The clash was over, leaving the nuclear plant in utter ruin, scarred in every direction by heavy weapon fire.
Though the Driller was not an elite warrior in personal combat skill, its destructive capability was terrifying, having gouged massive craters across the earth.
Chernobyl, already scarred by the historic disaster decades prior, had been thoroughly reduced to rubble.
"Optimus, are the Decepticons gone?"
Lennox and the surviving soldiers, who had taken cover outside the complex, cautiously picked their way through the debris.
Aside from Lennox and Epps, every man's face was pale with shock.
Though they had kept their distance, they had witnessed the sudden clash between the titans firsthand, with stray explosions tearing apart the ground near their positions.
Only after the massive mechanical worm burrowed deep underground and vanished did they dare re-enter the perimeter.
By now, Lennox had begun to realize that this mission to Chernobyl carried far too many unsettling questions.
Epps had just informed him that their local guide, Vaskot, had been found dead inside his car.
Though the killer's exact identity was unconfirmed, Epps had caught a fleeting glimpse of a flying metallic bird—almost certainly a Decepticon.
Dead men told no tales, forcing Lennox to keep his growing suspicions to himself for now.
Perhaps Vaskot tried to slip away early, only to be intercepted by a Decepticon sentry monitoring the perimeter...
Lennox could only rationalize it this way. The Decepticons had likely tracked their movements from the very beginning.
"Lennox, you're back."
Optimus Prime was kneeling on one knee, examining the heavy engine component he had retrieved from the subterranean cooling chamber after Skygnaw and Shockwave withdrew.
Every word Skygnaw had spoken earlier had come through Lennox's open comms loud and clear to Optimus.
Because of that, Optimus was convinced this artifact held immense value to the Decepticon war effort.
"Optimus, what was that Decepticon with the eye, and what was that thing under his feet?"
"That was Shockwave, and his assault beast, the Driller."
Optimus answered absentmindedly, his optics fixed squarely on the complex machine part resting in the dirt.
To Optimus, since Skygnaw had already resurfaced on Earth, Shockwave's arrival was hardly a surprise.
The Autobots had lost Cybertron, meaning the homeworld no longer required a massive Decepticon garrison to hold it.
"Optimus," Lennox said, sensing the solemn weight in the Autobot leader's voice. "Why were they hunting for this specific part?"
"It is an engine component," Optimus said slowly, rising to his full height. His tone carried a trace of disbelief:
"It belongs to an Autobot vessel that went missing long ago. I cannot say for certain if the ship itself crashed upon your world."
"A starship?" Lennox was caught off guard, though on second thought, it seemed par for the course.
Back when he served at the SOCCENT forward base in Qatar years ago, could he ever have imagined the planet would become such a crowded battleground for alien titans?
"Lennox, I will need access to your government's intelligence networks to trace the history of this vessel, to determine if the rest of it truly landed on Earth."
"Understood, Optimus. No problem. I'll take this straight to the director the moment we return."
On the vast savannah of Africa...
Megatron leaned against the heavy trunk of an acacia tree beside the rusted gas station. A swarm of tiny repair bots crawled over his scarred armor, leaving small showers of sparks as they worked on his cracked chassis.
A metallic bird glided down from the overcast sky. "Lord Megatron, the Autobots took the bait. They have retrieved the engine fragment."
"Lord Skygnaw and Lord Shockwave have also departed Ukraine and are currently moving toward the continent where the Autobots are stationed."
"Well done, my assassin," Megatron praised, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He tilted his head slightly, glancing into the shade behind the tree.
Standing in the shadows was a silent, slender figure.
"Soundwave, track the Autobots' movements. If they mobilize for the Moon, follow them closely."
Megatron rose to his feet, a cruel smirk touching his scarred faceplate. "Furthermore, several of your human assets have outlived their usefulness. It is time to dispose of the waste."
"Laserbeak, eliminate them all."
"By your command, my Lord."
In East Chicago, Indiana...
In the front yard of a suburban home, three young girls were playing on a swing set.
A mechanical bird landed silently on the lawn, shifting with sharp, fluid motions into a small, pink-accented bot.
