Chapter 268: They Aren't Dead

Far to the east, across a desolate stretch of desert in an ancient land, a small Decepticon patrol banked low over the dunes.

"Commander, this is the designated coordinate."

"Finally. Unload the pillar immediately, and anchor it precisely to Lord Skygnaw's grid!"

"Handle the couplings with care. If a single conduit fractures, Lord Skygnaw won't need to step in—I will tear your chassis apart myself."

Several low-tier Decepticons set to work with brisk efficiency, driving the base of the energy pillar deep into the packed sand before fanning out into an alert perimeter.

"Stay sharp. Keep our signatures masked from human satellites!"

Three hours earlier, Skygnaw had broadcast the global dispersal order through the Decepticon flight command.

This squad was merely one unremarkable unit among dozens dispatched across the globe.

In more remote regions or near dense population centers, heavier warships and scout gunships had been tasked with the drops. Though compact compared to capital dreadnoughts, these strike craft outmatched the most advanced atmospheric fighters human air forces could muster.

Under this synchronized deployment, hundreds of gleaming metallic pillars were seeded at precise orbital nodes worldwide, each anchored position guarded by an entrenched fireteam.

A few hundred pillars sounded formidable, yet stretched across the breadth of the planet, they could not even cover a single rod per metropolitan district.

Across various continents, defense ministries mobilized on high alert the moment unknown signatures breached their sovereign airspace, terrified that Chicago's nightmare was about to repeat on their own soil.

Only when surveillance confirmed that the invaders were merely planting static pylons did leadership across the globe breathe a temporary sigh of relief.

Fearing catastrophic retaliation, foreign commands held their fire, opting to observe through satellite feeds rather than provoke an orbital strike.

As for relaying these movements to Washington?

Every nation was consumed by its own survival; none had the luxury or the appetite to extend a helping hand across the Atlantic.

Word of Chicago's fall had already cascaded through every network and television screen on Earth.

Across the cities, opportunistic elements seized on the apocalyptic dread, using the panic as cover to loot commercial districts and settle private scores. Looting had followed disasters before, but this was a manufactured breakdown of civil order.

Riots and urban collapse spread across the continents.

Fortresses inevitably crumble from within. Long before foreign troopships entered their skies, several states had fractured under their own lawlessness. In some regions, rogue human factions even operated under the Decepticon banner, torching neighborhood blocks for plunder.

Had Skygnaw caught wind of humans borrowing his faction's crest to loot local shops, he would have eliminated them personally.

He was accustomed to claiming what belonged to others; no human opportunist had the clearance to siphon leverage from his operations.

Still, amidst the chaos, the vast majority of the world's population held onto a singular hope: that someone would drive the invaders back and restore the world they once knew.

Chicago, the roof of the Sears Tower.

"Sentinel, Skygnaw's wings are scattering your pillars across the grid. Your calculations had better hold true."

Sentinel Prime stood at the windy parapet of the city's tallest spire, his metallic fingers making final adjustments to the master pillar. Megatron loomed beside him, resting his heavy frame against the concrete railing.

The Sears Tower was the unchallenged apex of the skyline, providing the precise altitude and line of sight Sentinel required to anchor the network.

Hearing Megatron's doubt, Sentinel scoffed with cold disdain. "Megatron, you hold no authority to lecture me on the mechanics of my own design."

Megatron's crimson optics flared with irritation, but he swallowed the retort and stepped back into the shadows.

If the restoration of Cybertron came to fruition, he could tolerate the old commander's arrogance. Optimus Prime was dead, and his primary strategic objective was fulfilled.

Those hundreds of relay pillars had been secretly loaded onto Sentinel's personal vessel from the Iacon vaults before the fall of their world. He had originally intended to use them to forge a new colony, yet fate had brought them to this alien skyline.

The path had twisted, but the destination remained intact.

Sentinel cast his thoughts back to his clandestine arrival on this world three years ago. Entering the planet's mantle through an ancient subterranean fissure, he had verified the forgotten fragments recorded in archaic Cybertronian texts.

That singular revelation had cemented his resolve to execute this campaign.

He recalled the ancient Prime who had once instructed him in the forgotten cycles—a mentor whose true designation remained buried in time, yet whose vision for Cybertron's revival had mirrored his own.

Hold firm, Cybertron. Your salvation draws near.

The organic hordes of this world shall rebuild your shattered spires, and their labor shall kindle our hearth once more...

While the two alien commanders brooded atop the skyscraper, a battered four-door sedan was crawling along an elevated interstate leading into the city.

At the wheel, Sam Witwicky kept both hands firmly on the steering column, his eyes scanning the shattered guardrails.

Beside him sat Robert Epps.

