True Colours

A trip to see Sam turns into the start of a long nightmare for Bumblebee

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers – they belong to their license holders and licensees, and, in this incarnation, to Michael Bay, DreamWorks and Paramount. I'm making no profit from this.

Author's Note: This is a movie universe fic. I'm not entirely happy with it, but the idea just wouldn't leave me alone. Set post-RotF, although that's not really important to the plot. One continuity note: I've made use the Decepticon assault helicopter Grindor. I'm sort of uncertain whether either Grindor or Blackout made it to the end of the films. Feel free to imagine that I'm referring to another, near-identical Decepticon helicopter ;-)

Rated T, with warnings for mild bad language and some serious depression and angst from Bumblebee along the way. I promise to put the 'bots back where I found them when I'm done. Comments, reviews or suggestions for improvement would be more than welcome, as would a simple 'liked it' or 'could be better'. Hope you enjoy the story.

3rd March 2011 - Edit for language, grammar and typos, with apologies to my earlier readers!

Chapter 1

To Bumblebee's left and right, in the valleys below him and on the hillsides above this winding road, forests were ablaze with the colours of autumn. Dark reds and browns mingled with stands of trees that reflected his own yellow-gold. Mere leaves, simple organic structures designed to support green chloroplasts, shouldn't be capable of producing these mahoganies, scarlets and deep purples. The complex interplay of light and shade assaulted Bumblebee's optics and excited the neural net he was still training to interpret it. Above him, the vault of heaven was a rich, deep azure, the few clouds in the sky merely providing contrast against the glowing blue. The road unfolded under his tyres, its asphalt sparkling as tiny specks of mica reflected every colour of the spectrum.

When Megatron looked at Earth he saw a world rich in resources, ripe for plundering and the target of his undying, unyielding revenge.

When Optimus Prime contemplated the planet he'd opted to defend with his life and those of his people, he saw a young world, dragged into a war not of its own making, its natives rich in potential and striving to find their path.

What Bumblebee saw, more than any of those things, were the colours.

Cybertron was a grey world. The planet on which Bumblebee sparked was one of grey steel and dull black rock. What little colour there had once been, wrung from the barren world by artists and scientists, had long since faded. Eons of war had robbed Autobot and Decepticon alike of all but the most basic aesthetic appreciation. Born of Cybertron's last generation, Bumblebee should hardly even have noticed his surroundings.

Instead, he found himself speeding up, keen to discover what amazing sight lay beyond the next twist in the road or in the next sun-bathed valley. Sighing, he eased back on the gas, his conscience speaking with the twin voices of Sam Witwicky and Optimus Prime. He didn't need either to tell him he was being reckless and a threat to any stray humans taking this quiet mountain road.

Besides, he realised as he settled back into a relaxed cruise, this phenomenon was as transient and fleeting as so many Earthly things. Next time he drove these roads, even after the few short days he'd be spending with Sam, this view would have changed. Perhaps it would be better still, although Bumblebee wasn't sure how that could be possible. Perhaps the change would be for the worse, as the hillsides braced themselves ahead of the approaching winter. Either way, this scene would be gone for good.

This was why he'd turned down turned down Sideswipe's offer of companionship for the journey to visit Sam, and why he'd taken these back roads rather than race his friend down the featureless interstates. Fun as he could be at times, Sides simply wouldn't have understood. Bumblebee owed it to himself to enjoy the sights of this world, or simply of this journey, for as long as he could.

Or as long as he was allowed to.

The deep, frame-shaking throb of helicopter blades echoed off the hillside, rolling down them in a cascade of sound. It came from nowhere, Grindor closing in fast. Far faster, in fact, than should be possible given his heavy vehicular form. The Sikorsky assault helicopter dwarfed Bumblebee. Even if it had been a human-built machine, it would have been intimidating. As a Decepticon, older, larger and an awful lot stronger than the Autobot Camaro, it was downright terrifying.

Bumblebee was signalling an S-O-S on every frequency available to him, even before a spear-hook thundered out of the sky and pierced his roof-armour. He screamed as he was jerked aloft a brief second later, too dazed by the sudden attack and in too much pain for him to even think of transforming. He felt Prime respond with reassurance and an urgent status query moments before another form flashed past, the shriek of tortured air echoing the Autobot's own cries. For dizzying moments Bumblebee thought Starscream was just buzzing him for the thrill of it. Then the pain in his abused roof structure was washed away by a deeper, more frightening agony.

All Cybertronians could weather a simple human-made electromagnetic pulse without significant impairment. The burst of radiation Starscream focussed on the dangling Autobot from short range was far stronger, harder and more damaging than that. Bumblebee's blue optics faded into darkness, their sensors burnt out in microseconds. Prime's contact fragmented, the text streaming past the young mech's inner screen corrupting and then fading entirely. His radio fried, white-noise reaching a crescendo moments before the circuits melted. His body transformed without his conscious volition, no longer to hold the shape of an alien vehicle against the distraction of so many error messages.

He was barely aware of the moment when Grindor dropped him, of the freefall that must surely presage impact and a final shutdown. He didn't register the fall until Starscream plucked him from mid-air. Claws pierced the young Autobot's chest armour, and he felt himself dragged upwards, caught in a hold that put his back against the Decepticon's chest and Starscream's voice-box just behind his audio sensors.

