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There was a resounding thud in the confined space of an attic as the entrance hatch was pushed open. It was quickly followed by the rapid sounds of coughing as a tall and lean brown haired teen poked his head up. “Jesus...,” he muttered as he hoisted himself into the space. By memory, he reached above him and located a simple string that, much to his relief, was able to turn on the old light bulb. He had to crouch in order just to stand as he started making his way into the darker parts, along the narrow trail that had been made to get through the boxes. “Dude,” a voice piped which caused Sam to stop and look back. There, a dark skinned teen with short dreads was looking around at everything. “Sam, buddy,” he snickered, “why the hell does your family have so much junk?” “Shut up Miles,” Sam snapped as he went back to his quest. “Just come and help me.” “What’s the magic word!” came from below as Miles climbed in. “I don’t think he even knows the word, Raf,” Miles laughed. Sam just rolled his eyes as he thought, ‘Now where is it?’ He moved deeper into the attic, barely able to see much of anything but just enough to identify what he was looking for. “Ah ha!” he yelled as he spotted an old travel chest in the corner. “Miles, I think I found it!” he called as he started making his was over to it. The old chest had a layer of dust on it. Without much thought, Sam blew some of it off only to instantly regret it when he sneezed very loudly. “Jeez,” Miles commented as he came into view. “Sounds like you sneezed out a lung.” “Feels like it,” Sam croaked as, this time, he used his hand to cover his mouth and nose as he brushed off the rest of the dust. A small plaque, tarnished now by many years, became visible along with the inscription of ‘James Archibald Witwicky.’ “So this it?” Miles asked as he shuffled his way over. “Yep. Here, help me pick it up.” Sam then moved to one side of the chest as the other teen moved to the other end. “Surprise there isn’t boxes packed on top of this thing like everything else,” Miles grunted as they lifted the heavy chest from the bottom. “Dad said-” Sam responded as he struggled with the other end, “that the chest is pretty old so any boxes on top of it could break it.” “Must be some good stuff then,” Miles laughed when he started walking backwards as the two of them made their way out of the attic. “That’s what I’m hoping!” The two of them somehow managed to move the trunk without knocking down boxes or falling as they brought it down the ladder. From there, Miles was able to take all of the trunk as Sam put the ladder back up. When he went into his room, Miles had placed the chest on the floor at the end of the bed and started examining it. Raf had stopped whatever it was he was doing on this laptop from the center of the bed and had repositioned himself to sit crossed legged at the end. The tan skinned teen looked up when Sam entered, pushing his glasses up. “Do you think you’ll find anything good for your presentation in Mr. Hosney’s class?” “As I told Miles,” Sam said as he leaned on his door frame. “I hope so. I mean, I’ve had my presentation about my ancestor ready for a month but I thought it would be cool to have some things from an explorer during that time period.” “Well good luck with that,” Miles interjected as he looked up. “It’s locked.” “No shit Sherlock,” Sam responded back with a deadpan look. As he went over to his desk, he added, “I have a key. My Dad gave it to me months ago when I first found out about our ‘Ancestor Project.’” He opened one of the middle drawers where he had placed it all that time ago, but paused when on top of everything there was a photo. It was a close up of an older woman and a younger Sam. The woman was kneeling down and holding the young boy close. Both of them were smiling widely as they stared at the camera. Slowly the young man picked up the frame, looking closely at the woman. He studied the smiling wrinkles and the oval features of her face. Her auburn hair was loose, blue eyes bright, and smile even brighter. He remembered her merry laughter and soothing touch which caused his throat to become tight. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His body suddenly felt heavy as he tried to fight the burning sensation in the back of his throat and eyes. “Um... Sam?” a quiet voice asked that drew him back to the present. He looked over at his friends to see their worried expressions. He quickly cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he croaked. He took a shaky breath as, instead of placing the photo back in the drawer, he put it on top of the desk where it had originally belonged. “Just hard sometimes, ya know?” he added with a half hearted shrug before he looked for the key again. He didn’t hear his friends say anything else as he found the key and came back to join them. He took a seat next to Miles. He wasn’t expecting the sudden clap on his back and yelped. “You don’t have to worry though,” the dark skinned boy said as he moved his hand to squeeze one of Sam’s shoulders. “Raf and I always have your back. Right, Raf?” The younger boy gave thumbs up and smiled widely as he nodded his head. Sam huffed a little at his friend, but none the less was thankful for them. “Thanks guys,” he whispered. He looked at the trunk again, his chest feeling lighter than before, and gave a short sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we got!” Quickly, but carefully, Sam opened the chest and all the boys gathered around. “Dude! Look at all this shit!” Miles laughed as he reached out to grab a tunic that lay on top. Sam immediately smacked his hand away. “Be careful!” Miles put a hand on his chest and looked humorously offended. “How can you tell me to be careful? I have the hands of an artist, dude!” “And the mentality of an eight-year-old,” Raf quipped. The teen barely had time to dodge a comic book that came soaring at him. “Hey!” he yelled as he glared at Miles. “That could have hurt me!” “That would have been the point Boy Genius!” Miles retorted back, referring to him to nickname due to the fact that they younger boy had skipped some grades. “Ladies! If you please!” Sam interjected just to stop the incoming fight. It worked as both teens turned to glare at him. The brunette just rolled his eyes as he kneeled and started carefully sifting through the trunk. “Woah,” he whispered as he pulled out an old fashioned telescope. “Wow that looks so cool,” Raf awed as Sam handed it to him after his inspection. “Dude,” Miles pondered as he looked when Sam pulled out a journal. “Do you think your dad would let you sell some of this stuff to help pay for your car?” “Oh hell no,” Sam responded