The air is cold. That's the first thought Sam has as he runs down past a few streets, following Mikaela with Miles by his side.

It sort of started a few days ago. Well, right after that talk with the fingerprints specialist he and his dad had a while ago. It's been three days since then. And Sam has had an epiphany.

Over the last week, police officers and social workers have been trying harder and harder to get away from the case. False call ins, sudden meetings, so-called packed schedules. It's always been odd, it stood out like a soar thumb. But what he was told three days ago was the last switch.

They want them to stop looking for James. They know something, something they're not trying to tell them. They want to declare James a cold case-

Because they know Jamie wasn't kidnapped. It makes Sam feel stupid for not realizing sooner. Kidnappers are either incredibly messy, leaving tons of evidence or clean cut, with a cloth of chloroform to the face.

It's not supposed to look like a break in with only one piece of evidence that points to nowhere.

There's too much struggle, not enough DNA and a sudden lack of Jamie's piggy bank and clothes makes it look almost staged.

The broken furniture, he means. A stage to make it look like he's been kidnapped. But the missing jacket and funds are a contradiction.

Someone set up a false crime scene and wherever Jamie went, he went willingly.

It's a sudden, jarring realization that suddenly makes him put all the pieces together.

Abnormal fingerprints, false crime scene, missing essentials and a lack of witnesses, along with a phone dropped on the sidewalk, not the road.

Sam, Milles and Mikaela have stumbled on a government conspiracy.

Okay, no, that made him sound crazy.

But it really, really was crazy. Because apparently the government is trying to cover up the fact that Jamie was suddenly approached by people the government wants to keep hidden, they told him something which made him leave behind literally everything.

Which brought up two questions - who is the government trying to cover for and why James in particular. Why his crazy, asthmatic, fearless and borderline intolerable little brother who's biggest problems are the lack of oxygen in January?

Sam doesn't bother with who were the sudden kidnappers-and-or-coercers: it can be anything ranging from aliens to mutants to fairies. It can be anything. It's never what you expect.

But why do some weird supernatural beings need a fourteen year old alcoholic (because he can see the way the liquor bottles slowly get emptier by the months when nobody is looking and sometimes Jamie says the weirdest crap- reincarnation, death by robots, how there's a giant fish god in the sky that blackmail him-)?

So Sam started looking through the good ol' family tree. It's as boring as it is.

And one Archibald James Witwicky came up. Archibald James.

Suddenly Jamie's talks of reincarnation seemed less like drunken babble and more of a slip of the tongue.

It makes him scared.

The more he dug the deeper the fear went.

The man was a reported seaman who made an almost life threatening journey to the North Pole (-sea man, he was a seaman and sailors had a lot of talks of sirens and mermaids and fishpeople-), was a reported alcoholic before leaving (-holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, no wonder Jamie always favored whiskey and bourbon when raiding the cabinet, that was probably popular back then-) and by the end of the journey had ended up going slowly insane (-oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-) and kept talking about a "Giant man in the ice" (- oh fuck what if it's the fish God that blackmailed him-) while drawing symbols (-FISH GOD WAS PROBABLY REAL HOLY FUCK-).

A sudden raid through the cellar and much to Sam's absolute frustration, there's no diary. Just a bunch of sea faring equipment and Archibald's old glasses. Which had weird cracks on them.

After a night of pure panic, Sam came to the wildest conclusion in the world.

His fourteen year old brother was the reincarnation of Archibald Witwicky, who saw something in the North Pole he shouldn't have and now weird fish people were going to use him to find their giant fish god.

If it hadn't been for his notes on the topic, Sam would've thought he dreamt it all up.

It's insane. It's almost painfully insane but at the same time it makes so much sense.

So with the revelation at hand and realization that the cops aren't gonna do anything except declare it a cold case, Sam, Mikaela and Miles do what they do best.

Team up and fuck shit up. Except the team is lacking Jamie, who's their basic insanity tank.

So after a whole sleepover of thinking of plans and stuff, they managed to come up with something.

Steal a decent car from somewhere and go a high stakes road trip to find Jamie and stop him from getting sacrificed to a fish god.

It's almost ridiculous. It sounds like something from a book or a fantasy game. They've got almost no plan, with the only leads being Archibald's needed for something, so historic research is necessary.

To think history class would actually be helpful.

They have a small plan: find a decent car from a junkyard, take it, since nobody else will and then go to all the locations that have some form of information concerning Sam's apparently reincarnated great-great-grandfather.

So that's what they were doing. Running around in the middle of the night to find a car in the car cemetery.

The whole situation is almost terrifying. How long has Jamie known something was going to happen to him? How long has he been dropping hints? How many times have they let something important slide?

Acting now feels both too late and too early.

But it's either now or never.

A flash of color catches his eyes.

"Guys, wait, look." He tells Mikaela and Miles. He points at the color in the distance. It's a bright yellow hood with black racing stripes.

The three all look between each other before either shrugging or nodding. They creep up closer. The car itself is covered in a dark plastic cover, with just the hood being visible.

Sam looked around the car before taking the cover off.

"A Chevy? Who the hell buys a yellow Chevy?" Miles whispers.

"It's a Camaro, Miles." Mikaela corrects him. She circled the car, scrunitizing little details as Sam folded the cover. "And I don't think anybody bought this. It's pretty old."

"How old?" Sam asked.

"Like... 80s old. Paint is faded and there's a layer of dust on the whole thing." Mikaela started checking the wheels.