"Still alive, little Autobot?"

Bumblebee's body was shutting down in agony, the few sensors not fried by the radiation burst drowned out by his internal diagnostics' cascading error reports. His perception of the outside world had shrunk down to the feel of steel claws digging ever closer to his spark chamber and the hissing, discordant voice whispering in his ear.

"It seems Megatron was right for once. Your spark burns brighter than I thought, small one. Perhaps you will serve our purpose after all."

Wind screamed past Bumblebee's sensors. Some small part of him was aware of the air thinning, gravity exerting less of a pull on his straining circuits as the world fell away beneath him. The shriek of displaced air became thin, tinny, before fading out entirely. The chill of space leached what little energy remained to him, his circuits too damaged to trigger his internal heaters or the shift in form that would protect him against this hostile environment.

Locked in a hostile embrace, Bumblebee had no chance to struggle, and no choice but to remain passive. He was hardly aware of being passed from one grip to another. There was certainly nothing he could do to stop the fibre optic cables and tendrils of energy that snaked between the rents in his armour, and through his cold-cracked joints. The violation set off error messages that barely registered on his pain- and cold-deadened mind. It wasn't until the writhing, pulsating conduits made contact with his core data inputs that he realised that his thoughts were no longer his own.

SOUNDWAVE: The Autobot lives.

STARSCREAM: Then hurry with your work! I don't want to be playing babysitter up here all day.

The text streamed past Bumblebee's awareness, a cruel mockery of the longed-for signals from his fellow Autobots. Even channelled through Soundwave's network of connections, Starscream's data-voice was jagged and piercing.

SOUNDWAVE: Uploading first virus now. Others will follow.

STARSCREAM: I don't like this. Megatron is deluded if he thinks his plan will work. Even if this one has the strength, the others will discover his purpose.

Purpose? Plan? What little of Bumblebee's awareness remained was troubled by the words.

SOUNDWAVE: Optimus Prime has proven a powerful foe. This may be the best way.

STARSCREAM: A cowards way! A Decepticon should meet his enemy in open battle.

SOUNDWAVE: Where perhaps Prime will do your work for you? Open your path to power?

Starscream's silence was sullen.

SOUNDWAVE: Upload complete. Take him, Starscream, and have a care: Megatron will not thank you if his plan fails through your carelessness. He wants the small Autobot to live.

STARSCREAM: He said to make it look convincing. Well, let's see how good their medic really is!

Connections withdrew, power tendrils undulating as they found their way out through his broken shell. Relief and fear mingled in Bumblebee's confused mind, even as Starscream's callous glee faded from his perception. He might have become a pawn in Megatron's newest game, but Prime had never allowed the least of his soldiers to fall lightly, or unfought. If only he could get back to Optimus and the other Autobots they could reverse what had been done to him… make this whole experience go away…

He just wanted it to go away…

It might have been seconds, minutes or hours before the heat of re-entry sparked a little more life into Bumblebee's circuits. The hiss of thin air, twisted and torn by their passage, became first a moan and then an anguished howl as they descended ever deeper into Earth's thick atmosphere.

"Still with me, little 'bot?" Starscream was talking again, pouring his poison into Bumblebee's audio sensors. "Ready to play your part in this little drama? Ready for your starring role? 'The Betrayal and Murder of Optimus Prime' – has a ring to it, doesn't it?"

Never! Bumblebee wanted to yell the word, but his vocoder was returning nothing but error messages and his transmitting capabilities had burnt out long before.

"Oh, you'll fight it, Autobot. You'll try to make them understand. You'll try to find help, clinging to that disgustingly naïve hope you all seem to share. But know this: every moment you spend with your oh-so-wonderful Autobot friends is another moment you bring them closer to their deaths, another moment you'll spend wondering just what we've planted inside you… how you'll kill Optimus Prime."

The hissing, sibilant words were like treacle, seeping into Bumblebee's mind and miring his already-sluggish thoughts.

"And you know the best thing, small one? The very best thing? That you know your destiny – and you can't tell them!"

Insane, cackling laughter blended with the shriek of wind as they fell. It cut off, abruptly, Starscream's tone dropping to one of low menace.

"We've made sure of that. Oh yes, Soundwave may be Megatron's lapdog, but he knows his work. Now shall we see whether your medic knows his? And if I'm overestimating him…? Well, Megatron can hardly blame me for your Ratchet's incompetence! Goodbye, little Autobot!"

Steel claws loosened their grasp. Jet engines Bumblebee hadn't even been aware of, controlling and guiding their descent, roared above him for a moment and then faded into the distance. Suddenly Bumblebee was in free-fall, his weight dragging him around so he fell back-first, limbs trailing limply above him, bouncing on the turbulence. He started counting the seconds, lost track somewhere around a hundred. The drop seemed to last forever, stretching on and on until Bumblebee feared that he'd already passed beyond the confines of the world he knew, and was trapped in an eternity where this fall might never end.

He might even have felt relief when he heard the screams of terrified humans below him. He had brief microseconds to analyse the emotion before the terrific force of impact rippled through his body, circuits ruptured and consciousness fled.