In the vast expanse of the Arizona desert, the sun lazily sinks toward the horizon, transforming the sky into a breathtaking canvas of warm, golden hues ranging from soft apricot to deep crimson. The tranquil beauty of Mother Nature's desert belies hidden danger; sharp-eyed guards lie in wait, scanning for danger concealed in the low-lying brush.
Behind the vigilant guards, a small camp emerges from the scrub-covered earth, a refuge amidst the barren, desolate landscape. The cluster of tents, each camouflaged in muted earth tones, is strategically positioned in a protective circle around a central fire pit. Flames leap and swirl through a pile of sagebrush, casting growing flickering shadows. Delicate wisps of ash float upward, caught in the thermal currents of heat that rise like whispers of warmth against the coming cool of night.
To the north, the skeletal remains of Page, Arizona, lie scattered under the relentless desert sky. One a bustling town of over 7,000 souls, its crumbling structures strain against the rising sands, bleached by time and ravaged by weather. They offer dire warnings of the consequences of living in the desert.
Following the recent attack, Ultra Magnus decided to prioritize the recovery of their wounded, Sandstorm and Night Fox, allowing them time to heal before pushing on with their mission to locate an Energon signal they had detected some time ago. For the past week, the entire convoy, a diverse mix of humans and Transformers, has remained on high alert, waiting for an imminent attack that, so far, hasn't come.
The camp's largest tent, designed to accommodate towering Transformers, acts as the infirmary for the injured. Inside, the rhythmic beeping of medical instruments acts as a backdrop to the murmured conversation between Doc and Wolf Spider are the only sounds present. On one side, Ratchet monitors various mechanical devices critical to his patient's recovery.
Suddenly, a faint sound draws Ratchet's attention away from the monitors. As he turns, he catches a subtle movement from Sandstorm's hand, and then, to his relief, the Autobot's vibrant optics flicker to life.
"Hey, Sandstorm," Ratchet greets softly, his voice steady and reassuring.
Sandstorm, still weak from his ordeal, makes an effort to sit up, but Ratchet gently places his hand on his patient's chest and guides him back down. "Take it easy," he advises, "You're safe now. You were hurt in the fight. You've been out a few days. It was rocky, but you're tough."
Sandstorm's optics scan the tent, his voice trying to spark, "Nigh... Night... Fox..." worry plain on his weak voice.
From across the tent, a familiar voice answers, "Hey, buddy. I'm fine. You listen to your Doc like I'm listening to mine. We'll be back out there in no time," Night Fox reassures him.
Relief washes over Sandstorm as he turns toward the sound of his human partner's voice. In the diffused light of the tent, he spots Night Fox offering a weak but affirming thumbs up.
Word spreads quickly through the close-knit group that Sandstorm and Night Fox are conscious of and on the mend. Doc turns from checking vitals to turning away visitors.
________________
Outside, the Transformers Hound, Brawn, and Bulkhead, along with the humans; Spike Witwicky, Marissa Faireborne, Breaker, Sparks, Big Brawler, Graybeard, and Maebh, gather around Ultra Magnus and Gramps.
An aged and yellowed map lies spread out on the dusty ground, its edges frayed and stained with age and use. Gramps crouches down, using a stick to point out significant locations, "This is where we were attacked. The tunnels we found branched out in two directions, here and here. They could have gone on for miles, but for whatever reason, they didn't go in this way, which is where we currently are."
"We haven't seen hide nor hair of the attackers," reminds Farireborne, "and now, Night Fox and Sandstorm are both conscious."
Witwickey sits, head nodding, "I say we move on. Forget about Cobra," he looks up at Ultra Magnus, "and find the source of that signal."
"It could lead us to Optimus Prime," Marissa Faireborne offers. The mention of the Autobot leader causes the Brawn, Hound, and Bulkhead to look at Ultra Magnus expectantly. "He could be waiting for us right now."
"Or," Ultra Magnus warns, his tone serious, "It could be Megatron and his Decepticons setting a trap for us." Transformers and humans alike nod in agreement.
