Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended.

Continuity: Generation One (G1) Cartoon-verse

Characters: Air Raid, Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Carly, Chip Chase, Cliffumper, Fireflight, First Aid, Grapple, Grimlock, Hoist, Ironhide, Jazz, Marissa Faireborn, Mirage, Original charcters (news, paparazzi, anchors, journalists, et cetera) Optimus Prime, Perceptor, Powerglide, Prowl, Ratchet, Red Alert, Sideswipe, Silverbolt, Skydive, Skyfire, Slag, Slingshot, Sludge, Smokescreen, Snarl, Sparkplug Witwicky, Spike Witwicky, Sunstreaker, Swoop, Tracks, Wheeljack.

Warnings: None. This may be subject to change. The cautions will be updated, and the page that contains the content will have a boldface warning.

Author's Note: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable.

EDIT: Waaaah. Typos, they haunt me. Thank you to Jason M. Lee for pointing the errors out. Apologies. This is what I get for not bothering to do more than skim.

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"All I'm saying is, what do we really know about them? How do we really know that there's this huge, uh, and I quote, 'intergalactic space war' going on?" Tom leaned back in his chair until it creaked, thrusting one finger on top of a sizeable stack of papers before him. His bright, intelligent eyes flicked to the camera, as if sharing a deep secret with the audience, and something that might have been a sympathetic smile crossed his lips. "They're not exactly cooperative with giving the details."

A sharp round of laughter, distinctly female, greeted his statement. His associate, a dirty blonde possessing a somewhat pugged nose, folded her arms delicately before her, though her gaze was not so soft as her posture suggested. "Are you suggesting a conspiracy theory? Have you even seen the news? Nine times out of ten, you're watching them blow each other up on the six o'clock—"

Tom surged forward, and the poke became a slap, cutting off Kathy with a startled coo. "But none of them die. Hasn't anyone else noticed that? More of them just keep showing up." He shook his head, despairingly, and softened his voice to a confidential croon. "We get a census, courtesy of the government, and it has a very small, specific number on it. But, lo and behold, a few weeks later, there's a new one. Call in the baby shower! It's a fire-breather! Are we just supposed to shrug this off? Let them just destroy our streets, and – did you, did you see that on, uh, Tuesday, was it? Channel seven? Eight mil in damages those leeches are claiming. And don't even get me started on what the U.N. is on about with the international 'attacks'. Honestly. They act like we're their keepers. What are we supposed to do about giant insects in Bali? We've got enough problems over here. God knows how long until they go off trying to 'convert' our cities again… No, this is a problem, and we need answers, we need solutions. And we're not getting them from that Prime. What did he tell us? It was none of our business?"

"Ah. Wait. You're taking things out of context now." Kathy wagged her finger admonishingly, even as Tom again glanced at the camera, rolling his eyes. "Don't scaremonger – we've been given legitimate and reasonable explanations whenever we want, and on several occasions, Optrimus—"

"Optimus." He corrected, with a dazzling, enhanced white smile.

"Optimus Prime, thank you, has met with the media." Kathy, point made, graced him with a smug look, refusing to lose her on-screen cool. "They interviewed a short while, with his lieutenants. They're quite approachable, and have been on friendly terms with the news since they first emerged."

"A short list of friendlies, though. CNN once, Fox another time. I think once they spoke to a science magazine. Big wigs are certainly keeping it in the family." A pause, the shuffling of paper, and he all but crowed as he came upon what he sought. "Last week, did you see that? Can you believe this? Fire. Breathing. Dinosaurs. What was the explanation for that?"

Kathy grimaced, her lips turning into a thin line of red. "Well, they, it isn't as if—" She sighed. "I'm certain there is a reasonable answer. They are not entirely familiar with earth culture. Maybe they simply… saw the wrong sci-fi show."

Pressing his advantage, Tom's benign smile widened, broadened, toothy as a shark. "I just want to know – this is a war. At least it's supposed to be. But I have yet to see one of these things go 'boom'."

Uncertainly, Kathy consulted her notes. "Well…"

Before she could find the proper notes, her co-anchor rocked forward, chair squeaking in protest of the sudden motion. "And another thing that's been bothering me. The Decepticons – and I swear that has to be a joke – are the, allegedly, are the 'evil' ones. But the way I've seen it, it's both sides responsible for the destruction. I watch the news and I honestly can't tell the difference."

"That's not entirely fair. There is collateral damage to consider, after all."

Immediately, Tom's jovial, bantering mood melted away. "People are being killed."

"People need to learn to move out of the way, instead of gawking and taking pictures." Kathy snapped back, perhaps a bit too sharply. Her face softened, and her tone changed, warming. "Of course, our heartfelt condolences for the families of those lost. As you know, our network has started a charity fund for victims of the crossfire. Please see our website for information on how to contact our volunteers, and find out what you can do to help."