"Yeah but look at the interior, it's pretty clean, right?" Miles pointed at the seats. Not a speck of dust on any of them. "That means somebody used it recently and just took bad care of it. We can't use this one. What if they come back and whoosh! The whole car just disappeared overnight."

"Or they just got rid of it because it's rusty." Sam suggested.

"Like hell they would, look, it's a Camaro. Who'd throw away a racing car just because it's rusty?"

"Trent." "Trent would." Sam and Mikaela answered in unison. Miles thought for a minute.

"Okay, fine, Trent would throw away a perfectly good car but how many Trents are there in Tranquility?"

"A lot. I wouldn't be surprised if the guy threw the car away because he got a new one." Mikaela got up and dusted off her pants. "It's rusty but it's good. Tires are used but good. Exhaust pipe is a little clogged but I think this one's a good candidate."

"I think the color is a dead giveaway. I mean, three teens in a yellow Camaro? That just screams stolen car." Sam suggested.

"Or it screams cheapskate father and three buddy road trip." Miles pointed out. Sam glared at him. Miles shrugged.

"Miles, does it have keys? Are the keys in the-" Mikaela snapped her fingers and pointed to the drivers seat. Miles wiped off some of the dust on the window. His eyes lit up as he saw the key in it's spot.

"It's there! It's there, we've got a key, we've got a key." Miles said, voice going off faster. Sam and Mikaela perked up. This was the third time they've snuck out to the cemetery in search of a car but none of the cars had actual keys in them. Forty nine cars and not a single one of them had keys or a working engine.

"Holy shit, this is the first car in what? Fifty cars?" Sam stated.

"Miles, you sure it's a key?" Mikaela asked.

"It's definitely the key, it's got a bumblebee on it and whoever owned the car before had a real motif for bees." Miles went off.

"The engine. What about the engine?" Sam said as he went to the front of the hood. He tried opening it but it didn't budge. He backed up, shifted his stance and pulled again. "C'mon, please, please, please, please, please have a working engine-"

The hood popped open suddenly and Sam fell on his butt from the exerted force.

"Sam!" Mikaela whispered loudly.

"I'm okay!"

"No, Sam, the engine, look!" Miles pointed at the contents of the front.

Sam got back on his feet, dusting himself off, and looked into the hood. His jaw nearly fell to the floor.

"I take back everything I said, dude must've loved his car."

"Had to. That's a high-rise double pump carburettor. Who the hell would throw away a car like this?" Mikaela said as she shone a light onto the engine.

"It's this one. Holy shit, we finally have a car." Miles said. "Okay, we've got the car. Sam's got the entire history of Archibald Witwicky and memorabilia that we can pawn off somewhere, I've got dad's collection of stun guns and Mikaela has the fuel."

"We're ready. Sam?" Mikaela turned to Sam. "When are we going?"

Sam pulled out a folded piece of paper. Miles closed the hood and Sam placed the paper on it for all three of them to see.

It was a list of places that Archibald Witwicky had gone to or was connected to.

"Okay, so, this guy obviously had a boat and I dug around and it's in Florida. That's too far as it is, so I looked further and we've got the mental institution he was assigned to in Idaho, where he was buried in Wyoming and Hoover Dam in Vegas. We should start with Las Vegas, there we can we do better investigation and I can finally sell Grandpa Archibald's dumb stuff. That and of course the North Pole but..." Sam drifted off.

"Yeah, we're not going there." Mikaela said.

"Pretty sure we'd get caught before we leave the country." Miles shook his head in agreement.

"Okay but what about Vegas? Why Hoover Dam?" Mikaela asked.

"I found a newspaper." Sam began. That received two raised eyebrows. "Archibald went to the North Pole and he was the first guy from the US to do that. But I found a newspaper that said that he arrived back in the port of LA and he brought a huge... Something with him. The thing had to be carried on overnight because it was the size of a giant house. They took it-"

"And they dropped it off in Vegas?" Miles asked.

"Exactly. They found something in the North Pole, drove it to Vegas and then suddenly they say it just- vanished!"

"And Hoover Dam has a giant body of water to manage." Mikaela finished.

"This might what Jamie was looking for. If it came from the North Pole then it came out of the ocean so it needs water. And- and about two weeks ago Hoover Dam had an emergency. A huge fire broke out in the inner building-"

"That must've been Jamie!"

"Wait, back up, back up. You guys seriously think Jamie started a fire in the inner building in one of the biggest dams in the country? Isn't that place heavily guarded?" Miles started. "And Jamie's like, an asthmatic teen. He's permanently excused from gym. How the hell would he start a fire without getting caught?"

"Vents." Sam said flatly.

"The lost child tactic." Mikaela added.

"And the fact that it's a big facility-"

"Okay, okay, fine, Jamie went and broke in, started a fire and is currently MIA. Why?"

"That's what we're going to find out." Sam replied. "Jamie doesn't just go out and start swinging for no reason. He's like- a sleeping bear."

"Jamie's not a bear he's more like... a honey badger. Who likes exactly five people only, give or take." Mikaela stated.

"No, maybe he's like a wasp. It's spontaneous." Miles argued.

"Okay, okay! Jamie's a medium-small predator who acts with reason." Sam cut in before the conversation went off the rails. "That means there's something in Hoover Dam that has a connection to this whole Witwicky hullabaloo. But whatever he found there he couldn't bring back home, right?"

