𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 | ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ

Chapter 1: The Hunt

I stare at the computer screen with a grin, a pair of glasses for sale on the Ebay website, by someone named Ladiesman217. I quickly contacted the buyer offering him a whooping hundred dollars, more than he would ever get from anybody else. Once I made my offer I log off the website and push away from the computer for the next person to use. Taking my bag in hand I walk out of the Public Library.

Skipping down the stairs of the building I walk over to where I had parked my bike, climbing on before slipping on my helmet. I catch the stares of passersbys but pay no mind as I start the engine. I kick up the kick stand before pulling off and slipping right into traffic. Suburbia is the last place I expected to wind up, but I guess you never know with the wild goose chase I'm on.

I pull into the motel parking lot and walked to my door before unlocking it with the key, switching on the light, the first thing I see is my giant wall of papers pinned together by lines and lines of red strings. Pictures of all kinds of different cars, all of them bearing one of two marks. So much Cryptic knowledge all jammed into one room, Sector Seven and the WitWiccians would shit their pants at the sight of this. Or maybe not, given it's some of the same information they have.

The only difference between me and them is that they're too precocious with their experimenting. I however, or so I'm told, am way too reckless. Pans out in the end, to catch a cryptic you must become a cryptic. Installing mysterious tech from space isn't the first thing you would think to add to a modern-day cell or computer. But it certainly makes the job easier, just gotta watch out for those nasty little viruses. They're extremely prone to corrupting the entire system. Definitely a con to not knowing what kind of extraterrestrial material you're working with.

I let go of a sigh as I toss my jacket onto the back of the desk chair, I look at the laptop sitting on the desk. A geological scanner displayed on the screen, nothing having popped up since I last left the room. I let go of a yawn before walking into the bathroom and starting the hot water. I run a brush through my hair to untangle the day's knots then start stripping off my clothes. By then the steam starts flooding the bathroom. Climbing I start washing off the sweat and dirt from the day, as I 'm scrubbing the soap out of my hair a familiar pinging starts to ring.

Immediately I shut off the water and jump out, not even bothering to grab a towel as I jump out of the shower and run to my computer. My eyes flicker across the screen memorizing the location of the little red dot before scanning the frequency wave. The little red dot gives off tiny blue waves instead of red ones. As soon as I know the coast is clear I grab the first pair of clothes and throw them on.

Grabbing my bag and rushing out the door with barely any shoes and wet hair isn't the ideal look but it doesn't matter as I shove on my helmet and throw myself onto my bike. I rev the engine hard to get it going before taking off. I drive so fast you'd think I have a death wish on this tiny little machine.

Eventually I came to the dinghy scrap yard, a railroad track just on the other side. Most of what fills this wet dirty space is scrap until what looks like a mostly intact car catches my eye. Cutting the engine, I flick out the kickstand with my foot before carefully walking over to the car, upon closer inspection I see it's a yellow Chevy Camaro with two racing stripes. It's old and faded but I know better than to judge a book by its cover. Walking over to the door I trace my fingers over the door, "I'll be gentle if you are." I muse gently, I wait a few seconds before pulling at the handle. I grin when it opens up, sliding onto the driver's seat.

I scan the car to see a small disco and bee cutout with the phrase 'Bee-och' under it. The real sign though was one of the two mysterious logos on the wheel. Grinning, I get out of the car. I open up my bag and grab an old leather-bound journal. Flicking through the yellowing worn pages, "Let's see... you don't look like Merage, or Jazz, definitely not Ironhide or Rachet." I mumble placing my hand on the hood. I suppress a grin when I feel the hood get hot, "Which if I'm right, YOU, are B-127 Aka..." I grin backing up as I hear gears start to turn. It doesn't take long for him to reach his full form. "Bumblebee." I whisper watching him tower over the top of me. "Finally, I found one." I laugh.