"What about Cobra?" Big Brawler chimes in angrily, "They attacked us and hurt our people. We're just going to let them go?"
Breaker puts his hand on Brawler's shoulder, offering calm and reason, "They're already gone. Sparks and I haven't seen a blip on any channel. They got us this time. We lost. It's time to move on to the next fight."
"I agree," the voice of Night Fox suddenly breaks in, catching them off guard.
"What're you doing out of the infirmary?" asks Faireborne.
Behind Night Fox, an exasperated Doc interjects, "I tried to tell him he needs rest, but he just won't listen."
A weak but mischievous smile plays on Night Fox's face, "I'm a Joe, damn it, you think a little bump on the head is going to keep me down?"
"So you're on board with us continuing on?" Breaker asks.
Night Fox nods, "Yeah, I hate the desert anyway."
"Then it's settled. Once the medical staff clear Sandstorm and Night Fox, we will continue on," Ultra Magnus states with authority.
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Later that night, the moon hung high in the inky sky, flooding the world in a pale silvery glow that illuminated the chilled landscape. The air was crisp and a welcome departure from the oppressive heat of the day. At the four corners of the camp, sentries peered into the night, eyes scanning for threats.
Big Brawler stood guard, as he had each night since the attack that injured his fellow Joe. The monotony of the post was broken only by the occasional scurrying of a desert rat, darting between the sparse vegetation as it searched for a meal. As he settles into the rhythm of the night, a flicker of movement on the periphery of his vision catches his attention. His instincts kicked in, and he clicked his radio three times, the signal that something was out in the desert. Sliding his NOD over his eyes, he was instantly enveloped in an otherwordly glow. The device traps the ambient light of the night and magnifies it, allowing him to see the hidden details of the night.
Beyond the reach of the camp's perimeter sensors, a dark silhouette began to materialize against the star-speckled night sky. Big Brawler broke radio silence, "We got someone or something just outside sensor range." He knew either Breaker or Sparks, whose shifts alternated through the night, would spring into action at the alert.
Marksman emerged silently from the shadows behind him, his voice cutting through the silence, "What've you got?" Marksman asks.
"Someone about 200 yards out," Brawler replied, his eyes fixed on the stationary figure in the distance.
Marksman shouldered his rifle, flipping on his night vision scope, allowing his eyes to adjust to the luminous green world he now looked through. "I see 'em," he confirmed, his eyes locked on the figure, "They aren't doing anything."
"Yeah, it's strange," Big Brawler mused, his curiosity piqued as he watched the subject scrutinize every detail he could make out.
The soft footfalls of Staplehurst and Ladytron approached. Ladytron's eyes shimmered with an unnatural luster as she looked out into the darkness, her electronic upgrades dialed in to pick up the slightest details. "They're alive," she asserted.
"How do you know?" Asks Brawler.
"They have a heat signature." She replied matter-of-factly, "Zombies don't."
As the four watch the solitary figure, it suddenly raises something. Staplehurst squints, brows furrowed, "Is that what I think it is?"
"I can't be sure, but it looks like they're waving a white flag," Marksman observed through the lens of his night scope, his finger hovering just outside the trigger guard.
Hound approached, towering over the humans, "Has it done anything?"
"They're waving a white flag," Staplehurst reiterated, looking up at the giant robot. "What's our game plan?"
"The other guards report all clear. "Hounds stated plainly. After a moment of contemplation, Hound finally says, "Let's go out and see what's happening. Marksman, you stay here and provide cover. Brawler, Staplehurst, Ladytron, you ride with me." Hound sends a silent, urgent message to Breaker and Sparks, instructing them to quietly wake the camp and prepare for possible fighting.
His transformation from robot to military vehicle was swift and efficient. Despite their time together, it never failed to inspire awe in the humans. "Climb in," Hound's voice emanated from the passenger compartment speakers.
Obeying without hesitation, Brawler, Staplehurst, and Ladytron climbed, and the doors clicked shut behind them. The vehicle surged forward, quickly navigating the uneven terrain as it kicked up clouds of fine dust into the night air. "Sure hope Marksman can still see us through all that," Brawler grumbled.