"Or he got caught and they're keeping him there." Miles added.

"Exactly."

"Alright, alright. We have something. First we go to Las Vegas, if we find nothing then we check the other places." Mikaela said.

"And if we don't find anything there?" Miles asked. Tension suddenly spiked in the air. There was a heavy atmosphere of hesitation.

It's a question all of them feared. That even if they go out and check every possible place in the world where Jamie could've gone, they'll turn out empty-handed. That Jamie was indeed a lost cause.

That the person they've been friends with is actually long gone.

"It won't happen." Sam said, despite barely believing his own words. "We'll find something. We definitely will, and then we'll find James."

There was a moment of silence.

"Okay, we've got everything so far. Let's call it a night. Sam's parents are already high strung and we're technically breaking curfew." Mikaela said.

Both of the boys nodded and they proceeded to leave the cemetery, placing the plastic tarp over the car before doing so.

Ten minutes later, once the coast was clear of any possible witnesses, the engine of the Camaro rumbled to life. Metal began to transform, shift and clang underneath the tarp.

After a few moments, Bumblebee peeked out from under the tarp.

What he heard just now, might be a double-edged sword.

On one hand, this made the whole mission almost completely successful. He had the intention of approaching the Witwicky family in search of clues to the Allspark. Archibald Witwicky was the single person who knew but he and Megatron were dead, so the only piece linking to the Allspark was some form of imprint that was left off. And now, here they just planned on bringing it to him without knowing it. It makes the entire mission a load easier and minimized casualties.

But on the other hand, he didn't expect to come to Tranquility only to hear arguably the worst possible news. Youngest sparkling of the family was kidnapped without a trace, with no clues and the case was getting closed with no prior warning.

It practically oozed Decepticon interference. Bumblebee's spark tightened. The youngest, Jamie, probably sounded a lot like Sunstreaker. Judging by how the oldest, Sam, was talking about him, it's possible that while they weren't twins, they had a similarly strong bond. To imagine if Sunstreaker got taken from Sides and possibly tortured for information-

Bumblebee was thankful for the fact that he knew more. That Sides and Streaker were inseparable and they refused to go into battle without one another. It's probably the only part of military training they ever followed, but it eases the fear that laid on Bumblebee's processor.

Bumblebee felt like he was taking advantage of a family trying to find someone who was taken from them. He couldn't reveal himself right then and there but keeping silent until the last moment felt dishonorable.

He couldn't do that. He wouldn't. Information was important, even more so when properly circulated. Communication was key, he and Charlie had been a testament of that.

He had to tell them but it's clear they're not looking for the Allspark. These are youngsters planning and betting on a risk to find their friend because nobody else will. Bee didn't think he'd have the conscience to pull them into this war of theirs.

Was it even a war at this point? The Decepticons had taken Cybertron, nearly winning the war, but as it turns out, it became uninhabitable. Nobody won the war. Everyone was put into a risk of survival or trying to find sanctuary. Cybertron was in ruins and Bee had managed to call this planet his new home.

If the Decepticons found out the Allspark wasn't destroyed and was, in fact, on the very planet, Bumblebee feared for the worst.

He was already fearing for this family.

They seem like good people, a little chaotic, but they mean well. Even James, who sounded like a national criminal in the making, didn't do anything without good reason. Unethically, yes, but it was still good... right?

Bumblebee hoped the Decepticons didn't get him. They weren't the fondest of humanity and some scientists of that faction were keen on experimenting on them.

Ironhide claimed he was sometimes too soft for his own good. Maybe he was right.

Bumblebee could only hope that the humans would make their move before he did.

Two weeks and six days. That's how long they've been investigating the Inferno Incident.

Simmons doesn't know what he should be more angry at- himself and his entire team for being able to get only basic information about the demon that had busted in or the rest of Sector 7 for turning to religious belief and ars-goetica for explanation.

Sector Seven, a secret organization that dealt in scientific research of non biological bodies from space, turning to religious mythos for solace.

The world was nearing it's fucking end. Slowly, painfully slowly, the planet was nearing it's bloody end and the last line of defense has decided to throw its hands into the air and erect several religious shrines within the compound to, and Simmons quotes, "channel the holy energy of the gods into the sector to protect what's left of it and cleanse the cursed debris".

The entirety of scientists, administrative powers and multiple spies and army mercenaries had begun to seek either solace in Christianity, abandoning it entirely for Judaism due to the distinct lack of hell in their writings, seeking out Shinto religion for a more powerful form of exorcism or becoming Buddhist and Hindu monks because they've accepted death by the hands of that thing and now want to ensure a better next life.

Nearly three weeks.

Three weeks is all it took for the majority of Sector Seven to fall into chaos, break off its hinges and go completely hog wild.

Simmons has accepted that he and his team of semi-sane researchers, spies and administrators with a single unit of soldiers are now the backbone of Sector Seven.

He's never wanted to go back to his mother's butcher shop so much. But he can't. Not now. Not when the head director of Sector Seven is foaming like a rabid dog, demanding that they send a majority of their troops on a manhunt for someone who's two steps ahead of them.

Said someone was narrowed down to a minor with an alcohol addiction and access to fireball potions.

They couldn't pinpoint the exact person but with the help of government permitted databases, they'd searched any missing person's report which had even one common trait with the suspect.

After scouring missing recent person's reports, they had narrowed it down to approximately 300 people.

One of which was one James Junior Archibald Witwicky.

