Paris, France.
A Cybertronian assault craft burst through the clouds, descending sharply onto the roof of a skyscraper. Upon transforming, two figures were unceremoniously tossed onto the concrete.
Thud— "AAAAH!!"
The screams echoed across the skyline. Ron and Judy Witwicky stared in terror at the two giant robots before them. They couldn't understand why the secret agents hadn't found them first, but the Decepticons had.
"Lord Megatron, I have successfully captured the boy's parents," Skygnaw reported.
Ignoring the petrified couple, Skygnaw stood tall. At hundreds of meters above the ground, anyone with a shred of sense knew better than to try and run.
"Let me see them!"
Megatron, who had been standing motionlessly at the edge of the roof until Skygnaw's arrival, walked slowly toward Ron and Judy. "Aha... two unlucky souls burdened by their offspring. I wonder if you can lead me to your son."
"Never!" Ron's face hardened. He refused without a moment's hesitation. "We don't know where Sam is, and we can't contact him."
Ron knew that the government was hunting his son precisely because these Decepticons demanded him. No matter what their goal was, he would never let them succeed if it meant endangering Sam.
"Then of what use are you?!" Megatron's temper flared instantly as he deployed his weapons.
"No!" Ron lunged in front of Judy to shield her, squeezing his eyes shut. He was trembling with fear, yet he remained steadfast.
"Lord Megatron," Skygnaw spoke up at the right moment. "The boy is surely with the Autobots. Keeping these two alive might yield unexpected gains later."
"At the very least, they can serve as leverage to make the Autobots hesitate."
Skygnaw could guess what Sam was doing. If things followed the original path, Sam was with Bumblebee, headed to wake Jetfire before stumbling upon the Matrix of Leadership. Whether there was room to scheme within that sequence was worth investigating.
"You are right, Skygnaw."
Megatron pondered for a moment before retracting his weapons. "Humans are emotional creatures—it is their strength, but also their fatal weakness. 'Family' creates an inexplicable bond for them."
Megatron turned to Skygnaw. "Continue to monitor human movements, especially in the country where the boy is hiding."
"Understood, Lord Megatron."
"Also," Megatron glanced at the two humans. "I leave them in your custody. I must go and find my Master."
As the Cybertronian jet streaked away, Skygnaw's thoughts swirled. Ever since The Fallen's global broadcast, the ancient Prime had vanished from sight. Skygnaw guessed he was searching for the Star Harvester and the Matrix.
Onslaught, still in Mojsa, had confirmed this. According to his reports, a large number of Decepticons had appeared near the pyramid where the mysterious device was found. Onslaught and his Constructicon clones—and even Blackarachnia, who arrived later—had been drafted into forced labor for The Fallen. Skygnaw couldn't help them for now, but fortunately, Dirge and the Horsemen had evaded the draft thanks to his timely warning.
Whoosh—
Speak of the devil. A jet flew over the building, and Dirge landed, transforming. "My Lord."
Skygnaw shook off his thoughts and looked at the shivering Ron and Judy. Using a Commander-class warrior to guard two defenseless civilians was overkill. Thanks to Soundwave's precise intelligence, capturing them had been as easy as a cup of tea.
"Dirge, they're yours."
Megatron handed them to Skygnaw; Skygnaw handed them to Dirge. Now that he was an official Decepticon Commander, he wasn't going to handle such trivialities personally.
"Yes, My Lord."
The ever-diligent Dirge didn't complain. He marched toward Ron and Judy, ignored their frantic kicking and screaming, and scooped them up before taking flight.
The Matrix of Leadership...
Just as Skygnaw prepared to leave, his comms system received an unexpected ping:
[Master, the woman named Clarice contacted me. She says she wishes to open negotiations with you regarding Lord Fallen's demands.]
"Oh?" Skygnaw smiled playfully. A vague plan began to form in his mind.
[Alice, agree to it.]
Skygnaw wasn't entirely sure why Clarice had reached out to him for a negotiation involving two galactic species. He was a Commander-class Decepticon—his voice carried weight, but not absolute authority. Normally, a leader—even a Leader-class warrior—would represent the faction.
However, he decided to see what Clarice had up her sleeve. As for "The Fallen's demands"? No one actually believed those.
"Interesting..."
Transforming into his assault craft, Skygnaw input the coordinates Alice sent into his navigation.
Over the last two days, another fascinating phenomenon had begun: the first signs of a global economic crisis. While the arrival of The Fallen and the Decepticons hadn't yet stopped people from eating or traveling, the "financial nerve"—the sensitive sensor of global stability—had snapped like a string pulled too tight. Markets were in freefall.
Skygnaw felt a bit sentimental. Though it didn't affect him, he spent his idle time watching the "scenery" on live news. It was a delayed Pandora's Box, but better late than never. As one of the culprits, Skygnaw felt zero guilt.
Dusk, Washington D.C.
The National Air and Space Museum, located on the west side of the Capitol, was one of the most visited museums in the world. It housed over 60,000 artifacts, including hundreds of aircraft ranging from tiny drones to space shuttles.
As closing time approached, a yellow Camaro and two Chevy subcompacts pulled into a nearby parking lot. Four people stepped out of the Camaro. With Simmons's addition, the "Symbol Quest" team had grown to four.
"The Air and Space Museum," Simmons muttered, looking through binoculars. "This was the land of my dreams. Before Sector 7, I wanted to be an astronaut."
"Alright, people!" Simmons tossed the binoculars back into the car and checked his watch. "It's 5:22 PM. The museum closes in eight minutes. We must complete the objective and extract immediately."
He pulled a plain, cylindrical pill bottle from his pocket and tossed it to Sam. "Here. One for everyone."
"What is this?" Leo asked, taking a pill.
"High-concentration chocolate bits made from sixty-four different ingredients. Keep it under your tongue; it won't melt for twelve hours. It's foolproof for beating lie detectors." Clearly, this was more "inheritance" from the disbanded Sector 7.
"Why do we need to eat this?" Leo wondered.
"Aha!" Simmons gave him a sharp look. "Because if you're caught, it ensures you won't blab and give me away."
"Pffft!" Leo immediately spat the chocolate out, shaking his head. "Listen, I can't do this. I'm not doing something this dangerous. The guards have guns! I don't want to find any aliens, okay?"
At the eleventh hour, Leo was getting cold feet again.
"Hey!" Simmons grabbed Leo's collar and pinned him against the Camaro's hood, his gaze piercing. "Listen up, curly. If you back out now, you're dead."
Simmons pulled out his taser and clicked the switch near Leo's face. Bzzzt— Blue electrical arcs danced before Leo's eyes.
"Look at me." Simmons hauled Leo up and slapped his shoulder hard. "Now, clench those glutes and move out!"
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