Chapter Text
The roar of the road rang in John’s ears as he drove. He yawned, taking a sip of his coffee as he enjoyed the early morning light. He’d been on the move for almost three straight weeks now, heading from one site to the next. It was all par for the course, and his family did quite well for themselves because of his work. Besides, they all knew how important his duties were.
Someone had to clean up the mess if they were going to keep their god secure.
John could feel the urge to sleep pricking at the corners of his vision, but he ignored it. That feeling would fade once he got back to work. Instead of lingering on the thought, John adjusted his radio, tuning into just the right station in time to hear the usual broadcast. They always started at seven in the morning, at least the day team did. And checking his clock, he was right on time to listen in for updates on his shift.
“Good morning truckers! Welcome to the early morning trucking show! Here we talk about all things trucking related across the United States!” The normal greeting brought John some peace as he listened in. While the radio team was a relatively new addition to the Cleanup Crew’s operations, he appreciated it much more than having to continually stop and check emails wherever there happened to be a computer. This was far more efficient for receiving orders.
“Looks like we’ve got some blue fields over in Idaho today! Thankfully it’s quite sunny, but we advise all truckers to be cautious, but not overly so while travelling.” A series of quiet taps came alongside the radio host’s declaration. John listened mostly out of curiosity, translating the code into coordinates and a codename. It was the name of a team he recognized in passing. They were new to the work, and for that reason, he was glad they were only dealing with a blue field level operation.
Blue field. Light blood spillage. Sunny. Some damage to the local area. An easy enough job.
“Oh! And just in Alaska, we’ve got word that there’s been a bit of a washout that just blew through! There’s been signs of a blizzard too, so we advise all truckers in the area to move swiftly through the area.” John’s lips quickly pursed into a thin line as he registered the order. He translated the tapping, most often disguised as radio static, and came to a swift conclusion.
His team was going to have a bit of a mess on their hands, as was the case with washout situations. But beyond that, a blizzard code they weren’t going to have a ton of cover. They had to be swift.
And that’s what his team excelled at.
Checking the coordinates and making sure he knew where he was heading through the use of his map, John took a quick detour and headed deeper into Alaskan territory. The roads were not kind to his truck, but the Engineers had done plenty of work on Cleanup Crew vehicles to make them able to handle almost all terrain.
While it rattled ominously, John made good time and screeched to a stop near the scene in about two hours. The rest of his team was already there, his boys already out and assessing the damage. John whistled as his boots hit the snow with a satisfying crunch. It was an absolute disaster zone, not unexpected if the Knight got into a particularly nasty tussle. The enemy was growing bolder, and their Knight was suffering for it.
John’s jaw clenched instinctually at that thought. Their god went through so much just to keep them safe. They needed to get faster if they were going to keep up with him.
"Well isn't this quite the scene?" His words emerged a bit strangled as he took in the mess. A broken fence led into someone’s yard. Footsteps from the Knight and the enemy littered the ground, embedded deep in the snow and ice. Blood from both soaked into the surroundings, toxic to all organic life… except those who had adapted.
Taking a swig from the canister on his hip, John winced at the taste. It looked like alcohol, and even tasted like a particularly bad batch of moonshine. But inside it was a miniscule amount of the Knight’s blood. The first group to be introduced to the substance were rats, and all ended up dying due to exposure. But with time and a few sacrifices, the Engineers had found the correct dose to allow for adaptation while not causing any serious damage.
John and all other Cleanup Crew operatives were required to finish a small canister of the stuff daily. And while it had made him violently ill for the first few months he’d been forced to have it shoved down his gullet, he’d grown used to it. And now, because of it, he and those with a similar level of adaptation could handle Knight blood with just gloves. No respirators or suites required so long as it didn’t touch bare skin. They weren’t quite there yet.
"Aye, the Knight must have gotten into a real tangle." The first of his boys, a younger lad about twenty one if John had to guess, rubbed his neck as he took in the sight again. He was codenamed Parker, if John recalled. It was hard to keep names straight when his boys were always being swapped out once they trained up enough under his watch.