Witwicky. The middle name that was hanging in their very own hall of fame.

Simmons would bet both of his kidneys for the fact that he was their guy.

James had a record that was an inch thick and ranged from breaking and entering a closed off and abandoned car cemetery to beating up a sheriff's son. All at the tender age of 14.

The little shit went missing in the same day as the hangers were attacked, with an approximate ten or so hour silent period.

It took about nine hours to get from Tranquility to Hoover Damn.

Yeah, he was the fucking culprit. Simmons isn't even questioning it. Archibald Witwicky was a crazy bastard and apparently the madness is hereditary. The man was described in diaries as stubborn, reckless and by the end of his Antarctic journey he was soon diagnosed with clinical insanity.

Now comes the dilemma of the century: Simmons, who has gained an increasing hatred for the prime suspect, is now trying to talk the person with the authority to signal a state lock down out of going over there and hunting him.

Because the little shit was apparently a smart little shit. The program virus, while simple in nature, was impenetrable. And maybe an AI with a foul mouth.

They had tried to exhaust each and every possible dialogue option in the program for a week only to find out that it had a new, unique response for everything they threw at it. Even a cycle of random sets of letters had almost human responses.

All of them warned them.

Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong. As if NBE-1 wasn't theirs.

When asked why, there was nothing but the cryptic response of "vengeance and freedom" written in Windings.

At some point, a scientist decided to try and butter the program up by asking if they could have it back.

"By the 15th of May, you won't have a reason to need it anymore."

Something will happen on the 15th of May and that meant less than a fortnight to prepare for something that could range from Sector Seven disbanding to the literal apocalypse.

Simmons is stressed, angry, scared and the director ignoring every word he says doesn't help one bit.

If whatever happened really was the work of divine or accursed intervention, then Simmons hates it so much. He doesn't do supernatural and he never will.

And he refuses to let the director, who's blinded by rage, use up their already miniscule amount of usable resources. Simmons was a director himself, yes, but he was in charge of administration and cover-up. He worked with data, information, facts. The man in front of him was the head director and probably delusional.

"If we have an approximate amount of suspects, then we need to round them-" the director, Tom Banachek, yelled for the seventh time about the investigation.

"Director Banachek, we are a paramilitary organization that has been kept secret from nearly the entire world, we can't just take 300 families from all over the country for the sake of finding the culprit. We need time, evidence and a concrete plan!"

"No, we need to fix this and get NBE-1 back! We've already lost precious time and materials rebuilding the entire base, we need to act now!"

"And if we do that, the base will also be left unguarded which means they could also attack again and then they could take NBE-2 and then what?" Seymour rebutted. He had, thankfully, hidden Witwicky's file in his desk because if Banachek had seen it, he would've gone apeshit and taken the entire family hostage.

And then the president would have their heads because the case of one missing Jamie Witwicky was a hot topic in the town of Tranquility, one they were desperately trying to cover up with the excuse of a cold case.

The little bastard really was cursing them from miles away, wasn't he?

"Simmons, do not test me." Banachek replied, as if he wasn't testing Simmons for the last week or so.

"Director, with all due respect," which is to say none whatsoever, "but we cannot rush this. The enemy has not only NBE-1 but also thermodynamic powers. We all saw how the whole place looked like two weeks ago, the suspect caused a fire big enough that it reached national news. And not to mention the program-"

"The program is psychological warfare." Banachek scoffed.

"That program is teetering on the edge of being a literal Artificial Intelligence, whoever has the Cube does not fuck around, for a lack of better words. They'll know what we're gonna do and then..." Seymour ranted before stopping. Calm down, his blood pressure was already high enough from the coffee.

"And then what? What do you think it's gonna do, Simmons, it's a program." Banachek replied.

"That's the point. We have no idea what's gonna happen and we can't just blindly run into this. If they catch even a word or something of us, they're gonna do something we'll never recover from. Best case scenario they take all of the research and data we had archived, spread it all over the world and have Sector Seven brought to the light with everything we've ever done. Do you know how fucked up that is? We're in the risk of having the entire operation brought to NATO of all things and that's our best case scenario!"

"Then we'll say it was the Russians-"

"We can't blame Russia for everything!"

"We'll have to!"

"That's absurd!"

"Simmons, do not make me fire you!"

"You can't fire me, who're you gonna replace me with?! I'm telling you how it is!"

"Then I order you to stay in your own department before I do!" Yelled Banachek as he stormed out of his office, nearly bumping into Flughausen, who had arrived with more papers and coffee.

Simmons sighed.

"Director Simmons?"

"I wanna say I'm fine but I'm lying. Banachek wants to speed things up and sweep all of this under the rug as fast as possible, as if it were that easy." Simmons replied as he sat behind his desk. "How did we get here?"

"I'd tell you but I'm sure you already know." Flughausen replied as she set the coffee on his table.

"Thanks. Did you find something out from that AI?"

"It gave us a picture." Flughausen replied, as if it wasn't the biggest revelation of the week. Simmons jumped out of his desk, chair clattering to the floor and coffee cup nearly tipping over. Flughausen had stopped the cup before it fell.

"What's the picture, what does it show?" Simmons fired off our of his office after grabbing the cup and following Flughausen out of the door.

"We're not sure but we think they're trying to tell us something. It's not replying anymore and any time we try to enter something it keeps flashing that picture." Flughausen explained as they sped off to the computer room. "We think it might be some sort of puzzle or a code or something!"

