Murphy's Law

Prologue: Self Satisfaction

Agent Reggie Simmons was in a good mood. He strolled down the hall, peeking into rooms at random and generally enjoying the bustling atmosphere that invaded the closing base. Scientists and government agents rushed around as they packed their belongings and double-checked the systems security. Their faces were tight with worry, though Simmons couldn't fathom why. After all, it was a blessing that they were leaving these buildings. He was rather tired to seeing nothing but desert and scrub brush, and the hour-long drive into town was rather tiring, especially since his Lamborghini wasn't meant to drive on rough dirt roads.

He paused outside the door to the largest room in the underground base. This room had almost been emptied, and only a handful or scientists remained checking over the subjects and the computers. Simmons walked into the center of the room and stared up at it's biggest occupant, a smirk working across his face. He had sounded big and threatening, but their bodies weren't meant to withstand cold, and a few cases of liquid nitrogen had quieted him down.

The big red and blue robot, who had called himself Optimus Prime, watched the man move about the room with empty optics. He wasn't dead; the scientists had detected radiation coming off him and his comrades after the liquid nitrogen had done its job. They were just asleep, in what one of the agents called a permanent coma. No human in their right mind would turn up the heat and awaken them, and if everything went right no other humans would ever find this place.

Simmons gave the room one last look. Including the self-proclaimed leader there were five of the robots in here, all strapped to tables that were tilted so the robots could almost stand. Each was hooked up to a machine with thick wires and tubes, which were measuring the computer waves coming from the robots heads. The information was all being sent via a new type of secure government radio waves, and even with its proven usefulness, the agent was doubtful that this 'internet' thing would ever catch on.

The scientists finished packing up their equipment and checked the computers one more time before leaving the room, pushing carts of electronics with them. Simmons took one last look at the five robots and allowed himself a large grin. The mech closest to him – a large red creature with a harsh face and a name like 'Iron-side' or 'Steel-hide' had threatened him when they first landed.

"Who's laughing now?" Simmons asked, his voice echoing around the vast metal room. The robot didn't answer. Feeling oddly buoyant, he bounced out of the room. The lights flicked off behind him, plunging the aliens in darkness, and the door slid shut with a heavy thunk and an ominous click of a lock engaging. The last of the scientists were waiting at the lift at the end of the hall, along with the rear guards, who were fingering their rifles and looking eager to be away from the aliens. Simmons joined them, boarded the lift and watched as the last of the lights in the base flickered, then went dark.

A hundred feet above the base, the lift stopped and they stepped out into a brightly lit hanger. The lift disappeared into the floor, and a slab of concrete connected to a series of hydraulics moved to cover it. The scientists and remaining agents were loading the trucks outside the hanger with the equipment, all of it covered with thick tarps to protect government secrets from prying eyes. Simmons spotted his boss, Jonathan Murphy, standing near by and sidled up to him.

"Everything's locked down tight, sir," he reported as they watched the others work.

Murphy, an older man with graying hair and a bristling mustache, nodded. "Good," he muttered, eyes scraping over the horizon for interlopers.

"How is the cover story coming?" Simmons asked eagerly.

The man pointed at some barrels that were being unloaded from a nearby van. Each was bright yellow and had a red 'WARNING – RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL' label on the side. "We strew those about and nobody in their right minds will come in here."

Simmons nodded eagerly, hoping to impress his new boss. "That's brilliant!" He watched as the agents began to carry the barrels to strategic and easy-to-see spots around the hanger. "But – there will still be a guard around, right?"

Murphy scoffed. "Of course," he gave the man a scathing look. "We would not leave this place without at least one human touch." He pointed to the new cement guard shack that had been placed at the only road in and out of the fenced-in compound. Simmons face fell, and the older agent resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Simmons was like an eager-to-please puppy, who was discouraged much to quickly. He clapped the man on the back and steered him towards the cars. "C'mon, lets get out of this damn desert. There's a malt shop in town that's not too shabby..."

Simmons beamed once more – maybe 1984 wouldn't be such a bad year after all.

A short prologue to a longer story! Hope y'all enjoyed, and please review so I know whether or not anybody is interested in this story!