Skidmark slammed the duffel bag on the table, and began to hurriedly shove in rolls of dollar coins, hands shaking as he did. Even though cold air was wafting into the room from the refrigeration units, he felt sweat matting his hair, making his mask stick to his skin.

"Fuck," he muttered, a few loose coins clattering to the floor as he shoved in the last of the money. "Fuck fuck fuckity fuck shit!"

He zipped the bag up with trembling fingers, flinching as the sound of a distant explosion reached his ears. He slung the bag over his shoulder and began to run, making a beeline for the exit. His foot caught on a power cord, and and he stumbled into a table they'd been stacking merchandise on. A cloud of white powder billowed up, and he coughed violently, wiping his mouth as he staggered to the door.

He was a few paces away when the door exploded outwards. It slid towards him, only slowing down thanks to the layers he'd set up around the warehouse, and came to a stop just at his feet.

Skidmark took a few steps back, then looked up to see a dragon step inside.

Lung loomed over him, already ten feet tall, scales protruding from his skin and laying themselves down in neat layers. A few flickers of flame darted to and fro about his massive figure as he looked down at Skidmark with hateful eyes.

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in," Lung boomed, a throaty chuckle escaping him.

Skidmark licked his dry lips, and took a step back. His eyes darted to the other door.

"Don't even try it." Lung held up a clawed hand, a gout of flame rising from his palm. "Your Mush made the attempt. You're not as stupid as him."

Skidmark looked back to Lung, then held up the duffel bag with quivering arms. "J-just fucking take it! The money's yours! I'll skip out of town right away. You can keep the merchandise!"

Lung swiped the bag out of the druggie's hands, then burned the cloth away, letting the coins clatter to the floor. Some of them began to melt in his hand, running down his scales in silver and copper rivulets.

"Pocket change," he snarled, tossing the bag away. "This is not about money. Not today."

Skidmark took another step back, raising his hands. He tried to erect another layer, only for a burning fist to catch him in the gut. He fell on his back, distinctly aware that something inside of him had torn. Copper seemed to pool in the back of his mouth, and he hacked violently, spraying his dirty shirt with blood. Agony enveloped him as he saw Lung step over him.

"P-please," he pleaded in a gurgling whimper. "P-please don't kill me. I kept out of your way, man. I kept my head down!"

"This is not about you," Lung rumbled, kneeling down. "This is about sending a message to somebody else."

Skidmark's eyes widened.

Then, he screamed.

T

Click.

"Another wonderful spring morning in Brockton Bay, ladies and gentlemen! High of 71, with clear skies all throughout the day-"

I slapped my hand down on the alarm button, then slowly got up and stretched, feeling more well-rested than I could ever remember being. If I were living in some movie, this would've been the part when sappy music started playing, and birds would fly by my window, singing their little hearts out. As it was, the view of the morning sky from my window was gorgeous.

By the time I finished showering and got dressed, Mom was still groggily drinking her coffee, reading the newspaper in her nightwear. She blinked in surprise as I came down the stairs, and set her coffee down.

"You're up early," Mom said, managing a faint smile. "Did you sleep well, sweetie?"

"Yep," I replied, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as I went to turn the toaster on. "Slept really well, actually."

"That's good to hear," Mom murmured, sipping her coffee again.

I put the kettle on, and sat down at the table with my toast, reaching for a jar of jelly. It was then that my gaze fell on the newspaper Mom was reading, and the good feeling suddenly ended.

SIXTEEN KILLED IN GANG VIOLENCE, it read. THREE FIREFIGHTERS CAUGHT IN BOMBING.

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, and put the jelly down. "H-hey, can I read the paper?"

"May I," Mom corrected tiredly, speaking in her 'Professor Hebert' voice. Her face softened. "Eh, I don't know why you want to read it, honey. It's just the same depressing news."

"Just curious," I said.

Mom shrugged, and handed me the paper as she got up to put her dishes away. I waited until she was upstairs and taking her shower before I started reading. As I did, and saw the black and white photos of the crime scenes, my appetite swiftly faded away.

By the time Mom came back down and called for me to get ready for school, the good feeling's body was buried in a shallow grave.

T

I never appreciated just how big the Boat Graveyard was, until I had to run halfway through it. The whole area was half the size of the city proper, and I constantly had to take detours around the decaying hulls of oil tankers and tugboats alike.

I did appreciate all the running I made myself do every afternoon. By the time I arrived at Optimus's quasi-base, I was only a little out of breath and sweaty; just six months ago, I probably would've collapsed a third of the way through.

Optimus emerged from the makeshift shack he'd housed his crew in, a bunch of wires connected to his back. He took a few ponderous steps towards me, and looked down.

"What is the matter, Taylor?"

"Did you read any of the news last night?" I panted. "About the fighting in the Docks?"

"Yes," Optimus replied, kneeling down to better look me in the eye. "The deaths of the firefighters is tragic, as is the destruction wrought by the fighting."

"It's not just that," I said. "Don't you get it?"

Optimus tilted his head. "Is there something that I am unaware of, in regards to the incident?"

I almost felt like laughing at that moment, at the absurdity of having to explain how gang wars worked to some alien machine older than my entire species. Instead, I just shook my head.

"They're taking advantage of the chaos we made," I said. "When we gutted the Merchants like that, the other gangs went in to pick off the scraps for themselves."

"I have seen power vacuums before," Optimus said, gravely. "We are fortunate that the casualties were limited to the fighters."

