My yellow coat makes me stand out like a lemon in a bowl of limes, but police officers take no notice of my speed violations. The Beetle, you see, is too darling of a car to do anything wrong. It's bubbled frame and critter-eye headlights cause it, cause me, to be the cute little brother of the open road. The youngest always get away with homicide.
The human, Spike, sits behind my wheel but it is actually I that guide us through the lanes. We pass by one of those new style Beetles, which I snicker at. They're nice-looking cars, but don't capture the legend that the Bug has in automotive history. I am pleased to embody the youth of those who grew up in the 20th century's latter half. Affordability aside, the Beetle has an underdog charm unlike any other car.
Unfortunately, Bugs have a drawback of condensed size and I'm very much aware of that as I pull beside an ebony monstrosity. The dark cab of the tractor trailer that dwarves me is unoccupied, the steering wheel spun by an unseen hand. We recognize the truck as one of our ruthless Decepticon foes, Motormaster. Before her can spot us, I drop back in the lane.
Motormaster never stays in the lines and would rather run over motorists than pass them. His arrow-straight driving behavior worries me, for he must have a reason for being incognito. Fearing that any radio messages to base will give us away, Spike and I decide to trail the Decepticon in silence.
I am a spy, so the wide field of open road aggravates my basic survival skills. Yet, Motormaster chugs on, seemingly oblivious that I've been on his tail for miles. Perhaps we've kept in his blind spot.
When Motormaster does exit the highway, it is in a part of town that causes Spike to roll up the window. Once an industrial center, maybe in the 1940's, the local streets are now abandoned and the buildings condemned. Thankfully, I don't have to follow the truck for a suspiciously long time . He thunders down an alley that leads to a once prosperous factory complex. His wheels grind to a stop in the yard, plowing bald spots in the gravel.
I dart around a corner and obtain a safe view of the area from behind a rusted van discarded in another alley. Though hidden, we are close enough to hear Motormaster's engine cooling. He remains unmoving in the silent yard for a moment and I fear that he's seen us. However, a loading dock door rises and the Decepticon is greeted by a number of his peers.
Shockwave leads the way, followed by the smaller Rumble. Behind them emerge the six Constructicons, Dirge and the other four members of Motormaster's Stunticon squad. Aside from Rumble and Shockwave, the other robots sweep out in an organized line. If we're discovered, I don't see how we'd get out alive.
Rumble opens a door of Motormaster's cab and leans in to manipulate the dashboard. When he exits, a purple cassette is in his hands. He sets the tape down on the gravel and steps back, allowing it to transform into a ferocious bat.
"Greetings, Inspector Ratbat," announces Shockwave. "Your visit is most welcome."
Ratbat hovers over to Shockwave. "Don't patronize me, Commander. My long trip here is simply to determine if your project is worth the energy it costs to operate. One dip into the red and I order it shut down."
Coolly, Shockwave nods his cycloptic head. "Of course, Ratbat. Let me begin the tour." He waves towards the brick buildings surrounding them. "Over there is the processing center, followed by assembly, storage, central command and the crew quarters."
"Speaking of the crew," hisses Ratbat, "let me first inspect your troops."
"Of course," says Shockwave. "I shall ask Motormaster to transform and join the line."
"No," countermands Ratbat, "I had him loaded with supplies before coming here. There's no use wasting fuel on another trip if need be."
"Very logical," compliments Shockwave. "He will be unloaded after your tour, if need be, of course."
Ratbat grunts and commences with inspection. He pauses to insult Dirge's oil leak, but the rest are observed in silence.
As the tour begins and the troops march off to the processing center, Spike and I have a quick conference. The chances of a Decepticon operation being agreeable to our nature are slimmer than steamrolled groundhogs, so we tear out of the alley and around the block to what Shockwave pointed to as the command center. With the Decepticons all on Ratbat's tour, we pray for enough time to uncover the gist of their endeavor.
The street side of the building is a mesh of cracked brick, shattered glass and plywood. I let Spike out and convert to robot mode so I can peek through a window. The interior looks like one would think; an abandoned warehouse. However, I expect more from a Decepticon command center and peer closer.