"Actually, it was the Scout this time." His other teammate, a man going by Roy, took a swig of his own canister with a little gasp once he finished downing the foul tasting drink. John nodded along with his report. Looking at the scene, it made sense.
The Knight preferred to keep his fights to wide open areas and roads. The Scout and a few of the Knight’s other followers were more inclined to tussle in the woods, probably due to being smaller than their master.
"Really? He's been out more often lately. You think the Knight's alright?" Parker fumbled with his gloves, trying to force them on as he questioned. He looked genuinely distressed, a not uncommon reaction from newbies. Thankfully, Roy was more experienced and was able to answer before John had to. Tedious questions were tiring.
"I don't see why he wouldn't be. The Scout wanders all over the place and has been getting better at following the Knight's post-battle habits. I'd bet he's just been given more authority." Roy’s response seemed about right. Not perfect, and not entirely in line with what John knew as a trusted agent, but close enough.
The Knight’s allies emerged more often than he did for a far grimer reason. The Convoy had noticed over the years how the Knight slowed, how he acted less often, saved fewer human lives. He only emerged to fight his foes, then vanished unless someone was directly nearby in need of assistance.
He seemed… almost tired more often than not. And high command had long ago found the cause to be the loss of his blood.
High command was more anxious than ever to assist and find a way to either stop his need to battle by eliminating the enemy themselves, or to provide new blood for him to use. There was some debate for that second idea, mostly because a vocal part of The Convoy thought producing blood for a god was some form of heresy. Maybe it was. But they were going to find out eventually one way or another.
"It's not our place to figure out what the Knight and his servants are up to. We are here to clean up the site, that's all." John settled on ending the discussion before Parker could ramble on for much longer. They didn’t have too much time.
“Parker, fix that fence. Roy, collect the armor. I’ll deal with the blood.” John gave his order, and his boys took off quickly. As the agent with one of the highest recorded levels of blood tolerance, John almost always took care of the blood spills. And while he didn’t voice it, that was partially due to his distrust of many other agents who were always missing drops.
"The fights have been going farther and farther off road recently." Parker remarked from where he was gathering up the pieces of busted fence to put it all back together.
"Yeah, more fights in the woods and out in the boonies." Roy grumbled while going about gathering and organizing the armor into crates before loading them into John’s truck.
John grunted but kept moving, shoveling the affected snow into containers to melt and later be separated by the Engineers. The material that splattered onto trees and concrete was difficult to salvage, but he did what he could with a special nozzle and vacuum tube.
"Gross. I hate messing with snow. The water dilutes the blood and the Engineers get all pissy about it." Parker made a face as he stepped around John’s work. He shot the boy a look, earning a little smile from the younger man before he took off back to his assignment.
John pulled his beanie back into place and refocused his efforts where they belonged.
Once all the surface level blood was collected, he stood and wandered the area. After having ingested blood for so long, John had a unique sense for the stuff. It wasn’t perfect, but he could smell it. Normally it lacked an odor, but now due to body having recognized it, he could pick it out far easier. His eyes darted to droplets faster, his face scrunched up as the sharp tang of its scent reached him.
He’d gotten good enough to even learn the differences in the blood.
The Scout, his most usual mess maker and the hardest to hide due to his bright yellow armor, had an almost electric scent to his blood. Like the taste of a battery, but for his nose. He was rather common, but beloved by the Knight from what they could tell. So The Convoy took extra care with his operations.
The Guide, the one who took on the form of an ambulance to blend in on their world, had a sterile smell to his blood, like sanitizer. Whenever John ended up cleaning up after him, it was a whole affair. The Guide was a rare sight, and he usually only appeared when the Knight or his servants were gravely wounded. For his blood to be present meant The Convoy worried for weeks until the next sighting appeared.
The Stalker, the small blue and pink motorcycle of an entity, had the scent of burning rubber in her blood. She was new, having only appeared recently, but proving to be just like their Knight, as noted by her badge and her taking on the appearance of an Earth vehicle, just like the Knight did.
The Hunter, the red horned servant of their Knight, smelled of smog. He was also new, and generally, he joined the Stalker on her hunts. They were rarely seen apart.
