Chaper 1

A/N: I've revised this chapter and will hopefully get to the others soon. Hope you enjoy!

Transformers: Rescue Bots does not belong to me and never will.

Bass Harbor was perfectly desolate, a thin veil of fog turning everything into a haze. It was nearing midnight, and the docks were devoid of life, the only sound that of the boats creaking in their moors. A man walked through the mist, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hunkering down to preserve his warmth from the chill of the night.

Captain Arthur Shaw had never particularly enjoyed Bass Harbor, especially at night, as the moon was always too slow to rise and the fog too quick to set in. This night was no exception, and it was becoming difficult to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of his neck.

Shaw stopped under one of few lamps on the dock, pulling a box of matches and a pipe from his pocket. He had never gotten used to those self-lighting ones the boys on the island had cooked up.

He struck a match, carefully guiding it to his pipe before the breeze could extinguish the flame. Once his pipE was lit he placed the stem in his mouth and shook the match once, putting it out. Shaw took a long drag from his pipe, and when he exhaled the smoke curled high above his head, mixing with the fog.

Shaw heard the wooden docks creak behind him, louder than usual, and he spun around. The prickling feeling had grown, and he felt like he was being watched.

The docks behind him looked empty; his only companions a few large shipping crates and a dozen lonely ships. He thought he saw some sort of movement beyond the crates, but the fog was so thick he couldn't rule out the possibility he was imagining things.

"I'm getting paranoid in my old age," he scoffed quietly, but stamped out his pipe all the same. He stuffed it back in his pocket and propped up his collar, looking over his shoulder one more time before clambering onto the plank and aboard the ferry.

Only once he was on the bridge did Shaw breathe easily. He attributed his odd feeling on the docks to the late hour and the fog playing tricks on his mind, and started the ship's engine, giving it no more thought. The thrum of the engine cut through the stifling silence of the dock, masking any other sounds there might have been. The ferry gradually began picking up speed, departing from the docks, and the captain's attention became focused on the steering of his ship.

However, back on the dock a pair of headlights flickering to life through the gloom, and the roar of a powerful engine shattered what remained of the night's quietude as a white sports car zoomed out of the shadows, swerving sloppily to avoid any obstacle in its way. The ferry was slow in leaving, its own chugging engine louder than that of the approaching vehicle, which increased its speed.

The gap between both vessels was massive, at least thirty feet across, but the sports car, leaking strange blue fluids and belching out smoke, revved its engine and exploded forward with a final, desperate burst of speed.

Its tires left the dock's planking as the car flew through the air, and almost appeared to defy gravity for an instant before landing roughly on the ferry's wide passengers section, sparks flying from his undercarriage. The engine kept running, rumbling softly as the car idled, before it rested lowly on its axles with an inaudible sigh, reversing into the shadows. The fog soon encompassed the car, ferry and all, hiding it from view as the ship headed further out to sea. In the distance, one could barely make out the faint, glimmering lights of a town.