"Well are there any clues to what it is?" Simmons replied, passing hallway after hallway.

"We're working on it."

They entered the computer room to find pure pandemonium. Papers were scattered on the floor, people were running back and forth with either books or folders in hand, the lights were off, all the computers were crowded and the closest thing to light in the room was from a projector that was illuminating a picture onto the straightest and least damaged wall.

It's not a pretty picture either.

It's a mish-mash of lines, neon green and cryptic symbols that Simmons recognized as the same ones on NBE-1 and 2. Simmons has half the brain to know that there's supposed to be something beneath those layers of colors.

"What do we have so far, report!" Simmons yelled to the whole room. Multiple voices called off.

"It's possible that the image is layered and needs us to rotate each part accordingly-"

"It's likely that it's split apart and we're trying to find the medium but-"

"We're putting the picture through code and decryptions as we're speaking-"

"We have a letter!" Somebody yelled from their computer, hands a smashing into the table rapidly. It seems like in these trying times, even scientists become something akin to feral.

"What letter?!" Simmons replied as he ran to man.

"The picture is layered but the medium is one pixel per pixel so we've got- this-." The scientist explains as he shows the picture. The top right corner was more or less sharper in terms of resolution but somewhere down the line, closer to the center a vague outline of the letter 'H' could be seen.

"Keep going, keep doing what you do. The rest of you, follow his example! Somebody try to contact that damn AI and get the scientists in charge of code engineering here!" Simmons yelled out as he ran out of the room.

"Director Simmons, where-"

"I need to check something!" He said as he ran to his office. He scrambled through his desk drawers and found a file.

James Witwicky. The motherfucker himself. Running through the report he checked every photo, every listed document for something, anything-

There was a picture, probably drawn by what could be a preschooler but it was there. It was the same, cryptic symbols in green, red and purple that was taken as a creative art project when he was seven. They were in a specific pattern, too. The colors, the symbols were arranged in a way that reminded Simmons of a multiplication table.

This little bastard knew about them ever since first grade. He was either a genius or a psychopath with too much time and freedom on his hands.

Simmons wants to open fire on the kid but that very same AI was threatening all of their lives and maybe an entire five generations worth of research. Simmons was cocky, yes, but he wasn't a rabid idiot.

Simmons grabbed the paper and ran back to the computer room, fully ignoring everyone and anyone in his path.

Slamming into the room, he saw a paper projector on somebody's desk. He grabbed it, ripped it out of the wall and put it on the same table as the projector showing the picture. After fumbling with the cord and setup for a while, he finally got the picture showing on the wall to the right of the coded picture.

"Everybody!" Simmons yelled. The commotion stopped and he pointed at the wall next to it.

There was a whole minute of silence before everyone jumped back into action with more fervor.

"Director Simmons, where-"

"Don't ask. Frankly, the only guy who knows is our little culprit with a master plan that was more than seven years in the making." Simmons breathed out, watching as the picture grew more and more distorted with every edit it got.

It was fifteen minutes of yelling, editing and stressed running before the picture finally, finally gave way to a message.

It's as corny and creepy as Simmons expected out of a fourteen year old.

"Hell is a giant neon net?" One of the researches breathed out. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Either little ol' Witwicky is the ambassador of demons we never knew existed or he's just fucking with us." Simmons sighed. Why the hell were teenagers so damn difficult nowadays?

"Wait- no, I think we got the message wrong." One of the researches piped up. Oh, it's Flughausen again. "Maybe- Maybe this isn't the message but more so the letters for it. Like, the name of a place or a person! It could be an anagram!"

"That might work, but how do we know it's one or the other. It could be anything!" Another said.

"I don't care if it's a place, a guy or even the name of a pizza shop, we're figuring it out!" Simmons yelled as he turned the lights on.

Ten minutes went by which stretched into twenty, which went onto forty and then two hours.

But Simmons considered it worth it because this was the first damn thing in two weeks that's not a load of bullshit.

Atlantic, Nile and Stonehenge. Simmons could almost cry.

Now they just had to find a connection between the three... Shit.

"Sir, we-"

"We're cracking this code. Pull up whatever we have on these places. Until we've exhausted every possible variant, we're not sleeping!"

Sam stifled a yawn as he searched through website upon website. Apparently, just because a fail member has gone missing does not permit you from taking time off school. Their last grade for history was a genealogy project about "somebody cool related to you".

It's the only thing that's let Sam snoop around Archibald Witwicky's life story without arising suspicion. Which was technically a win-win since he could make the presentation and find out what happened in Hoover Dam at the same time.

Didn't mean that it was fun. Especially with the long nights of hunting for functioning cars and doing research in an incognito tab through the more far out crevices of the web.

Sam's been losing a bit of sleep, okay, but it was all worth it. No sacrifice, no victory, that's the family motto and Sam was working with it. Sure, he's been living on three to four hours of sleep daily but they're getting somewhere. They've already gotten somewhere. There's something in Hoover Dam and Sam isn't gonna let it go until he finds something, anything-

Sam took a deep breath. He's not sure if he's recovered from the hit that Jamie was gone or gotten worse. Maybe a bit of both.

Either way, digging through the government published and secured webpage about Hoover Dam wasn't technically illegal. If anything, they're asking for people to snoop around.

Sam rubbed his eyes. He probably had bruises under them but whatever.

Out of the corner of his eyes, something on the screen glitched. Sam couldn't see what it was, but it definitely happened. He focused on the spot that previously glitched. Nothing. Sam sighed.