The Berserker had a scent of fire in his blood, like the smoke that lingered in clothes after spending too much time by the bonfires at summer camp. He was the third most common to appear after the Scout, and he generally meant there was trouble ahead.
Each was unique, and each was valuable to the Engineers. But of course, above all else, they wanted the Knight. His pieces were far more important than the others. Still, looking at the haul, John suspected the Engineers would be pleased regardless.
"PARKER!" Roy roared in outrage as a snowball collided with his face. Parker cackled, readying to throw another before John turned sharply with an order.
"Boys! Focus!" John barked out, and the two stilled instinctually. He glared at both for making a scene as he loaded up the last canister of mixed snow and blood.
"Get the work done or I'll report you both to the Truckers. Mark my words." He hissed, and thankfully, both of his agents hurried to get back to their assignments. The Truckers were not a threat to be taken lightly, especially not from a senior agent. John had only seen them in passing, but from what he gathered, most were either plucked directly out of the lower ranks for their skills as killers, or pulled from the Cleanup Crew higher ranks for their experience.
That was theoretically where John was heading if he wanted to go that route. He’d considered it, but without an offer of promotion, he didn’t linger on the thought most days.
He sighed, then went about taking pictures of burned wood, places where shots had been fired, and any other combat zones. The Engineers were absolutely tyrannical about getting evidence for things. When he finished, he turned just in time to see Parker trying to weld the fence shut using a welder powered by Knight blood.
What an idiot.
"Don't waste blood on a fence. That material is precious." John snapped, and Parker shrivelled up a bit before nodding and abandoning the now finished fence. John watched him with a scowl until the boy was well on his way back to his vehicle. Blood fueled tools and weapons ran hotter and hit harder than anything else. Using it on a fence was ridiculous.
"Take that mess back to Whisper's Waypoint. Then get back to your families. You know the drill." John pointed to where he’d loaded up some of the fragmented armor pieces on their jeep, and his agents were quick to salute with a fist over the heart before getting in. He’d be the one taking the majority of the scrap back to their main base due to the amount of blood, but he liked to support his agents just a little by letting them transport some smaller pieces to get a few extra hundreds out of the whole affair.
“See you at the next site, John.” Roy waved to him with a faint smile. Parker just about threw himself out the window of the jeep to wave as well.
“Thanks, John!” That kid was going to get himself killed one day, John could feel it.
“Whatever.” Grumbling to himself, John clambered into his truck and turned the key. Once the familiar rumble of the engine soothed him enough to get moving, he checked the radio for a few minutes and took off.
It wasn’t often he made a trip like this. Usually once a month or so after collecting a decent amount of material. His team cleared out for a replacement, his boys heading home for about a month while John took the material to its final destination. After everything was processed, they’d get a summons and set off again in a different state to do more cleanup.
That was the routine, and John stuck to it like glue.
It took him about a week to get from the heart of Alaska up to Idaho where the base was, but he took the chance to use that silence to reflect. He contemplated his work, offered a few quiet prayers of strength to their Knight, urging him to fight well. He read over reports, reviewed testimonies on breaks, and overall made use of the personal time. But once he arrived at the road leading to their compound, he sobered up quickly.
The Convoy had many depots and businesses, ones John knew at a glance.
But this? This was their headquarters. Fully hidden and disguised from public and government observation as a shipping company. Trucks coming in and out at all hours was expected, and strange shipments were all par for the course. It was brilliant cover, and their high security made sense in light of their supposed goods. John always admired the effort, especially the security.
Rolling up to the gate, John saluted properly to each guard, who in turn let him hang out of his window enough for the scanner to register his eye.
There was a reason only senior agents were allowed to do direct shipments. And that reason was simple.
No one else could get through the blasted gate without traces of Knight blood in their veins.
“Confirmed: Agent - John Doe.” John grinned, letting the scanner register the blue that had begun to creep into his once brown eyes. When it was done, he settled back in his truck and let the gates open.
He always liked his codename.
Soon enough he docked his truck in the proper depot and hopped out, shooting the various agents charged with handling cargo a quick salute. They returned the favor, and John wearily made his way inside. The blood fought off exhaustion, but it wasn’t perfect.