Relying on old military contacts and classified transport flights, Epps had brought Sam to the outskirts of the metropolitan perimeter in under four hours.

Simmons had remained behind at a forward observation post, running communications and technical analysis from his terminal.

The multi-lane highway was choked with crushed civilian vehicles. The stagnant air carried the sharp stench of scorched paint, melting rubber, and the bitter tang of expended chemical propellant.

Through the passenger glass, Sam could see the charred outlines of passenger sedans with doors hanging loose, some still burning with pale, guttering flames.

His knuckles turned white against the wheel, his stomach knotting as he forced his eyes back to the road.

Even after living through Mission City and the desert dunes of Egypt, the raw, systematic butchery of a modern city hit him with suffocating weight.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun high in the hazy sky, yet the metropolis lay silent as an open graveyard.

Only the distant scream of patrol engines banking between the towers proved the invaders had not abandoned the grid.

After hours of sweeping the avenues, the ground units had cleared all organized resistance. Survivors were either trapped in deep basements or had fled during the early morning panic.

The Decepticons had not bothered to hunt down every scattered pedestrian. Having neutralized primary command centers, they established a containment cordon anchored along the river bridges, sealing the perimeter with heavy roadblocks.

This was a calculated move by Skygnaw.

It was not born of mercy, but of hard leverage. Trapping several million civilians within the perimeter ensured human command would hesitate before considering high-yield tactical strikes against the fleet overhead.

No civilian politician wanted to be remembered as the leader who signed off on vaporizing three million of their own citizens with a single command.

Once across the river approach, Sam slowed the car to a crawl, navigating through the carpet of broken glass.

Epps pointed out landmarks, guiding him toward a residential neighborhood on the outer edge of the district.

Parked along a quiet side street were three heavy pickup trucks, their beds lined with supplies, surrounded by half a dozen rugged men in tactical vests.

Seeing Epps wave from the driver's window, the men nodded without a word, climbed into their cabs, and fell in behind the sedan.

With the aid of Epps's veteran comrades, the small convoy slipped through an unmonitored rail spur, bypassing the primary bridge checkpoints and entering the urban core.

The moment they cleared the rail corridor, Sam tapped his phone interface:

"Damn it. Signal's dead."

Losing reception cut them off from Simmons's tactical feed, blinding them to external movements and eliminating any hope of calling in close air support if they were cornered.

Epps showed no surprise, adjusting the strap on his sidearm. "Standard blackout protocols. They're locking the grid down for something massive. It was bound to happen."

Epps had taken the wheel, trailing the lead truck through a maze of service alleys to skirt active patrol routes.

To the Decepticons cruising above, the humans moving between the shadows were no more significant than ants scurrying across pavement.

Unless an obstacle directly crossed their path, the patrols rarely broke formation for a handful of scavengers.

After several tense detours, the convoy pulled into a dense public park, parking beneath the canopy of tall oaks that masked their rooftops from the sky.

"We're on the ground, kid. Out of the vehicle."

Epps pulled a combat carbine from the rear footwell, looping a tactical rig across his chest as he stepped out with an uneven limp.

"Lennox's transport is still in transit. We hold position here until his boots hit the ground."

"This is the deepest forward point we can reach by engine. We're still a few clicks south of the coordinates Simmons flagged, but once we clear the next commercial ridge, we should have line of sight on that warship."

"Satellite feeds confirmed she's an absolute titan. Your girl is almost certainly stowed inside."

"Understood," Sam said, pulling a tactical vest tight across his chest before taking a deep breath and stepping into the brush.

The group had barely cleared the vehicle doors when a sharp, concussive roar ripped through the clouds above.

They looked up through the branches to see three F-22 Raptors streaking in an arrowhead formation from the eastern horizon. The pilots had pushed their throttles hard, successfully penetrating the outer picket line held by the destroyers over the lake.

Yet the moment their jet wash echoed off the high-rises, the slumbering defenses of the city woke with vicious speed.

Several dark strike gunships that had been hovering silently along the rooflines fired their vector thrusters, turning like hungry predators to intercept the intruders.

Rat-tat-tat!

BOOM!

The dogfight was over before it began. In less than ten seconds, three brilliant fireballs bloomed against the gray clouds, their burning alloy wings tumbling toward the streets below.

Watching the one-sided slaughter from beneath the trees, several of Epps's teammates stiffened, the reality of the mission sinking in:

"Epps, tell me we aren't walking straight into that."

"Are we seriously supposed to push into that meat grinder to pull out one civilian girl?"

"This isn't an extraction, man. This is suicide."

The men turned toward their old sergeant. Epps frowned, looking back at the smoking crash sites, hesitating for a fraction of a second. "Sam, listen to me—"

"I'm going."