Tom nodded along, his head bobbing in time with the familiar rhythm. "As always, we're more than ready to help families rebuild their lives and families." The words by rote completed, he went back on his verbal attack, as if there hadn't been a lull at all. "But, we're giving them room and board for this. And what do we get for giving away our resources, putting ourselves at risk? A few tidbits of technology – when they promised share and share alike when they first popped up – and a war we don't want and can't afford. Do you know what my taxes are like, now? Oregon has almost no property value. It's devastating the economy. I had to move to the Washington border, just for the sake of my children. It's terrifying, watching them go off in the morning, and wondering what might happen."

"It is scary. For everyone. The Autobots are doing all they can. They can't take responsibility for what the Decepticons do, any more than we can be blamed about what happens in, in Russia, or the Middle East, or China."

Tom frowned, fiddling with his pen. He dropped his gaze, almost a school boy's pout, before he looked half at Kathy, half at the audience, and said, "Now, it seems like they should take responsibility. They did, after all, bring them here."

The pouty rouged lips drew thin again. "What are you driving at?"

Sighing again, Tom let the pen drop, again settling back into his chair. He swiveled back and forth for a few moments, gathering words and attention, fingers steepled below his strong chin. He nodded, sagely, and gifted Kathy with a sardonic, pained grin. "Oh, I don't know. It all just seems too simple. And I can't help but think, free resources, a nice planet like ours. Clearly we're way out of their technological ballpark. Helpless. Who knows what they might actually be doing, if this isn't just one big charade."

"… don't tell me you're saying 'invasion'."

"More of these things are showing up every week. They're asking permission to survey large areas of our world, taking our fuels, accessing our top scientists—" He broke off, as if he had not meant for the words to slip.

Sensing opportunity, Kathy surged forward, waggling her index finger again. "Ah, ah, no. Our scientists are accessing them, and you know it. They were invited every time."

Tom smirked, tapping his bottom lip with his pinkies, hands still clasped piously. "Did they invite their friends to Fujiama's? You know his company almost crashed after that. We lost some good people in that attack, and one of our top research facilities. All because he trusted the Autobots to guard him." He glanced again toward the camera. "Odd that they didn't pick up on the Decepticons coming. Or were able to repel them, like they said they would."

Nervous, ringless fingers wrapped together, and Kathy's cool smile froze into place. "He should have known better than to advertise like that. He even had TV spots. Quite honestly, he was all but asking for it."

Tom rolled his eyes back to her, dazzling smirk shining bright and clear again. "In any case, it all seems a little too suspect. A little too straightforward. Did you know, and I have the newspaper here somewhere…" a shuffling of many papers. "Ah, here we go. 'An elderly Washingtonian couple espy robotic tryst.' Boldface, front page. Had a picture, evidently, but it was never released."

Kathy uttered a short sputter of startled laughter. She blinked owlishly at his smug countenance, shocked. "W-what?" she asked, disbelief and incredulous laughter coloring her voice.

"Tryst. They described it as, ah," Tom wagged his eyebrows, mischievous to the core of him, "'romantic' in nature."

Kathy chuckled, albeit nervously. "Oh, God. Are you trying to go paparazzi on me? Are we going to be reading articles from 'People' now?" She tossed her head dismissively, hair barely moving from its perfect mould. "So they might be, erm, loving, sexual beings. We can't begrudge them that. And, honestly, it's silly. Why is it that we all act so surprised when we find out someone has, when celebrities hook up?"

"I think it's a big deal when it's between the baddies and the good guys."

A hesitation. "If I may?"

"By all means, read it from yourself." He tossed the clean newspaper to her, graciously giving her time to scan through the article. He nodded as her eyes grew round and wide, and her fingers tightened slightly on the grey-white paper, crumpling the edges. "Quite a story, eh?"

She shook her pretty head, not quite denying it. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and tried once more, "… They were the only witnesses, allegedly. How can we know this is even true? You know what people will do for their fifteen minutes these days."

"Looks pretty legit to me." Tom said, shrugging. "They went through a lot of trouble to keep it quiet, going way out into those hills, out of the way. Keeping away from their kind, or from us, though?" When Kathy didn't immediately rise up with a point, her gaze still locked on the small town newspaper, he continued gallantly. "There's evidence of a large something rolling around up there. Gouges in the grass, lawns torn up. Scorch marks. Seems suspicious, that they'd be hooking up even though there's this, uhm, 'bad fuel' between them, I suppose."

"They could have been fighting. We don't have all the facts." Kathy said eventually, not entirely convinced herself.

"We don't. That's my point exactly."

"You sound more and more like you're from the 'Enquirer'. Last I checked, this was a logical, informed debate program." She redirected, frowning sternly as she slipped into the accustomed role.

"It still is. I'm arguing my point." Tom replied, utterly composed. He, too, knew his role, and played it well.

"You're using shady facts and dancing around context. It sounds paranoid."

"I'm being a bit pessimistic, I'll admit that. But isn't it better to at least question things a little before just jumping on the happy-robot-love-train? Ah. Speaking of which, did you hear about the, uh, 'incident' at the train station?"