I shook my head again. "It wasn't 'just the fighters'. The way those firemen died? How someone melted their truck with them inside? That was probably that Bakuda."

"The so-called 'bomb tinker'. I do not understand why she would attack a fire truck."

"It's about sending a message. Remember what you were disguised as when you hit Lung? They know it probably wasn't a firefighter who saved me and embarrassed him like that, but they know we'd hear the news. It's basically their way of saying 'don't fuck with us, or it'll be you next time'."

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing about on the beach. I felt like I was about to throw up.

"It's our fault," I muttered. "If we hadn't gone after the Merchants-"

"They would still be peddling harmful substances and inciting severe violence in the city," Optimus said. "It would not have changed the actions of Lung and his mad bomber. We cannot be afraid to act, simply because of what the enemy will do. We are not the ones who killed people that night. They are. It was their decision, and we cannot be held accountable for it."

"But the firemen still died," I said, hugging myself.

"Yes," Optimus said, sorrowfully. "They died, but not as a message."

I looked at him. "What do you mean? Why else would they kill them?"

"I have seen this manner of psychological warfare before, during the wars on Cybertron. This is not a warning, but the setting of a trap. They have likely connected us to the attack on the Merchants, and know that you are a moral individual. This is intended to make you feel guilt, so you will attempt to go after them in order to stop any further killings."

To be fair, the guilt part of it was working.

"Then we have to do something about it," I said. "I dunno, lay a trap around their trap. Try and piss them off so they make a mistake."

"That will take time," Optimus said. "My crew has yet to be reawakened, and I am not at full strength yet. I do not know if I could challenge them in this state."

I let out a nervous laugh. "So what? Are we just going to sit around here with our thumbs up our ass, waiting for your batteries to be charged, and all the while Bakuda gets to flambé a few more innocent people?"

Optimus looked at me with his blank blue optics. I glared back, then turned around.

"Taylor-" he began.

"If you're not going to do anything, then I will," I said. "I don't know what, but I'll think of something."

He didn't move to stop me. I started running, and made my way through the Graveyard. I'd need to head back home to fetch my gear and costume, but once Mom went back to bed...

Well, I was probably going to do something really stupid.

I

He watched her disappear behind one of the decaying vessels, then turned back to where he had laid his crew down. The power cores and solar panels he had acquired were all linked to them, transferring much-needed energy to their self-repair nanites. In a conservative estimate, it would be less than a week before the first of them exited stasis lock.

He considered them for a moment, his optics falling upon each and everyone of them.

He considered the girl, and those who had died the previous night.

Then, he ripped the cables out, and directed them into his own reserves.

He knew what some of the more brash of his crew would say, if they were awake. Why risk so much for the life of a human? The existence of their entire species was scarcely a blip before the history of Cybertron. Why risk the future of Cyberton for millions of years into the future, for a being who'd be fortunate to live a hundred?

Because it was her short lifespan that made it all the more imperative, he would say to them. He could wait another thousand years if need be, and things would scarcely change. But for the humans, each and every year of their short lives were precious, full of meaning; they had to make each one count. It was beautiful, to see such curious beings live so richly in so short a time.

It would be wrong to shorten them even further, simply so he return home sooner. It was wrong of him to have simply consolidated the energy he had taken, instead of doing more to help the city.

He could feel his reserves quickly swell with the newly-acquired energy. He was not at full strength yet, far from it, but it would be more than enough for what he had to do next. He shifted into the truck, then began defaulting to the previous model. Once finished, he sped off.

Even if it meant staying on this planet for another four million years, Taylor Hebert shall live her short life to the fullest.

T

Mom was sound asleep. I could feel her even snoring with my bugs.

I silently crept down the stairs, keeping the bugs on her, in case she stirred. Thankfully, she did not, and I took the bugs off her when I slinked out the back door.

The cool spring air felt refreshing as it rolled over me, and I sucked in a deep sigh. It was a beautiful night to get ripped apart by a flaming dragon man, I supposed.

I tested my baton and pepper spray again, then shoved them back into my utility belt. Cracking my neck, I began to make my way down the street, making sure to keep out of the light. I had my bugs spread out, feeling for anyone who might come across me.

Aside from a solitary man with a cigarette half a block down the line, I didn't encounter anybody as I jogged through the neighborhood.

I still had no idea what I was going to do. Tackling Lung or Bakuda head on would be suicide. I could probably do some reconnaissance, then go and get the Protectorate's attention, but I was still trying to figure out the details of that.

Then I felt a large truck approaching my position. Before I could do anything, it was suddenly to the side of me, rolling down the street at the same speed I was jogging. A door opened up, and my breath caught in recognition.

"Get in," Optimus said.

He probably knew what I was going to do, and was going to talk me out of it. I considered running again, but ultimately I just did as told, the door shutting itself behind me. Once I was buckled, Optimus took off again, moving far faster than any real truck could, and far quieter to boot. Still didn't keep me from nearly hacking up my dinner.

It was then that I realized we weren't heading back home, but further into the city. Once we hit traffic, Optimus slowed down to normal speeds, but still managed to expertly weave his way through the cars clogging the streets.

"Where are we going?" I managed to ask, once I finally quelled my nausea.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. I wondered if he was actually debating himself, or just preoccupied with something.

Then, he finally spoke. Unlike before, where he sounded almost like a god of charisma, he sounded almost like he was going to rip someone's face off.

"Lung."