Inside, he went through another layer of security, being forced to have a live guard check his blood to ensure he had traces of the Knight in him and the brand he’d been given once he was promoted. The insignia their Knight bore was hidden well on his body, having been put on his inner thigh, totally unnoticeable to those who weren’t trying to peek at places they shouldn't have. While John wasn’t a fan of stripping down for the guards, he understood the need and allowed it.
“Clear.” Once through, John adjusted his jacket and took a sip of his flask again, partially a self-soothing motion. Inside, dozens of Engineers flocked to and from various closed off rooms, all working on their little projects. The main room was filled with containers, each holding blood or armor, sometimes even pieces of the Knight’s technology.
It made something proud surge in his chest to see all that they’d collected. Soon, they’d put it to use for their god.
"John, welcome. I assume you have armor pieces?" An Engineer approached him, a younger man, at least by the standards of Engineers, perhaps in his early thirties. He was masked, fully suited in radioactivity gear, and held a clipboard as he saluted. John returned the gesture politely.
"That I do, Sir. From the Scout this time." The Engineer made a pleased sound and gestured for the workers to begin organizing John’s haul.
"Excellent. You will be compensated as soon as possible." The Engineer turned his attention to the crew, and John prepared to head out now that everything was confirmed. He had some papers to sign, and then he was free to head back to his family for at least a month-
“John Doe, wait.” Suddenly, the Engineer called back. John stopped, turning to address him again as the Engineer spoke.
"You've been dutiful, and your ability to handle the Knight's blood has been quite noteworthy. Very useful for furthering our work on the next generation of Truckers." That might have been ominous to anyone else, but John nodded along. Better Truckers meant better protection for The Convoy, and ultimately, the potential for their Knight to be guarded. He was proud to be of use… but he had to wonder what the Engineer was trying to say. For all his loyalty, he had no interest in being picked apart.
"What are you getting at?" John’s hands fell to his pockets, reaching in for a weapon he couldn’t carry in the building instinctually. The Engineer noticed and made a placating gesture, eyes upturned in a smile John couldn’t see.
"How would you feel about a promotion?" John had to blink once just to process what was being offered.
"What?"
"The Truckers are branching off. We Engineers have been tasked with looking for suitable operatives to join this new offshoot." The Engineer hurried to explain, his voice rising in excitement as he gestured to the entire facility, a welcoming thing. John just gawked.
"You want... me involved with this?" That seemed too good to be true. He hadn’t been offered a chance with the Truckers, so what could this new offshoot possibly be?
"The choice is yours. But the Truckers are breaking off. They're changing their name to Security in order to lay low around our key facilities, and the more military inclined among them are being siphoned to the new branch." That… made sense. It was about time The Convoy stepped up when their god was bleeding so much. But John had to question once more. What was this new offshoot? What were they aiming to do?
"Which is?" John pushed, and thankfully, he didn’t have to fight for information.
"The Nightwatch. I don't have all the details regarding their work, but if you would like to be involved, you'll be paid well." Cryptic, but interesting.
"I'd like to talk to someone involved, then we'll see." He thought his decision was fair, but the Engineer said nothing else and merely nodded before wandering off.
After that, John was given his month off, and for a while, he assumed he’d just missed an opportunity. His wife was understanding, and his oldest son, a boy nearly old enough to join the Cleanup Crew himself, patted his back with a faint smile. It was all for their god.
If this was his role, then he was happy with it.
Then a knock came from his door.
"I am Agent Hawk, a member of the Nightwatch. You are John O'Connor, correct?" A man stood outside, suited and firm. His hair was cut sharply, military like. He had a firm look to him, scarred and his voice rough like a drill sergeant fresh off the field. John saluted without thinking, not sure if he should be shocked the man knew his real name and address or not. He had to be high ranking to have access to such information.
"Yes Sir. Cleanup Crew operative. Been working for some years now, even before the operation had a name." John wasn’t sure his credentials meant anything, but looking at Agent Hawk, he saw what he could become.