"I swear, maybe I am losing too much sleep." Sam mumbled to himself.

Suddenly, as if to spite Sam's previous statement, the entire screen started glitching.

"What the fuck!" Sam whispered as to not wake his parents. The screen shifted into different colors, almost as if switching between channels.

And then a picture came. Rather, the picture of the front of a document.

Project ICEMAN. Below were names and one of them was Archibald Witwicky.

Sam had never pressed print screen so fast.

And a good thing too because the screen started glitching violently, flashing picture after picture at random.

Sam kept pressing the two buttons without stopping as the scene kept changing.

After thirty seconds, it stopped and Sam was left with the website claiming a server error.

Sam closed the page and went to the screenshot folder of his computer.

What he was met with was arguably a hundred or so different pictures. There were pictures of symbols, monuments with those symbols and for reason cars. The symbols were similar to the ones he found in Archibald's old things but at the same time they seemed more complex. He went over them, but nothing seemed worthwhile.

Until he saw it. It was a black and white picture of some- some giant metal thing encased in ice. The quality was awful but… Was this project ICEMAN? If it is then-

Then this was the thing Archibald found in the North Pole.

Sam broke into a cold sweat. This… this was probably what they were keeping in Hoover Dam. Why was it there in the first place though? He decided to keep going. He checked the next pictures. Word files about a project named Black Knife. One that ranged way back, to the very making of the dam but so much was blacked out or blurry that Sam couldn't tell what it was about.

The next images… slightly disturbed him. They were pictures of cars, airplanes and other modes of transportation but with heat signatures. Did cars even have heat signatures? Maybe where the engine was but the red and orange colors bled through almost the entirety of the frame.

The next picture was apparently his answer. Because there was the same vehicle, the same heat signature and a blurry picture of a giant robot. Sam rubbed his eyes. Nope, not a hallucination. That was… a robot. No- wait, maybe- no, that wasn't a robot. It seemed more like a metal giant.

"What…" Sam mumbled as he decided to move on. Unfortunately, the following pictures seemed to be just that. Giant metal people.

…

WAIT.

Sam hastily put the picture in a different window as he went back for the ICEMAN picture. He looked over the two and- Okay, fuck, this was scary. Metal guy and ICEMAN were apparently related. And by the looks of the other pictures, this seemed less like a family trait and more like-

More like a trait of a whole new species.

Sam's hands were shaking. Did Archibald seriously bring back an entire race of metal giants from the North Pole?! Why?!

Okay, maybe this was just coincidence, he thought as he quickly shifted through the pictures with metal giants, automobiles and more pictures of his grandpa drawing crazy things.

A picture of a file came up. Inferno Incident. The date- this was a report. A fresh one, probably not even two weeks old. Maybe this was it, he thought as he clicked on the next picture.

Sam's eyes widened. It was Jamie. It had to be Jamie, even if the picture looks like he had purple fire photoshopped on him. The two side moles on his face, the scruffy hair and was that his fucking jacket was that where it went-

In a moment of eureka, the pieces fell into place, Sam had gained a realization and nearly jumped out of his chair. He rummaged over his table, looking for the phone. Mikaela and Miles needed to hear this- fuck, fuck, fuck-

His fingers found his phone and he flipped it open and immediately dialed the first contact he saw.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up-"

"Ello?" A groggy voice replied. "What do-"

"Miles, it's me, get Mikaela on the line, fast, you guys need to hear this. We need to do the escape thing now, we don't have anymore time." Sam nearly yelled into the phone. There was a clutter in the background, probably Miles falling out of bed or something. There was another ring before a clack resounded through the line.

"What?" grumbled Mikaela.

"Miks, it's Miles, Sam found something-"

"I found out why Jamie left." Sam cut in.

There was a rustle of fabric on the other line.

"Are you serious? How? And what is it?" Mikaela asked in haste, fully awake now.

"I was sitting on the government page about the dam and i- I don't know, I think it got hacked. It started glitching and showing these weird file images." Sam started going off about the pictures.

"One of them was something called project ICEMAN."

"Oh fuck, don't tell me your grandpa found the fish god thing in the North Pole and decided to bring it back or something?" Mikaela sounded distressed and flabbergasted.

"No. Definitely no. The thing they found was huge, at least I think but he was made of metal. Like a giant metal gothic robot frozen like a popsicle!"

"Okay, so your grandpa brought a metal dude from the Ice Age, why isn't he melting?" Miles asked as more rustling was heard from him, he was probably trying to put some pants on.

"That's the thing, I don't know! The report was old- like, Grandpa Archibald old! And there more pictures and they were of his stuff and his glasses. There was just- so fucking much-"

"Get to the point!"

"And one of the pictures was a report called Inferno Incident and Jamie's face was on the fucking cover." Sam said as he looked over the picture. It was in low quality but it was definitely him. The two moles on the side of his left cheek was proof of that. Even if it did look like he was engulfed in purple fire and flying into the building.

"And the more I looked, the more I found. This metal frozen guy - he's not alone, there's a bunch of them and I think one was on Mars. I mean it was lumped in with a bunch of old car and plane pictures but still! There's a bunch of them and I think they're after frozen dude." Sam continued.

"Holy shit, he actually broke in." Miles breathed out.

"And there's a giant metal man frozen in Hoover and a bunch of other metal men chasing after him?" Mikaela asked, almost as if wanting confirm that no, she hadn't misheard.