"That was a lot of hype. I doubt very much that erm," Her note cards were consulted, "'Astrotrain' was doing what we assumed he was doing. Their anatomy is much different from ours. We think. How do we know that they are even capable of, can, that they are interested in things like that?"

Tom grinned, mimicking her distinctive finger waggle. "You're contradicting yourself."

"Look, we don't know that much about their culture. We have inside people looking—"

"You mean that kid and his mechanic father? Reliable sources. Completely reliable." Anticipating the turn in conversation, Tom hefted up a file two finger widths thick, yellowed with age. On the front, a young, brown haired man stared boldly at the camera, construction equipment piled high behind him. His pants and shirt were splattered with mud, and a jackhammer rested against his hip, gripped confidently with one hand. "Did you know, heh, 'Sparkplug' Witwicky did not even finish high school? Dropped out sophomore year. Not that he wouldn't have flunked, according to my sources. Apparently was a bit of wild child in his day. Had quite a record before he got hooked into teenage fatherhood."

Kathy's face devolved into a hard glare. "That was in poor taste, and has no relevance in this argument."

"Sorry," He said, and sounded anything but, "I'm just saying, how can we trust these people? They weren't publically elected. We barely see them. They were never evaluated. Who knows how that kid's mind is warping."

Her eyes narrowed. "Warping?"

"How is he socializing? He's with these, the Autobots every day, if the news is accurate, and has been photographed on numerous occasions in the middle of skirmishes. It's a wonder he hasn't been killed yet. Did you know he was pulled out of high school, now? Home schooled, supposedly." He put a firm palm down on the stack of paper, daring Kathy to question his facts. "It's not fair to this Spike Witwicky, and not fair to the public. We should have experts, analysts, working on this, not teenagers and their dr— fathers."

"We tried that once. The analysts were refused."

"Hm. Right. No worries there."

Drawing in a deep breath, Kathy calmly stated, "There are other people working with the Autobots. The government, despite what you claim, has been sharing many aspects of this new technology to the leading engineers, and is preparing it for everyday life. We might have flying cars in a few years."

"Will the cars be talking back by then, or do we have to get an upgrade for that?"

"Ha, ha." She rolled her eyes, "Chip Chase – featured here last month – as you know, has been in close contact with the Autobots as well. His intellectual merit is beyond question."

Tom paused, reluctant to agree. "But he's not there often. And have you seen how many attacks have been made on him? And here's the kicker; it's not even always by the Decepticons."

"Anti-Autobot groups?" Kathy asked, having already scrolled through the news story. "Terrorists disguised as protestors."

"Did you know the Decepticons have a fanbase? A fanbase." Tom barked out a laugh. "These are strange days."

"That's not— what?" Kathy blinked. "That's insane."

"Yes. A fanbase. Teenagers, mostly, but it's a growing phenomena. They make bloody pilgrimages. They tattoo on the symbol, somewhere visible, on their faces, even. Air show turn outs have tripled, if not quadrupled, since those, erm, 'Seekers' showed up to that Blue Angels routine. Kids are breaching the 'no crossing zone' into Autobot voided areas to raid. They go to recent Decepticon attack sites, and pick up the rubble to take home and do God knows what with. And they're violent."

"We… everybody goes through a stage, and, my God, don't they watch the news?" Kathy cut herself off, gathering herself again. "Kids are kids. They're just a little, a little confused, maybe. There's that rebellion vibe, perhaps. Anti-heroes and suchlike."

"But there are adults in it, too," Tom grimaced. "Can you believe it? They even have their own holiday they're petitioning to be put on the calendar. Day of the Decepticons, marking the first day they attacked earth." He glanced at his watch, and sucked in a startled breath. "Oh, sorry, tangent. I'll just drag the conversation back to the point."

"Tom, we are on a point—"

"How can we trust them?" He overrode her voice, determined to get the last word. "We know next to nothing about them. They won't talk to us. Why not? That's what I want to know."

Realizing his ploy, Kathy took care to enunciate loudly and clearly. "We've talked to them on numerous occasions. Anywhere you look, you can find copies of Optimus' speeches."

"You've said that. I've seen Optimus. I've seen the, uh, Datsun guy. Skulk. Lurk. Stalk. Whatever his name was. I've listened to what they've said. I haven't heard much from either, just apologies and hedging. We need someone to come in, and really talk to us. Tell us the truth, where they come from, why here, everything. The public deserves this much, with all the suffering they've gone through. We have a right to know."

Something flinty and short tempered flashed in Kathy's eyes. "You know what, Tom? I think that would be just bloody fine. I would love to see them squash your scaremongering."

His returning grin was cheeky and easy. "Sounds like a challenge."

"It is." She turned to the camera, laying back on the charm. "But, we're out of time. This has been Katherine Montgomery—"

"— And Tom Carthue."

"Real Time, signing off."