The man was suited, but his eyes shone a startling shade of blue. There was a certain focus to his gaze that John had begun to see in the mirror, an attentiveness to the world that came from the blood of their god.
This man had more of their god in him than John did, and it showed.
"Then I would like to offer you a place in our ranks, O'Connor. We could use a man with your level of blood tolerance and skill." Agent Hawk extended a hand. No further explanation was offered, just cold orders disguised as a choice. John wasn’t fool enough to refuse as he took the offered hand.
"And what is it you do?" He questioned softer than he’d hoped. And quickly, the man grinned.
"We help the Knight hunt."
It was about time.
Optimus watched as his team settled into the silo. Bumblebee was already rambling about the things they’d have to pull out to make way for their salvage from the Ark. Bulkhead wandered around poking at what remained of the human's things. Ratchet assessed the power situation as he hauled Teletraan’s only surviving console inside.
He observed it all quietly, standing beside the only human who was meant to speak with them after they were unfortunately discovered during a freak accident.
Agent Fowler.
"You bots have been on Earth for how long exactly?" Fowler crossed his arms, glaring up at Optimus with audacity he hadn’t seen in any of his own Autobots since Hot Rod took his crew and left for other battles among the stars. For such a small creature, he had bravery, and that, Optimus respected.
"Several years, human." Ratchet scowled as usual, waving Fowler off. Optimus nodded along, not objecting. They’d agreed that if discovered, the Ark was to be destroyed and their timeframe for arrival was to be kept vague. Both tasks had been accomplished without issue.
"How did you avoid being found for all that time? Last I checked, you bots can't exactly turn invisible." Fowler had an accusatory undertone to his words, but also something vaguely afraid, if Optimus had to guess. Despite linguistic struggles, the Matrix provided much insight into those around him on the emotional end of things.
"We transform, Fowler." Arcee deadpanned, pointing to her wheels from where she was helping Ratchet attach various cords to the console.
"Exactly! Hard to be seen if we blend right in!" Cliffjumper added as he emerged from exploring their new base.
"You humans only registered our presence after the Decepticons started acting up again." Ratchet concluded the entire conversation sharply, shooting those around him a pointed look. Arcee flinched slightly, and Cliffjumper rubbed his neck. They weren’t supposed to talk about anything if they could help it, but Optimus knew it to be unavoidable.
"I suppose-" Fowler attempted to speak, but as he did, something occurred to Optimus. One vital piece of information he could actually use human insight for.
"Actually... I believe there may be another reason our presence went unregistered for so long." That statement hung in the air like a storm cloud as Ratchet shot up, glaring with all the venom of a mech betrayed.
"Optimus!" He threw his arms out in defeat, but Optimus gestured for him to calm. They’d done what they could on their end. Human intervention was required for this particular concern.
"I suspect there may be a group of humans, perhaps an organization, that has been covering our tracks on our behalf." A heavy silence fell over the silo, his Autobots all tense with the knowledge that they’d been tracked.
"Really?" Fowler seemed a bit surprised, earning an optical ridge raise from Optimus. So it wasn’t his government…
"Old combat zones were cleared of all energon or debris when we returned to them. I've seen vehicles driving away from various zones with suspicious cargo. Additionally, your human datanet has been wiped clean of any and all sightings when I know for certain that there have been times in which we have been captured on your cameras." Optimus listed of his evidence, and Fowler hummed knowingly, a hand on his chin.
"Sounds like an organization all right. How long would you say it's been operating?" The Agent’s question earned an annoyed grumble from Ratchet, but Optimus replied regardless. He hated to admit it, but they had been clumsy, and they were paying for it.
"Likely as long as we have been present and active on this world." His entire team looked beyond nervous as he admitted his concerns aloud. Fowler just seemed shocked.
"It is of little importance now that we are allies, but I would appreciate it if you and your people took the time to look into the matter. Humans are not my field of expertise." Settling on sighing as he made his case, Optimus offered Fowler a pleading look. It seemed to do the trick as the human nodded.
"Sure, Prime. Can't have rogue arms dealers with alien tech running around."
Primus, he couldn’t have agreed more.