Beeps and Buzzes

🦕 ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2

　　
B O O M!

Startled awake, palming your eyes groggily before considering any attempt at standing. Thinking very lightly of the unprompted noise, considering it as no more than a fleeting echo of your dreams. It happened. A lot. You've grown accustomed to it. Eyebags don't grow on trees, you know.

All too ready to write it off, thunderous gunfire gave you a rude wake up call indeed.

Jolting upwards into an awkward crouch, banging your head against a low hanging shelf, swearing loudly and crawingl away after snatching up your bag. Helmet tucked under arm, shed door pushed ajar, met with the sight of pyrotechnics going off as a dominating figure began firing wildly on a gaggle of Cemetery Wind soldiers.

Huh. Neat.

Also, really bad for you.

Hobbling outside with all your worldly possessions, gearing and mounting up as you waited on standby anticipating the eventual getaway panic. There always was one. Basically a supercharged up version of car chases that you see in Hollywood films.

As if you were a feeble peasant observing gladiatorial combat, positioned a comfortable enough distance to be astounded; displaying great fears of competence, Optimus threw (rather literally) all that he could towards his aggressors. Acting as if he hadn't been incapacitated for god knows how long, perhaps even on his death bed at some point.

Posing no interest in the humans driving away, barely moving as reinforcements came, the only thing that squeezed a reaction from you was a foreboding noise from overhead. You've heard it exactly once, this specific sound, a missile from outer space. Specifically, Lockdown.

Metal joints grinding against one another reflexively, within seconds no longer possessing a metal hand but a volatile weapon. Lining up your shot most adequately, counting a handful of incoming missiles aimed at the broken homestead. In prime position to react, firing off a few successful rounds dispatching them in whirls of neon blue.

Though you weren't fast enough to get all of them.

Optimus seemed to spot you. Sparing a momentary look in your most vague of directions. Then transformed seconds after, leading the whole squad away. Taking a page from everyone else's book, you readied yourself to tail those unfortunate humans who had only just escaped the property.

This was definitely going to kill your poor bike. It had a good run; hopefully it could tolerate one more drive.

Wires clipping into place, battery practically screeching in agony as you pumped a shit-ton of alien energy into a system that could barely contain it. Rattling down the grassy verge, jostled about by uneven terrain, playing by ear as you rocketed up towards the fleeing party.

Striking tarmac, tailgating the entourage who'd bulldozed an innocent picket fence leaving a trail of carnage throughout a quiet suburb. Maintaining a steady distance, constantly looking back and weighing up your chances in a fight. Fair to say you had slim to no advantage here other than common sense.

Black SUVs emerging from every single road, one having a cannon strapped to its rooftop! Overtaking them with some difficulty, holding a breath as burning rubber drifted up beneath your helmet.

Veering in front of other cars, persistently trying to catch up before they got any deeper into the town and made things needlessly difficult. Whilst you may respect them for at least trying to outmanoeuvre Cemetery Wind, the organisation had eyes everywhere and more than likely had this whole town cordoned off.

Especially since, you know, Optimus.

By pure miracle, you rode astride their dented carriage, adopting a deadly grip upon the window frame. One of them, cropped brown hair and plaid shirt, yelled at your sudden arrival.