Chapter Text
I'm a terrible human, because my first thought when I was face-to-face with that forty-foot warmongering alien fighter jet was "God, he's so beautiful."
My second thought was, of course, "Oh shit oh shit oh shit"
It had been five years since the alien "transformers" had declared open war on each other on our planet. The "Autobots" aligning with the great US of A and the "Decepticons" refusing to align with any human nation, but setting up camp on the other side of the Atlantic. I mean, who knows how long they were sitting in wait, I don't particular care. I don't stay up at night thinking of all the times my parents and I innocently got on a plane and what might have happened.
Can't change the past after all.
It was 2012, the so-called Mayan End of the World (some bullshit), when footage of a "terrorist" plane transforming into the shape of a man and slamming into D.C. was broadcast to every channel. And I mean, every channel. TV, Radio, Print, the Internet— it was 9/11 on steroids. (Not that I was alive for that.)
I was eight years old when it happened. My parents couldn't hide it from me no matter how badly they wanted to. We were on the other side of the country in my home state of Arizona, but you don't almost lose the entire seat of federal government and then go back to playing with toys.
I mean, we did play with toys, but it was a lot of recreating what we saw or heard about. They tried to get to go back to school after a couple days, but everybody knew it was hopeless. There was a solid two weeks where we learned nothing and the teachers just let us mingle in third-grade chaos. I bet they were still reeling from it.
That was when Optimus Prime got on CSPAN and addressed our nation. I remember hearing his words— his pretty words about freedom, and protection, and hope— and just sitting there thinking. But you're a giant alien robot. You could kill us all too.
Nobody really said that out loud. Because it really seemed like the "Autobots" were the good guys that were going to protect us from the "Decepticons".
The rest of my childhood was mostly a feeling of sinking dread mixed with star-struck curiosity. I was fascinated by the transformers. Even as their fights— far away on the East Coast or in other countries— faded into "normalcy" and "politics"- even after my peers starting giving me weird looks for talking about them— I was still fascinated.
My parents dying didn't help matters.
2016. A law had been passed that banned children from air travel, for probably obvious reasons. But we had family up in Washington state. My parents took a plane to visit my dad's dad, and never came home.
I remember the call from my aunt, but I don't like to think about it.
They had a special fund for kids like me. Kids who lost their parents to the "Decepticon Menace". It even came with meeting the President— however, it took them long enough to get to my name that the President that met me was different from the one in office when they died. I remember not liking the way he looked at me when the cameras turned off. I managed to slip away before they forced me to shake his hand.
I got really good at hiding during my time at "Earth's Hope" (yes, that's actually what they called the program). You'd be surprised at the number of nooks and crannies that exist in the most begin of places.
I was able to graduate early out of the program because of my good grades. I used the savings I'd scrounged from the program and part-time work to buy a van and a good camera. I didn't tell anyone what I was planning. They would have looked at me like I was crazy.
2020. The East Coast had been a war-zone for most of the late 2010s. The United States was technically at war with, like, fifteen different countries under the guise of "fighting the Decepticons". People almost never bought new vehicles these days, to the point where something like sixty percent of young adults biked everywhere. Flight companies had given up on commercial air travel and now only served the shipping and military industries. The Internet was awash with terrible footage of people getting crush by Decepticons and Autobots alike.
Yeah, you probably thought I was being a dick with the airquotes huh? Despite all of Optimus Prime's pretty words over the years, it was made pretty apparent pretty fast that while an Autobot will be way less likely to murder you than a Decepticon, that percent never zero. And if you count "accidentally stepped backwards onto an idiot" as murder, there's a whole website for that. No, I'm not giving you the url.
My morbid obsession with these death machines is probably pathologic. I gave therapy a shot after my parents died, and then proceeded to pathologically avoid every subsequent treatment. Thank god my grades allowed me to dip at 16.
No one understands me, least of all myself. But I recognize that. I'm not trying to fight myself here. The part of me that dreams of space and indescribable technological advancement may seem at odds with the part of me that stares numbly at the ruins of D.C. and Manhattan. But they don't have to be. "Humans contain multitudes." (That's a Prime quote. I have it as a bumper sticker, half-hidden under a vertical "I (Don't) Want to Believe".)