"I'm not detecting anything out of the ordinary," offers Hound as his sensors scan their surroundings.
"Neither am I. Whoever it is, they're human," Ladytron adds.
Hound stops approximately twenty feet away from the mysterious figure. He activated his bright headlights, flooding the darkness with piercing electric illumination. The sudden brightness forced the figure to shield their eyes, though only briefly.
"Here we go," Brawler declared, steeling himself as he opened the door and stepped out into the night.
As Big Brawler emerged from the driver's side, Staplehurst mirrored him from the passenger side. Both men raised their rifles and trained their sights on the individual who stood before them. The red dots of their laser sights danced ominously across the figure's chest, bouncing with each inhale and footfall of the armed men. "On the ground! Now!" Bralwer commanded, taking a cautious step forward. "Interlock your hands on top of your head! NOW!"
The figure complied, slowly lowering itself to the ground with delicate care. A hood obscured the captive's face, leaving only the cartridge of a gas mask visible. This eerie sight raised their suspicion.
Ladytron's hands are empty as she exits the vehicle. She continuously scans the subject and surrounding area for signs of a trap, "I'm getting nothing." The electronic tin of her voice was just loud enough for Brawler and Staplehurst to hear.
"Don't fuckin' move! Don't you fuckin' move!" Brawler barked, his eyes laser-focused on the captive. The red laser dot shifted from the figure's chest to the hidden face beneath the hood.
As Staplehurst moved behind the prone figure, he expertly slid his rifle to his back. He seized the individual's right wrist, twisting its thumb out, pushing them harshly deeper into the dust.
Brawler kept his eyes locked on their captive, his rifle pointed at the perceived enemy.
"His pack and weapon are over there," Ladytron observed, nodding behind them. There, just mere feet away, a pack lay abandoned on the ground, a spotless Famas F1 bullpup-style rifle stowed on top of it out of the dust.
"Do you have anything else on you? Anything that'll stick me as I search you," Staplehurst asks, his voice calm and controlled. With practiced movements, he brings the subject's left hand behind their back, turns it, and secures them firmly with zip-ties, the plastic biting into their wrist.
Brawler stepped closer, lowering the barrel of his rifle, the weight of the weapon pressing heavily against their prisoner's head.
"For fuck's sake, Brawler, ease up already," came the muffled voice, catching Brawler off guard. He began to take a step back but caught himself, seating his feet firmly on the ground.
Staplehurst arched his eyebrows, a silent question as he glanced up at Brawler.
Brawler pressed the muzzle break hard against the subject's head, "You think you know me." he challenged with a low growl.
"Mulholland, Brian K. Last I knew, you were an E-8 and gunning for Duke's job as First Sergeant. You grew up in NYC. We worked together on a mission in Trucial Abysmia, you know, the one we ended up in that seedy bar, we saw that tattoo..."
"Dusty!" Big Brawler's voice cracked in disbelief. The shock was apparent on his face, leaving everyone momentarily stunned. "What the hell are you doing here?" He quickly looks at Staplehurst. "Cut those cuffs off. Get him off the ground."
With a swift motion, Staplehurst snipped the zip-ties, helping Dusty to stagger back to his feet. "Sorry, man," he offered apologetically.
Dusty extended his hand, "No worries." Staplehurst shakes it, regret plain in his eyes. Turning toward Big Brawler, "How the hell've you been?"
Brawler spread his arms wide, "Bro!" The two give a quick embrace, patting each other on the shoulder. "I gotta ask, what's with the hood and mask?"
"Been out here too long. Ya never know what kinda nasty shit you might walk into."
Hound, who had been silently watching in his vehicle form, quickly transformed into his robot mode. Dusty was unfazed by the change and simply nodded at the robot, kneeling behind the group.
"This here is Hound. Hound, this is Dusty, the Joe team desert expert." Big Brawler offers an introduction.
Dusty turns again to Big Brawler, "What brought you to my neck of the woods? Aren't you supposed to be in the jungle with Recondo?"
"That's a long story. Why don't we return to camp, and I'll fill you in."
"Sounds good."
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