Something isn't right about the whole scene and I soon discover why. The warehouse interior is a well-crafted mat painting, like one would see as the backdrop of a play. I use my finger to poke a small hole in the pseudo-reality and get a bright blast of alien machinery. From what I can tell, the command center is temporarily free of Decepticons.
I tell Spike that we must get in and seconds later I make short work of the lock securing a side entrance. Thanks to my small size, I'm able to squeeze through.
The center of the warehouse is occupied by a scale model of Earth, cast in darkness. As Spike examines that, I peruse a typed report displayed on a wall-sized computer monitor. Spike wanders over as I finish, disgusted with the treacherous report designed for Ratbat's optics.
As I explain to Spike, the Decepticons are building a series of satellites to be placed around Earth...but only after shooting down the many that humans have already placed in orbit. For the use of the new satellites in such activities as spying and broadcasting television, the Decepticons will charge the world's nations payments of fuel. It is a simple, workable and modest plan that Shockwave has devised. According to the figures and pie charts, it's even profitable in providing a steady source of fuel supplies. Imagine, the Decepticons as businessmen!
Spike suggests that we immediately call in reinforcements to destroy the factory, but I have an efficient plan of my own. Shockwave, in attempting to make everything as logical and streamlined as possible, has created a very user-friendly computer system...
By the time Ratbat arrives for his tour of the command center, I've just finished my sabotage and we're hiding outside the hole I poked in the painting. Spike and I watch as Shockwave presents his report to Ratbat, announcing how cost-effective the satellite program will be.
Ratbat scoffs. "You are proud of these figures? In the first four years, we'll barely break even."
Shockwave examines the screen and shakes his head. "That's not right. I projected better figures."
"Let's see the model," orders Ratbat, confidence lost.
Shockwave complies and taps the keyboard. The Earth model lights up as a computerized grid displays current satellite positions. Using his eye as a laser pointer, Shockwave illustrates the changes in scenery that occur in the projection.
"As you can see, the ship we are building will launch into orbit and fire upon the human satellites, knocking them into the atmosphere. It will then deploy our series of satellites, in these positions." Blips appear in the form of Decepticon emblems, to the applause of Shockwave's troops. Then, the emblems begin to lose orbit and sink into the atmosphere. Shockwave is aghast.
Ratbat turns his button eyes on the project commander. "You have wasted everyone's time and energy."
"I assure you," states Shockwave, "that something has gone wrong with this presentation. The plan will work."
"No," growls Ratbat, "it won't have the chance. You show me figures like this, act like you don't even know what you're doing with that computer program and expect me to trust you with an operation of this magnitude? This is a shambles and a waste as I expected it to be."
Shockwave tries to differ, but Ratbat will not allow it. "We have more immediate uses for our resources. This operation shall be closed. Order Motormaster to return me and my supplies back to base."
Spike and I high-five as the false figures I programmed provide our victory. I transform and drive off with Spike.
Back on the highway, we get one last chance to enjoy another telling of our glorious day in the sun before reaching our destination.
I pull up beside a large building which has a long line of people waiting outside for its doors to open. Spike hops out and is greeted by a guy named Rob and a female named Charlotte. The girl rubs her hand along my door in admiration.
"You know," Charlotte laughs, "it does look a lot like Bumblebee."
They are then joined by a fellow named James who pumps Spike's hand. "Hey, Ben, welcome to Botcon!"
I watch with my headlights as they chat and shatter my daydream. Ben doesn't wear hard-hats on a regular enough basis to be Spike. Botcon, although a convention that's the nexus of Transformers fandom, is hardly Autobot City. Our drive, except for one wrong exit, was only that. And I'm just another Volkswagen Beetle that listens too closely to tales of my human's favorite fantasy world.
Spike...well, Ben...points back at me and announces that he's going to have an Autobot emblem air-brushed onto my hood. If I could smile with my fender, I would. While I may not be able to transform into my hero, I won't be just another car...but a symbol of so much more, something that's a permanent part of a generation's imagination. Even the average Beetle can't top that.