But back to the van and the camera. Maybe you understand why I bought them, maybe you don't. All you need to know is that after I got them, I headed north to the Grand Canyon. I was free, and maybe sometimes I'd need to pick up a job or two, but I could go anywhere I wanted.
See anything I wanted.
I did take pictures of the Grand Canyon, obviously. But that's not why I bought my camera. I bought it so three hours from the next nearest human, late at night, I could bolt upright at the sound of engines, scramble to my window and point it at a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle that I'd been tracking for last three weeks.
Point. and Click.
And so began my collection. My obsession. I have my own website with a tip jar that just about covers gas and food. And while I'm certainly not the only Transformer Stalker, I dare say I'm one of the best.
It's 2026. I have a portfolio of over five hundred sleek shots, out of thousands of trash shots (tfstalker terms, iykyk). I've managed to remain completely anonymous, or at least, not enough of a threat to get the FBI or Autobots after me. I've traveled up and down and all around the Western US. I even have a hater that consistently sends me nonsensical threats to my email tipline.
If you can name a famous Autobot, there's a fifty-fifty chance I have at least one picture of them. Bumblebee was a bit of a lucky break, but Optimus was easy as pie. Ironhide and Ratchet were a little trickier, but if you follow the Prime around for long enough you're basically guaranteed a sleek shot. Back in 2024, I got a handful of blurry trash shots of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker brutalizing a gas station for fuel before I had to haul ass back to where I hid my van. I won't say I don't have nightmares of that half-full gas canister hitting a rock two feet away from my skull.
Decepticons are harder to shoot because they don't make speeches and your life expectancy has an inverse correlation with proximity to them.
Most of the 'con sleek shots (#DCSS) are from professional news segments— stuff shot from military helicopters that were lucky enough to get a subject in focus and get out alive.
And while everyone and their mother knows who Megatron is, you have to do some research to pull the names of the others. But even if a Decepticon doesn't have a known designation, there still might be some public information on them.
Anonymity was not this 'con's strong suit. He practically had his own fan club within the tfstalker forums and websites.
I wasn't one of them, but I wasn't not one of them. Like I said, my transformers obsession was pathologic, universal. I got more than one comment praising me for my diversity.
It was October 13th. I was back in AZ chasing a lesser known scientific Autobot— designation: Skyfire. I had my EM-tracker (Don't ask how much that cost) up and running 24/7 in my van. It beeps like crazy when there's a density of electromagnetic-generating fields. Great way to catch transformers trying to sneak away from a classified military research bunker under the cover of night.
I thought I was far enough away to not cause trouble. I'd parked myself 20 miles out, between the bunker and Optimus Prime's last known general location. The idea was that my tracker would alert me when Skyfire flew overhead, and if I was fast enough, I would get one good pic for my site.
I was half trying to sleep, half ignoring my stomach. (I said I made tips from posting, but it wasn't pretty.)
BEEP BEEP BEEP !
I was up and moving before the second beep. I slung my camera around my neck, one hand gripping it protectively, the other mashing the tracker console to get the visual. I had it hooked up to cameras installed on the roof and the back (pointed at the civilian highway).
I got a night-vision visual of a flight frame alright. Three of them, heading towards the bunk.
"Shit," I hissed. I recognized those frames. Like I said, obsessed.
Everyone and their mother knew Megatron, but everyone else had heard him roar his designation.
"Starscream!"
I mean, it was in their weird electronic language, but Optimus Prime had graciously given humanity a basic translation kit. It wasn't… the best piece of software, but it meant that when transformers were yelling at each other in the heat of battle, newscasters could make actual comments on what the fuck was happening.
My EM-tracker's beeping had slowed, and then stopped. The seekers— the Air Command Trine— had blasted off past me. I had heard their engines with my lousy human ears, which meant they were low to the ground.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I desperately was climbing out of my van and pulling all the expensive shit down and to less breakable positions.
Obviously I didn't know what Skyfire-the-scientist was studying with the US military, but it was almost certainly something they would fight to defend from Megatron's second-in-command's squad.
