The small specialty restaurant was a hive of activity, packed with customers waiting for their takeout orders. Clearly, this place was a local favorite. Leo glanced at the menu—at the very least, the prices were popular.
"Order number 22! Sausages, pies, chicken buckwheat porridge, and triangle meat buns are ready!" Simmons shouted from behind the counter, holding a bag stuffed with food. A moment later, an elderly woman in sunglasses squeezed through the crowd and raised her arm.
"Cash only, thank you." Simmons deftly handed over the food and took the money before moving on to the next customer. Leo took in the sanitary conditions—a literal paradise for flies—and walked straight to the counter.
"Hey! Young man!" Simmons looked unpleasantly at the curly-haired stranger cutting the line. "Show some respect and go take a number."
Leo ignored the reprimand. "Robo-Warrior. That's why I'm here."
Simmons's face turned pale instantly. "What did you say?"
"Ever heard of it?" Leo pressed.
"Never," Simmons muttered, lowering his head to pack more food.
"Then you must have heard of the website 'RealWorld'?" Leo was relentless.
"Oh," Simmons said, a look of realization crossing his face. "You mean that incredibly moronic news site? I know it. Its firewall is practically non-existent."
"You are Robo-Warrior!" Leo pointed a finger and quickly gestured to Sam and Mikaela waiting outside. "Get in here, guys! It's him, it's him! This is the guy! He's Robo-Warrior!"
"Oh, sh— you've got to be kidding me." The moment Simmons saw Sam, the bag of food in his hand hit the floor with a wet thud.
"Hey! What are you doing? I want a remake! I'm not paying for food that hit the floor!" a customer shouted.
Sam was just as shocked, instinctively pulling back his hood. "Good Lord, this isn't a joke..."
"Wait... you guys know each other?" Leo asked, finally catching on.
"We're old acquaintances," Sam said.
"Yeah, very old," Simmons added. Recovering his composure, he stared blankly at Sam before shouting to the room, "Everyone! The shop is now closed! Out! Everybody out!"
Ignoring the complaints of the crowd, Simmons pushed and shoved until the restaurant was cleared, leaving only the three of them.
"Simmons, what on earth are you doing?" Simmons's mother poked her head out from the kitchen, furious at the empty restaurant.
"Go deal with that trout! I'll explain later!"
"You live with your mother?" Mikaela asked curiously.
"No, she lives with me. There's a fundamental difference, sweetheart. Don't confuse the two."
"Idiot, where is there a trout?" his mother yelled again.
Simmons rubbed his forehead in frustration and shouted to an employee pounding meat in the back, "Yakov!"
"What?"
"If you keep standing there like an idiot, your year-end bonus is cancelled! Don't you want that new set of teeth?"
"Of course!"
"Then go help her!"
With his only employee gone, Simmons walked up to Sam and stared him down. "Kid, what are you doing here? Do you have any idea that because of you, Sector 7 was disbanded? Everyone was sent home! No prestigious job, no fat salary, no pension. Nothing! All because of you and your little juvenile delinquent girlfriend!"
Simmons's resentment was palpable. Mikaela's old prediction had nearly come true, though instead of a mall security guard, Simmons had become a short-order cook. Normally, officials from a secret department wouldn't be left to rot, but someone had to take the fall for the losses at Hoover Dam and Mission City. Due to the principle of secrecy and having no political allies, Sector 7 became the perfect scapegoat. No one had ever heard of them; they were perfect.
The survivors of Megatron's attack, including Simmons, became political "hot potatoes." No other department wanted to touch them. Of course, they weren't entirely innocent; Sector 7 had allowed a security breach that led to Megatron's awakening—the root of everything.
"Your face is all over the TV, space-boy," Simmons said, pointing to a television on the wall broadcasting urgent news about Sam.
"Yeah, I saw," Sam said, pulling his hood back up. "What's happening? Where's Megatron?"
"He was resurr—"
"Don't answer that!" Simmons cut him off. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know these secrets, and I don't want anything to do with this. Goodbye, space-boy. As far as I'm concerned, I never saw you. I won't report you, but I have work to do. Disappear."
"No, no, no! Give me five minutes!" Sam grabbed Simmons as he tried to walk away. "Listen, I need your help! I drove for ten hours, dodged checkpoints, and came all this way just for you!"
"Really? You really need my help?" Simmons took off his chef's hat, looking unimpressed. "What about your little alien friends? They're so powerful and all-knowing; can't they solve your problems?"
"They..." Sam hesitated, then decided to stop wasting time. "It's not what you think. Optimus Prime is dead. The Autobots are overwhelmed, okay? I almost lost my head, too. A Decepticon doctor put a disgusting mechanical bug in my mouth and took something from my brain." Sam tapped his head. "Then, like a home theater system, it projected a bunch of weird alien symbols."
Sam pointed to Leo. "He says he saw those same symbols on your website."
"I was just testing your firewall, just like you did to 'RealWorld'," Leo shrugged, completely unembarrassed about being caught hacking Robo-Warrior by its founder.
"Kid, you said the symbols in your head were projected?" Simmons's attitude flipped instantly. His expression became serious. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, exactly. Do you understand it?"
Simmons frowned in thought, then slapped his hands together. "The freezer! Follow me!"
He hurried toward the kitchen, and the trio followed closely. They entered the walk-in freezer where the temperature was well below zero. "What you are about to see is top secret. Do not leak it!"
Hearing that familiar line, Sam shivered, looking at the slabs of frozen meat. "You mean... these frozen steaks?"
"Don't underestimate them," Leo added, rubbing his arms. "They might be older than you..."
"Shh!" Simmons gestured for silence, peeking toward the kitchen. "Don't let the old woman hear, or you'll be kicked out immediately. Follow me."
Simmons led them to the back of the freezer and moved aside several crates of ingredients, revealing a circular iron hatch.
"What's this?"
Simmons didn't answer but pulled the hatch open.
"Whoa—you have a basement in here?"
"Quiet. Get down there."
They climbed down a crude iron ladder into a secret basement. It was small, containing a few bookshelves, a desk, and some clutter. On the desk, a computer was running, the screen constantly refreshing the "Robo-Warrior" website.
"Welcome to my secret base. Make yourselves at home." Simmons began rummaging through files. "Data on alien symbols... let me think... I remember putting it here..."
He pulled a file from a shelf. "Aha! Here you are!"
"Come here, kid," Simmons called out, opening the file and pointing to several black symbols on a piece of paper. "Are these the symbols you saw?"
"Where did you get these?" Sam's eyes widened. He had actually found it.
"Exclusive data I took from Sector 7 before I was fired. Here, take a good look."
Sam took the file and studied it. They were identical to the symbols he had drawn on his arm. He had found the right person.
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