"That's why he can't come back, they keep going after him without a chance for Jamie to properly lose them! I think they want him because of the Frozen-meat-man. Like maybe he knows how to break him out of the ice."

"The Frozen-meat-man? Really? We're calling him that?"

"Got any better ideas?!"

"Yeah, like, I dunno, Ice giant?"

"That's Marvel comic stuff not-"

"Back to the fucking topic!" Mikaela said into the phone.

There was a moment of silence between Miles and Sam.

"What do we do? Do we wait until tomorrow?" Mikaela whispered into the phone.

"We might not have tomorrow, if the government website was hacked and I saw it on my brick of a computer-"

"Then others must've seen it, too." Miles spoke as if it was a revelation. "They know our addresses, we can't stay."

"So we're doing it?" Mikaela asked seriously. "Because if we do, we'll be on our own. At least until we get some possible allies."

Sam sucked in a breath, pacing across the room. This was happening. This was actually happening. The plan was going into motion but so many variables started going through his head. What if they get caught before even leaving Tranquility? What if Hoover Dam was working with the metal giants? What if they get caught or-

Sam's eyes landed on a picture on the wardrobe. It was a picture of him and Jamie, back when he was fourteen and Jamie was eleven. They were both doing silly poses with sticks during the fourth of July that year. He didn't know why but Mom loved that picture a lot.

The thought broke his heart a little bit. If Jamie really was dead, what would happen? To the whole world? To mom and dad? To Miles and Mikaela? To him?

Trying is better doing nothing.

"We're doing it. We have to. It's this or we don't do anything at all." Sam said, voice wavering. He grabbed his bag and emptied out the contents. He started stuffing it with a pair of clothes, a hat and the map he had gotten beforehand with the path to Las Vegas.

"Are you sure, Sam?" Mikaela asked, firm but gentle. Sam pulled out a box. He had stashed Archibald's things in there, along with the money he had saved and worked through mowing lawns. He had wanted to save it for a car.

He opened the lid, looking over the contents. The glasses gleamed in the light of the computer that illuminated the room.

"Positive. No sacrifice, no victory. Miles and I will get the car. We'll come pick you up as soon as we can. We're leaving tonight."

"DIRECTOR SIMMONS, BANACHEK IS ON THE NEWS!" Those are the words Simmons wakes up to. As of late, he's resorted to sleeping in his office on his chair due to the fact that the entire situation needed all hands on deck. So when someone bursts into the room yelling something, Simmons is still halfway asleep when he hears it.

Flinching out of his chair, he rubbed his eyes and tried to understand what happened. He looked at the clock. Nine forty. Morning. Fuck.

He wiped some drool off with his sleeve when he noticed the shaken and panting agent at the office door.

"Wha?"

"DIRECTOR BANACHEK IS ON THE NEWS AND-" That was enough to startle Simmons into wakefulness.

"What?!" He yelled as he jumped out of his chair and ran through the door, the agent close behind him. The agent raced in front of him and made a 'follow me' notion to Simmons.

After several twists and turns, they arrived in what would have been their main lobby.

What greeted Simmons was probably the second worst thing that's happened this month.

CNN, Fox news, BBC- all of the TVs in the lounge were playing a different channel but all of them had Banachek's face on it.

'Evidence for mass tax evasion on Tom Banachek uncovered.'

'Footage of Banachek's illegal military dealings with China.'

'Leaked footage shows of illegal military files exchange.'

'Banachek - traitor to the US?'

'New evidence against Banachek's assault file, victims in shock.'

'Banachek involvement in East Coast drug cartel.'

Simmons was hearing of accusations and evidence of said accusations that he couldn't believe. Each channel was doing a different case that ranged from drug distribution to video footage of him dealing out military secrets.

The whole room was in silent shock.

"Call The FBI and CIA. We need to cover this-"

It's then that he noticed the pile of newspapers, also containing Banachek's face and pictures.

'Exclusive! Banachek scandal comes to light!'

'Shocking evidence of Banachek's involvement with Middle East.'

'Fall of an empire: detailed report of Banachek's criminal activities.'

Newspapers upon newspapers were flaunting the scandals and dirty secrets of Head Director Banachek. News outlets were talking about that and only that. The sheer size of coverage the blackmail was getting was borderline insane.

How the hell did James Witwicky get every single media outlet to talk about Banachek's fucking criminal life to the point where FBI and CIA can't cover it up fast enough?! This was a nationwide story that-

"What the fuck did he do?" Simmons asked the room. "No, actually, where is he?!"

"We don't know! He's been absent since yesterday evening. Last time anyone's seen of him was heading to the communications room and demanding them to do a detailed radiation scan."

"Scan of what?"

"The country!"

"He used the satellites- we're not supposed to use those unless it's a national emergency!"

"He declared it a national emergency!"

"When?!"

"Last night! He deployed several squadrons for- for something, he never told us!"

Simmons wanted to ask why the fucking hell did nobody stop him before he realized that Banachek was their god damned boss. God, just fucking slam a bottle over his head.

The white house and maybe even the entirety of the world probably knew about this.

His mind replayed to the conversation they had before Flughausen had come in with the news of the picture.

"Oh. Oh no. Oh, Banachek, you fucking son of a bitch." Simmons murmured as he looked over the still growing channels that keep mentioning Banachek's name.