Which meant I was running out of time for a shot.
Yes, I knew then and know now that the smart thing would have been to backpedal hard. Humans survive transformer battles by not being in them.
But battles did not happen at night and especially not in the West. Optimus promised us that his team was holding the line at the Mississippi.
Which meant the Autobots might have no idea they're about to be extremely set upon.
Which meant I was the only human for miles with a camera.
Which meant I was the only one who would broadcast Optimus breaking another promise.
And if I managed to get a sleek shot of the Starscream, I might cream my pants and splurge the extra tip money.
I peeled out across the rough desert landscape. I already saw smoke and fire rising from the base. Shit.
I squealed to stop outside the wired fence. I looked out my window and tried not to lose my meager lunch.
That was a lot of dead bodies. Confession time: I had never seen a dead body before, in real life. Photos? Hundreds, maybe thousands, from all walks of life, from all distances. But that moment was the first time I could have reached out and touched one.
Yes, I did jump the fence. It wasn't like the guards could stop me.
The fire was contained to a suspiciously non-descript building. I ducked around the area, straining my ears for the all-encompassing mechanical hum of a transformer.
Suddenly, there was a crack of bright, possibly purple light. Self-training had me lifting my camera and hitting the button before I could say "ow".
My wonderful camera snapped 10 shots in quick succession, but I didn't have time to feel proud for capturing the Purple One's (look we didn't know his name) teleportation.
Because I wasn't exactly behind cover and he didn't exactly come alone.
Their fields exploded with the electric snapping sound of their language. I, being neurotic to my core, think I caught the word "Skyfire". I definitely noticed their tone and body language screaming angry disappointment.
I ducked into a ripped-in-half bunker and tried to breathe quietly. When the sounds of conversation continued, I peaked out from over a broken wall.
Starscream was kicking an oil can. Purple said something and he spun around and jabbed his finger in his chest. The Blue One stood with a bored/flat expression on his eerily human-like face.
I think I caught the word "Sky", but it wasn't immediately followed by the word "Fire". I was busy focusing my lens on Starscream's face.
The building on fire was burning brighter and had him lit up like a junior director's wet dream. His scowl was extreme, and his mouth barely slowed down its verbal assault. But it was enough for me.
Snap. Wait. Snap. Wait. Snap.
I was so focused on getting the angle right, I bumped into a toppled canister of who knows what.
Clang. "Shit!" I hissed in pain.
When I looked up, my heart dropped. Blue was pointing at me and they had all stopped talking to stare.
Starscream screeched something that was probably "Get it!" but I was too busy booking it deeper into the bunker.
The sound of their crashing footsteps jostled my panicked ape brain. I slipped on a nigh invisible puddle of oil or something equally slick and twisted my ankle.
"FUCK!"
I slammed my teeth on my tongue. Tears were welling up in my eyes.
The footsteps were upon me. I managed to flip around and look up as the aggressive hum of an EM-field enveloped me.
Starscream glared down at me like I was a fruit fly. Small, weak, annoying. He reached out a massive blue hand.
God, he's so beautiful.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit
I threw up my camera like it could protect me and slammed my finger on the shutter.
Apparently during my mad dash, my fingers had slipped on the mode dial and it landed on "Bright-As-Fuck Flash" mode.
Starscream yowled and flinched back, covering his eyes.
I knew a chance when I fat fingered into it, so I immediately pushed up to my feet (FUCK FUCK FUCK) and sped-hobbled towards some shelves.
I squirmed behind some massive boxes and collapsed on my butt. My ankle hurt like hell and I didn't even want to look at it.I was drenched in sweat.
I heard them buzz to each other, but my head was swimming too much to focus on translating a single word. They could buzz all night, as long as they did it over there.
I pawed at my pants for my phone, flipped it open, (it's cheaper, okay?), and one-handedly squeezed the buttons for 911-83, the number for transformer-related emergencies.
The operator picked up, but I didn't put it to my ear yet. They would have my location and I really didn't feel like talking, okay? Okay.
