wait here. I'm going to see Lord Skygnaw."
"Yes, Lord Onslaught."
...
Inside the laboratory of Base One, Onslaught hurried to find Skygnaw. "My Lord, Demolishor and Sideways have gone dark. It is likely they have been neutralized by the Autobots."
"Is that so?" Skygnaw didn't even look up from the delicate work on his bench. "Then there's no point in sending support. They're already scrap."
The loss of two high-tier Decepticons didn't sting; they weren't part of his inner circle. An hour ago, Onslaught had reported receiving distress pings from them. Out of a sense of tactical due diligence, Skygnaw had told him to investigate, but Onslaught hadn't even cleared the Alaskan border before the signals vanished.
"By the way, any word on Starscream?" Skygnaw asked, finally pausing.
As the saying goes, When the general is in the field, he may ignore the king's orders. Upon returning to Earth, the Decepticon Commanders had scattered. Skygnaw and Blackarachnia had stayed at Base One. Soundwave, predictably, had returned to orbit. But Starscream had vanished without a trace.
"My Lord, there is no sign of him."
Onslaught braced for a reprimand, having witnessed the friction between the two on Mars. However, Skygnaw simply waved it off. "Understood. Take the Constructicon clones and move out."
Once Onslaught left, Skygnaw stopped his research on the Stasis Scepter and fell into thought. He wondered if he should find an opportunity to eliminate Starscream permanently. Given the Seeker's vengeful nature, it was only a matter of time before he tried to set a trap.
"Pity," Skygnaw sighed. Starscream was hiding well, likely realizing that in a two-on-one fight against Skygnaw and Blackarachnia, the odds weren't in his favor.
Los Angeles: 217 Crescent Drive.
"Mojo! Frankie! Get out here!"
At Judy's call, two dogs scampered out of the house. Frankie was a female bulldog Judy had recently bought, claiming Mojo needed a companion.
"We need to hurry, Dad. It's move-in day, and I don't want to be late."
Sam and Ronald carried a large cardboard box out of the house together, filled with Sam's personal belongings. Today was the day Sam left for university. After a two-and-a-half-month post-graduation summer, his college life was finally beginning.
As they loaded the box into the back of the pickup truck, Sam saw his mother, Judy, standing in the yard, looking at him with an expression of profound sadness.
"Mom, what's wrong?" Sam walked over.
"Look what I found," Judy said, holding up a pair of tiny white baby shoes. "My baby boy... your first shoes."
"Oh, Mom... I get it. I'm going to college. I need you and Dad to be ready for this, too."
"Sam," Judy pulled him into a tight hug. "Promise me you'll come home often. Come back for every break, not just the big holidays, okay?"
"Okay, Mom. I promise..."
Ronald, who had been checking the gas gauge, stepped down from the truck. "Stop crying, let the kid breathe, will you? Sam, we've still got a lot of gear to move. Let's go."
Sam escaped his mother's embrace and followed his father back inside. They emerged again with more storage bins. In the doghouse nearby, Mojo was currently perched on top of Frankie. Given that the bulldog was several times his size, the tiny Mojo looked utterly ridiculous.
"Hey! Mojo! Get off her, you little pervert!" Ronald barked. He turned to his son. "Don't be shocked, Sam. You're going to see a lot of that at college."
"Dad, what are you even talking about?" Sam asked, confused.
"You're the first Witwicky to go to university. My point is, you're going to meet a lot of girls. Mikaela is great, but you guys need to give each other some space. You're no different from any other couple, understand?"
"No," Sam stopped, looking toward the garage. "We discovered aliens together. We fought Decepticons together."
Ronald turned away, a knowing smirk on his face. "That car? How much longer do you think you'll be driving that car together?"
"Dad, listen!" Sam caught up to him. "Other people might break up, but we're the exception. We're going to—"
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
The phone in his pocket vibrated. Sam set the bin down and pulled out his cell, waving it triumphantly. "See, Dad? Look who's calling."
Ronald looked back and shrugged. "Believe me, Sam. In two weeks, it'll be a different girl calling."
"Not a chance!" Sam shouted, running back into the house. "Hey, babe!"
He answered the call, but before he could say another word, Mikaela's voice came through with a familiar opening.
"We should break up, Sam."
"Really? Are you sure? Because it sounds like you haven't quite made up your mind yet."
Sam didn't take the words seriously; he'd heard them a dozen times in the last few days. Ever since high school ended, Mikaela had been struggling with the reality of working for a living while Sam went off to school. The "break-up" talk had become a defense mechanism.
"I have made up my mind, Sam. I'm not coming to see you off today."
"Whoa. So you're serious this time?" Sam walked into his bedroom. "Listen, Mikaela, forget the breakup for a second. I'm sending you a long-distance relationship kit."
Mikaela went silent on the other end, listening as Sam rambled on.
"It's exactly what you think. A webcam. We can chat whenever we want. I'll be everywhere. And I've got some souvenirs, photo albums, records... the rest I can't say over the phone."
"That... actually sounds nice. I can't wait." Mikaela's tone shifted instantly. It was as if the person who had suggested a breakup minutes ago didn't exist.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" Sam shouted. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear as he opened his closet. "I'm clearing out almost everything. Do you want the clothes I wore... you know, back then? The ones I wore during the fight?"
"You still have those rags?"
"Of course I do," Sam pulled the jacket out, looking at it with satisfaction. "This is my battle armor. It's soaked in my blood and sweat."
"Wow, someone's feeling heroic today."
"No, no, it's not like that," Sam corrected himself quickly. "You know I'm not exactly the confident type. I was joking. I—"
Clink.
As he pulled the jacket, something fell out of the pocket and hit the hardwood floor with a sharp, metallic ring.
"Hang on, Mikaela. Don't hang up, I dropped something."
Sam set the jacket aside and knelt to pick up the small, jagged piece of metal.
"Is this... an AllSpark shard?"
Memories rushed back, but before he could process them, the surface of the shard suddenly flared with a blinding light. The drop had triggered a dormant response. Sam found himself staring uncontrollably into the shard as thousands of ancient Cybertronian glyphs and data streams flooded his mind.
"Sam? Sam, are you there? Can you hear me?"
"Huuuuh..."
The frantic voice on the phone brought Sam back to reality. He exhaled sharply, feeling as if his brain had just been rewired. "Mikaela, there was a shard in my pocket. It's—"
"Whoa!!"
The shard in his hand suddenly became white-hot. With a cry of pain, he dropped it.
Clink.
The shard hit the floor, radiating intense heat that began to melt the wood and insulation beneath it. It burned straight through the floorboards and plummeted into the kitchen below, landing on the dining table and releasing a localized pulse of blue energy.
Hummmm.
The appliances in the kitchen began to twitch. Toasters, blenders, and coffee makers started to shake violently. In a cacophony of shifting metal and grinding gears, they transformed into a swarm of tiny, feral Decepticons, waving forks and knives like weapons.
Upstairs, Sam was oblivious to the chaos in the kitchen. He stared at the smoking hole in his floor and scrambled for a fire extinguisher.
"Fire! Dad! Mom! There's a fire!!"
"Sam? Sam?" Mikaela called out. "Alright, typical. Sam, I'm coming over. See you in twenty minutes." She hung up.
Fsssssssh!
Sam rushed back into the room with the extinguisher, dousing the hole with foam. He didn't notice the bedroom door being pushed open by a row of tiny, red-eyed robots.
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