Before Epps could formulate a retreat, Sam spoke with unshakeable conviction.

"With or without backup, I'm heading in."

He pulled his backpack straps tight, turned on his heel, and stepped out from under the tree line toward the avenue.

"Damn it, Witwicky!" Epps swore under his breath, sprinting after him with a heavy limp before grabbing the younger man's shoulder.

"This is a death sentence, Sam! Even if she's breathing up there, you have zero tactical leverage to pull her out!"

"Then what do you want me to do?!" Sam spun around, his expression hardened with grief and fury. "Turn my back and pretend she doesn't exist?!"

"It's a bitter pill to swallow," Epps admitted, meeting his gaze squarely. "But look around you, kid. It's over. The game is lost."

"No. It isn't over. I am going to find her!"

As Sam pulled away from Epps's grip, another deafening explosion tore through the lower canopy.

BOOM!

"Look out! Take cover!"

A light Decepticon gunship, trailing dark smoke from an engine failure, came hurtling out of the sky, clipping the upper branches of the park trees.

CRASH.

The craft slammed into the turf barely fifty feet from their position, gouging a deep trench through the soil. As Sam and Epps scrambled behind a concrete planter, the canopy hiss released, and an armored warrior crawled from the wrecked cockpit, clutching a plasma carbine.

Epps's eyes widened, his hand locking onto Sam's collar:

"Move!"

Before they could clear the clearing, a familiar mechanical roar echoed from the park entrance.

Sam glanced over his shoulder and froze.

Three heavily customized NASCAR-style stock cars tore across the grass, their engines screaming at maximum RPM as they converged on the downed gunship. As the pilot raised his weapon, the three vehicles launched into mid-air, shifting their panels in a blur of synchronized mechanics.

"Leadfoot, rip his head off!"

"I'm on it!"

"This is gonna sting a bit, scrap-head, but it'll be over quick!"

The Wreckers descended like a pack of rabid brawlers, their heavy mechanical claws seizing the pilot's limbs and tearing the warrior apart with savage, visceral delight.

The Decepticon fought to raise his arm cannon, but his wild fire bounced harmlessly off the Wreckers' reinforced plating. Against the three seasoned demolition specialists, he was as defenseless as the civilians he had hunted hours earlier.

"The Autobots... it's the Autobots!"

"They're alive! They made it through!"

"I recognize those three—Mearing flagged them during the briefing! The Wreckers! Their vanguard unit!"

Halting their retreat, Sam shouted with manic joy, while Epps stared at the mechanical brawl with his jaw slack.

The rest of the tactical team slowly lowered their rifles, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

Clank. Clank.

Heavy, measured footsteps approached from behind the grove.

"Sam. We have returned."

A deep, commanding voice rolled through the park. Sam turned slowly, his breath catching in his throat:

"Optimus!"

"It is me, Sam."

Behind the towering commander, Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Ratchet, and every warrior who had supposedly boarded the doomed Xanthium stepped into the clearing, their frames unscratched and fully armed.

A hundred questions rushed to Sam's tongue, but seeing the familiar blue glow in their optics, only one sentence made it past his lips:

"Optimus... Bee... I knew you wouldn't leave us."

"Forgive me, Sam. The deception was necessary."

"Wait a second," Epps stepped forward, pointing an incredulous finger at the team. "I stood on that tarmac with my own eyes. I watched that shuttle ignite, I watched your ship climb, and I watched the fireball hit the ocean!"

"A staged diversion. We never boarded the orbital capsule," Sideswipe explained with a confident smirk, crossing his arm blades. "We remained sealed inside the primary booster assembly, which decoupled during the ignition phase and splashed down off the coast."

"Optimus kept the contingency strictly within the inner circle until the launch countdown."

"Once the enemy struck the empty hull, we slipped through the coastal waterways, entered the river basin, and linked up here."

"Sideswipe speaks the truth," Optimus nodded solemnly. "Your civilian leadership now understands that the Decepticons never intended to honor their armistice."

"They know, alright," Epps and his men traded bitter, sheepish glances.

In the end, human command had played the fool.

"Optimus, on behalf of our uniform, I apologize for that expulsion order."

Optimus shook his heavy helm, letting the matter rest. His processor drifted back to the midnight meeting he had held in the halls of power, laying out the unavoidable reality before civilian command.

The invaders were treacherous to their core, and their ambitions on Earth were absolute.

Optimus's optics hardened, blazing with lethal purpose. "We remained on this world to ensure this war reaches its conclusion."

"Sam, you asked if I held a counter-strategy."

"This is the operation."

"The Decepticons have anchored their fleet in a defensive perimeter around the core, screening whatever dark design they are preparing atop the skyline. Surprise remains our only tactical edge..."

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