I heard the conversation die down and the scrap of metal feet against concrete creep closer like it was at all possible for these things to sneak up on me. I inhaled sharply.
"Come out, come out, we won't hurt you." one of them hissed playfully. Yes, they can all speak human languages. They can speak and translate any language at any time. Most of them just chose not to. No I'm not jealous, why would you ask.
Anyway, I stayed exactly where I was, because I wasn't an idiot. (Ignore how I got into this situation in the first place.) I heard another one of them say something in their language that might have been admonishing, but fuck if I know why.
Their foot steps clanged closer. My phone glitched and then shut down.
Shit. Well maybe the US Military will save my life. Lmao.
A massive shadow draped over my hiding spot. I looked up and my heart fell into my stomach.
The Blue One was staring down at me, his features hidden but his silhouette stark from the raging inferno next door. His red eyes glowed like twin stoplights.
He reached down, and I guess shock was making my movements more lethargic, because I couldn't raise my improv flash-grenade up fast enough. His warm metal fingers wrapped around my midsection, surprising me with the gentleness of it. I held my camera up and away from my body and squirmed.
He lifted me up. The rush of air made me throw up a bit in my mouth. I swallowed hard and cringed.
He was staring at me now. I glanced back at him, trying to broadcast "cute" and not "gross". He squinted at me.
A dramatic electronic voice cut through our awkward staring contest. We both looked over to Starscream flapping his hands around. The Purple One was hanging back, watching us with a grin. Starscream made a grab for me, and Blue swung me back.
This time, I only dry-heaved. I had a white-knuckle, both-handed grip on my camera.
Blue was talking now, his voice softer and deeper than Starscream's. His face made me think he was trying to reason with him.
Starscream scowled and said something darkly. Blue seemed to hesitate.
I panicked, again. I had a desperate idea. Hands shaking, I pulled my camera to my face and brought up the photo previews. I quickly clicked past the embarrassing shot of Starscream getting flash-banged.
I swallowed and looked up. They were both looking at me— Starscream murderously, the Blue One not-murderously. I turned my camera around and held up the preview of Starscream, tall and elegant and angry, beautiful lit by the fire he likely started.
Starscream made an aborted noise and stepped back. Blue tilted his head and squinted at my tiny device.
He rumbled something that had the word "Starscream" in it.
Starscream clutched a hand to his chest like he was offended. Shit.
The Purple One stalked forward and invaded my personal bubble with all 40 feet of himself and a huge manic grin. I leaned away but tilted the camera towards him.
He laughed— their high-pitched electronic laugh— and said something to Starscream, gesturing between the two of us.
Starscream growled and leaned in. He had his hands on his hips, so I tilted the camera screen towards him. My heart pounded.
It was silent except for the hum of three jet engines.
Starscream said, or asked, something softly.
Purple responded in a flippant manner. Starscream glared at him.
"We can ask him!" Purple suddenly said in English. I flinched, and Blue slightly tightened his grip.
"Hey shorts," he had lifted a finger like he was going to press it into my head, but Blue knock his hand away. "Did you make that image?"
"Um," I inhaled. Blue said something firmly. My vision was swimming.
"Well, human?" I looked up in shock. No one had heard Starscream speak any human language before. He looked down his nose at me, a small corner of his mouth twitching. "Did you? Or is that little machine of yours more capable that it appears?"
"I did," I choked out, staring up at him, awestruck. "You- you like it?" I could barely breathe.
He scowled at me, before leaning closer. I couldn't bring myself to move.
"What? Speak up!"
"I did!" I yelled, shocking myself. I swallowed hard, then started nodding. "I— I made it!"
Blue mumbled something, but was smacked on the wing by Starscream who said something dismissive. Starscream continued with a finger on his chin, a conniving look on his face.
I inhaled sharply. My mouth and nose stung with the smell of machines. My vision was blurring and my ears were starting to ring. My ankle and head throbbed.
EM-sickness. Humans aren't built to handle prolonged exposure to transformers.
A blue finger from a different hand pressed under my chin, the pointed nail digging into my throat. I jerked my face up. Starscream—
Starscream was smiling at me.
"You will be my new pet."