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You willed your car’s tires to spin faster as you shot down the dusty Nevada road, quickly checking your rear-view mirror as you did so. The white and blue sports car was gaining on you, and fast. You swore softly as you turned your attention back to the road ahead of you. You couldn’t lose this race.
There was no finish line that you knew of, you just knew that you had to outpace that car. But to your growing frustration, whoever owned that car had modified it exactly for the purpose of racing along dusty Nevada pavement. You bit back a scream as it pulled up alongside you, taunted you for a moment, before speeding ahead.
“Fucker!” you shouted, barely refraining from slamming your palm against the dash. The car’s taillights glowed through the dust its wheels kicked up, and you were momentarily blinded by it. You almost didn’t notice a squirrel darting out in front of your car.
You screamed something your mother wouldn’t be proud of and jerked the wheel. The vehicle careened off the road and into the desert before its previous forward momentum took hold and your car flipped and began to roll. Loose objects were being scattered around the interior as you tried your best not to throw up.
After what felt like an hour, the car finally settled to a stop. You were hanging upside down in your seat, groaning softly as the adrenaline spurred by the moment slowly receded. Your pulse slowed to something more normal, and your head stopped spinning.
At some point the airbags in your car had been triggered, so you rested your head against the one in front of you while you processed what the hell had just happened. Street racing. Squirrel. Rollover. Right.
The sound of heavy footsteps brought you out of your thoughts, and you hoarsely shouted, “Help!” before realizing that those strides sounded far too large to be human.
You would’ve liked to say that you didn’t scream when a giant metal face peeked into your window and asked if you were okay. In your defense, it was definitely a startled yelp and certainly not a shriek of abject terror.
The face outside your window flinched back in surprise and quickly tried to reassure you.
“Hey! Hey.. oh slag, Arcee is gonna kill me…” it muttered.
“What the fuck are you?!” you shout, which makes it wince. A small part of you almost feels bad about that.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to say anything to anyone.”
Who the hell were you going to tell? Who the hell was going to believe you? You nod quickly.
“Alright. I’m an Autobot.”
“…You’re a what?”
“An Autobot! An autonomous robotic something-or-other from a distant planet.”
“So, you’re an alien?”
“I think that’s the right word, yes.”
All this shock was starting to make you light-headed, although, that could also be because you were still hanging upside down and all the blood was rushing to your head. Instead of responding to the alien, you turned your attention to your seatbelt.
The alien was quiet as you fiddled with the buckle and only spoke again when you landed in an uncomfortable position on your neck and arm.
“Are you okay?” It asked gently.
“Does it fucking look like I’m okay?” you couldn’t help but snap back.
The alien winced. “Sorry, I’m not supposed to be racing anyways, that was stupid of me.”
You sighed, then began crawling out of the wreckage, doing your best not to cut your hands on the shards of glass littering the roof of your car. You heard the robot-thing move, and by the time you’d reached your window, there was a large metal hand waiting to help pull you out. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to subside, you felt yourself getting tired, so you wrapped your hands around one of the cold fingers, distantly noting that your hands couldn’t cover the full circumference of it, and let yourself be pulled out.
You felt another cold hand grab your torso, but by then you were already starting to pass out. You faintly felt yourself be lifted and saw the sun glint off the alien’s metal head before you fell unconscious.
* * *
When you came to, you were lying in a hospital bed, though it didn’t look like you were in a hospital. The ceiling was way too high and looked like one you’d find in a warehouse or school gymnasium. If you stared hard enough, you could make out little bites in some of the support beams, which wasn’t concerning in the slightest.
Before you had the chance to look around, a woman’s face came into view. She greeted you by your name and asked how you felt.
“How do you know my name?” you asked, squinting. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m Nurse Darby, and we found your ID in your wallet.”
Oh, right, your ID. That existed.
“Where am I?”
Her face fell slightly, and she glanced up at something. You followed her gaze and saw a middle-aged man walking towards you, his expression unhappy, but it didn’t seem directed at you specifically.
“I’m Special Agent William Fowler. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
Oh you had plenty, starting with “Where the hell am I?” So that was the question you asked first.
“Ah, it’s… complicated,” Fowler said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“How is it complicated?” you press, trying to push yourself into a sitting position only for a shooting pain in your back to stop you. You were about to say more when heavy footsteps drew your attention to someone on the opposite side of your bed.
Your jaw drops when you see another giant robot walking towards you. He was even taller than the other one, who you soon saw slowly trudging behind.
So that actually happened… you thought, turning your attention back to the taller robot-alien-thing.
The robot seemed to sigh before it spoke. “You are in a missile silo just outside Jasper, Nevada. It serves as our hidden base, so we ask you not to tell anyone about this.”
You nod, too dumbfounded to reply.
The robot sighed again. “I am Optimus Prime, and you are already acquainted with Smokescreen,” he motions to the smaller robot, who waves at you sheepishly.
You wave back. “What… are you?”
Smokescreen opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly silenced by a sharp look from Optimus.
“I will explain in due time, but you need to heal, and your family needs to know you are alright,” Optimus said, nodding once. “Ms. Darby will take you to a proper hospital to recover, and we will meet again soon.”
With that, Optimus turned on his heel and left the room, but not before gently yet firmly grabbing Smokescreen by the forearm and pulling him along. You watch them go, your head buzzing with questions that you now had to wait to answer. Optimus Prime’s promise of an explanation did help put your mind at ease, and you couldn’t help but feel a little eager. Maybe you’d get to see this Smokescreen guy again too. He seemed fun.