"Hello, girls. Is your daddy home?"
"Aah!"
Terrified by the sudden metallic intruder, the children shrieked and scattered toward the house in a panic.
"How rude."
Laserbeak rolled his neck with a slight click of annoyance, turning his gaze toward a man rushing out the front door in a frenzy.
"What are you doing at my house?!"
The man clearly recognized the bot, shouting in furious terror: "We had a deal! We only communicate through secure networks, never face-to-face!"
"Just paying a friendly visit," Laserbeak said casually, taking measured steps forward.
"No! You get the hell away from my family, get off my property!" the man screamed, pulling a handgun from behind his back.
"My, my... it seems our model employee has lost his temper..." Laserbeak paused, slowly raising his arms as the crimson light in his optical sensors burned with lethal intent.
Ten minutes later, Laserbeak glided away from the silent, blood-soaked house.
"Human fear is always so exquisite. Only one target remains..."
Through the evening light filtering into the ruined living room, a blood-spattered photograph frame lay cracked on the floor.
The picture showed five people standing side by side, one of whom was the homeowner who had just met his end.
Had an investigator examined the picture closely, they would have discovered that over the past few days, four of the five individuals in the frame had already died.
Either by sudden car crashes or mysterious domestic accidents, every case had been officially ruled an unfortunate tragedy by local authorities.
A grim series of coincidences.
Looking closer still, the backdrop behind the five men in the photograph revealed a stylized corporate logo:
Accuretta.
Chicago, Willis Tower.
In the morning rush, Sam joined the endless stream of suited professionals flowing into the high-rise, a coffee cup in hand.
He clocked in and prepared to begin his daily routine.
His tasks in the mailroom were undeniably monotonous.
Every morning, Sam had to print incoming faxes, sort through internal documents, and catalog departmental correspondence. In the afternoon, he pushed a heavy mail cart from floor to floor, delivering packets to executive suites.
The only upside was that he had the mailroom to himself. As long as the deliveries were completed on time, no one bothered him.
This morning, however, his direct supervisor decided to pay an unexpected visit.
"Well, congratulations, kid," the supervisor drawled, stepping into the room with an arrogant sneer. "Look at the boy from the coast, finally figuring out how to wear a suit and tie."
"The divisions on this floor are all high-level finance. You should know, an associate got terminated just last week for showing up in casual wear."
"If you had walked through that door looking sloppy today, you'd be packing your box next..."
Sam bit his tongue. Calling Southern California the sticks felt completely absurd, but he wasn't about to start an argument.
He had no idea why this stout supervisor, who never seemed to be without a warm beverage in hand, had taken such an immediate disliking to him. Still, Sam kept his head down, putting on a show of attentive deference.
"If you want to survive in this firm, you need drive, loyalty, and a sharp professional appearance every single day."
"On my floor, personal connections don't buy promotions. We operate on strict discipline, understand?"
Like many mid-level managers who had clawed their way up from entry-level positions, the man relished exercising every ounce of authority he had. It wasn't necessarily out of personal malice, but rather the mindset that since he had suffered through the grind, the new generation had to endure it too.
Sam didn't care for corporate posturing, but he nodded along as he sorted the file folders.
"Yes, sir. Absolutely. I'll make sure everything is handled according to your standards."
"Good," the supervisor's stern face cracked into a faint, satisfied grin. "Get to work, kid. I'm keeping an eye on you."
After delivering a few more minutes of unprompted career advice, the manager finally strolled out of the mailroom.
Sam let out a quiet sigh. The ceiling of this specific role was clear as day; anyone who could read could handle the tasks after a couple of days on the floor.
A dedicated worker could shine, but they still needed the right stage to stand on.
Around noon, a sleek supercar pulled up outside the Willis Tower, drawing envious looks from pedestrians along the street.
The gull-wing door rose smoothly. A slender leg in a ten-centimeter white stiletto heel stepped out onto the pavement.
Dressed in an elegant, form-fitting designer dress, Carly pushed back a strand of golden hair, looking up at the towering facade where Sam worked.
"Sixty-fourth floor, if I remember right..."
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