Banachek had taken as many squadrons as possible and scanned via satellite, something only he has authority for, for any and all radiation signals.

The head director went after their suspect and now? Now his face is broadcasted over the nation for so many different crimes with so much evidence, it makes you wonder if somebody was actually present during them.

The fucking AI in the computer room. The fucking program wasn't lying when it said it'd make them wish they were never born.

This was a political, economical and sociological smear campaign that would ruin Banachek's entire life and name. Every shitty thing, from selling military secrets to sexual assault in high school, apparently, was going to be open to public eye which included his boss, the Secretary of Defense and the fucking president.

Banachek could become a monk for all the AI cared, but he'd never fucking recover. All this happened overnight.

"Great. Now all of the US knows Banachek's shame." Somebody behind him said.

"No." Simmons replied. "This isn't a target against Banachek."

People's view shifted from the screen to look at Simmons. Simmons took it as a sign to continue.

"The AI. That thing, it's-" Simmons took a deep breath, shock and frustration finally getting to him.

"Director, maybe you should-"

"DON'T! DON'T-" Simmons yelled as he breathed in and out, calming himself down. "Flughausen, what were the exact words of the program. You know which ones."

Flughausen flinched before flipping through the folder in haste.

"It's- it- the exact words were: 'If I as much as get a glimpse of your asses in my field of vision, literally every single personal thing that you and your superiors have tried to hide will be revealed to the general public within minutes. And that's just the first time.'" Flughausen stated, voice cracking at the last part. Her hands were shaking ad her eyes widened with every word. Her head whipped from the folder to the screen.

"We never confirmed. We never confirmed if the AI was lying or- if it even had the capability to lie-"

"It's not an AI." A scientist, one who had been part of Simmons' group, spoke up. "This- this can't be an AI. It's too advanced, too indignant, it's-"

"It's too human." Simmons finished. Fuck, damn it. "That little bastard was watching us the entire time."

Of course, of fucking course. What better way to threaten somebody plotting against you than knowing their every move and detail?

Simmons ran out of the lobby and made a beeline for the computer room. Halls blurred as his rage boiled.

This little shit was making a fucking fool of them. Hell, he's probably laughing at him right now!

He entered the computer room, steaming with rage and unbridled fury. He slammed an office chair into the table next to the working computer and sat down.

Simmons smashed his thumb on the caps lock key and started typing. This bastard was going to feel his wrath, be it in person or through this thing.

'YOU'

'Me?'

'YOU DID THAT.'

'No, I warned you.'

'HOW IS DESTROYING BANACHEK'S ENTIRE LIFE A WARNING?!'

'Like I said, I warned you. It's not my fault he can't read.'

'WHAT DO YOU GAIN FROM THIS? HOW IS DESTROYING HIS LIFE PROFITABLE FOR YOU?'

'It's not meant to be a profit, it's a message. An example. Never send anyone after me. You'll keep regretting it if you do.'

Simmons slammed his hands on a free portion of the table to alleviate at least some of the frustration he had.

'WHO IS GOING NEXT? ME? THE SECRETARY OF DEFENSE?'

'Read the fucking sentence.'

'NO, YOU READ. YOU SAID US AND OUR SUPERIORS. WHO. IS. NEXT.'

'Nobody.'

Simmons stopped and stared.

'WHAT.'

'When I said you and your superiors, I meant you and the person who ordered the hit. Tell me how you managed to order your boss into hunting after me?' The program- no, the culprit probably knew that they cracked the case wide open at this point.

Simmons took a deep breath and took his fingers off the keyboard. He shielded his face with his hands. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

He unlocked the caps.

'We didn't even know he went after you. You kept us distracted with that stupid picture code you had. What does it even mean? Are you trying to tell us demons are real and you're one of them and that there's some demonic gate in the Nile river, Atlantic and Stonehenge?'

'That is the stupidest conclusion you could've gone to. You work with aliens.'

'That gives us nothing.'

'Then figure it out.'

'We can't, you little psychopath.'

'I'm not a psychopath. Everything I do, I do for a reason. This whole escapade included.'

'The entire sector is suffering because of you.'

'Karma.'

'For what?'

'For experimenting on all those robot babies.' Simmons stopped, thought for a moment and started typing again.

'Those things had consciousness? They were babies?'

'You've been studying it for over a century, you must have used different methods.'

'No authorization. They were labeled dangerous from the get-go. And I'm not in charge of experiments either way.'

'...' That wasn't good.

"SIMMONS!" Simmons spun around in the chair to see an agent running towards him with a phone in hand. "We got a call from the men stationed in Tranquility. Samuel Witwicky and two others have been reported missing!"

Simmons' face did nothing to conceal his horror. He had stationed several people to watch the Witwicky family, both out of paranoia as well as a safety measure in case the whole family was in on it.

"How long- how long have they been reported missing?!" He asked as he jumped out of his seat.

"Two hours!"

"Damn it, tell them to check all the routes going out of Tranquility, the kid couldn't have gone far!" He yelled as he ran back across the halls. This was fucking ridiculous! How many awful things could happen in one morning!?

What small little group they had that was keeping Sector Seven together was falling apart.

Things looked grim, yes but at least-

"Director Simmons!"

"WHAT NOW?!"

"The US SOCCENT base has been hacked and attacked by an unidentified object, reports say it's appearance was similar to NBE-2!"

"FUCK!"

Simmons is getting a vibe check from god this month and Awful Teenager Gang decides to go eye of the tiger.