as he started to open the journal. “He would totally flip his shit. As it is, I am really going to have to convince him to allow me to bring just one item. These have been in our family for generations and my Dad is very proud of them.” He flipped through the pages as he noted all the dates and captain logs before finding the page wanted to see. “And besides, who wants to buy a journal of a crazy guy?” “Huh?” Miles and Raf both asked at they looked at him in confusion. Sam flipped the journal around and showed them the page full of strange symbols. They were written all over the place, big and small, with no pattern or any sort of sentence structure, and continued on as Sam moved more of the pages. It was nearly indescribable how they even look as some glyphs were sharp and others curved. Some were very well drawn and detailed while other just seems to be scribbled in haste. They became even more confusing as a good majority of it was overlapping each other, making the characters impossible to distinguish. “Apparently,” Sam continued as he closed the journal, “when James Archibald Witwicky went on his last voyage, he went insane. When I was doing research, the old medical records that I found said he spent the rest of his days in an asylum.” He held up the journal. “Dad said we still had his last journal and that he had seen these symbols in it when he was going through the trunk a long time ago.” “The writing looks interesting,” Raf commented as he held out his hand. Sam handed it over to him. “Was this insanity sudden?” the tanned skinned boy asked as he opened it. “Couldn’t say,” Sam responded with a shrug. “I couldn’t get the full medical records. Apparently the asylum he was sent to burned down with them a few years after my great-great grandfather passed away. What I have is basically newspaper clippings and only the first medical report after they came back to America from the Arctic.” “Dude, that is so insane,” Miles whispered as he read over Raf’s shoulder. Sam left them to their examination as he returned to the chest. Peering inside there were more journals and clothes. There were also maps and other instruments that sailors would use during that time. A few pouches laid inside as well. The teen picked up an elongated one and opened it to pull out a pair of old cracked glasses. The brunette hummed as he pulled them out fully and held them up to the light with one hand. Instantly, he noticed that there were cloudy parts on both lenses. ‘Must be dirty,’ he thought as he reach out with this other hand to see if he could wipe it away. Only he immediately dropped the glasses when a jolt of cutting electricity that shocked his hand. “Ow! Fuck!” he cursed as he cradled his hand near his chest. “Sam, are you ok?” Raf quickly asked as he put the open journal aside and moved forward to his friend. Miles had also hopped off the bed and was standing over fair skinned teen to make sure he was alright. “Yeah, just a really bad static shock I guess,” Sam hissed as he shook off the string. He glared down at the glasses that had fallen into his lap. Cautiously, he picked them back up again and still saw that the white smudges were there. “I was hoping to wipe off whatever was on the glasses,” he added as he held them up to show the other two. “Seems to be part of the glasses though, or at least something hardened enough to stay.” “Maybe you can show the glasses in class,” offered Miles just as Raf excitedly asked, “Can I get my microscope and see what it is?” Both Sam and Miles looked over at the other teen with raised eyebrows. “Dude,” Miles responded, deadpan. “That is such a nerd thing to say.” Raf snapped something at him in Spanish as he grabbed a pillow and threw it at the other teen which caused the black haired boy to laugh and back off. With a huff, the younger teen looked at Sam. “I’ve been wanting to test my new microscope,” he explained. “This seems like an awesome chance.” He paused to grab the journal and held it up. “And maybe I can take some pictures of the journal and post them online. See if anyone out there knows anything.” Sam gave him a look curiosity, while something heavy like worry settled in his stomach. “You think so?” “We’ll never know unless we try!” Miles exclaimed as he jumped into the conversation. “‘We?’” Raf asked as he raised an eyebrow. “Well duh,” Miles drawled with an eye roll. “Who else here has a high resolution camera so people on the internet can see every detail.” The two brunette teens looked at each other. Sam could tell that Raf wasn’t actually thrilled with it. Not because they didn’t want Miles help but the teen could get a little over the top when it came to taking photos. Sam shrugged and commented, “He has a point Raf.” “True,” Raf unwillingly conceded. “Alright, it is settled then,” Sam declared as he put the glasses away and stood up. “We’ll convene back here in, say, 30 minutes?” The other teens nodded. “Alright! Operation ‘Figure-out-Sam’s-ancestor’s-crazy-drawings’ is a go!” Miles exclaimed as he started to put on his shoes. “Miles...,” Raf groaned. “Miles, that name is kind of lame,” Sam agreed. Clearly offended, the teen stood up and glared at them. “Well I don’t see you two coming up with any names,” he huffed. As Raf started bickering with the older teen, Sam grew quiet as he looked down at the bed where the journal still laid open. He stared at the drawings for a moment before an idea came to him. “‘Operation Glyph!’” he suddenly interrupted, which caused the two others to stop and look at him questioningly. “What?” Miles asked. “Well.... My ancestor drew these symbols right? And symbols are sometimes called ‘glyphs.’ So ‘Operation Glyph.’” It grew quiet in the room as Sam watched his friends process what he said. “Makes sense,” Raf finally agreed. “Hmmmm...,” Miles mused as he closed his eyes and nodded his head. “I still like mine but yours will do.” Sam and Raf just both rolled their eyes. ‘This is not how it supposed to be,’ he thought. Around him was chaos. The city of Vos now laid in ruin; its once great factories and skyscrapers now charred and destroyed.
His men ran next to him as they rushed to find shelter from the seeker barrage that continued to come from above. Those less fortunate lay either dead or dying; soft moans of pain from those that clung to life. He longed to help his fallen brethren but the threats were still around and his men were counting on him to survive.
Yet seeing such sights made him feel sick and his spark heavy. His entire body was tired but still he pressed on with cannon in hand. He just wanted to stop and scream. He wanted to tell his men to help those that were calling out for assistance. He wanted so many things, yet he knew he couldn’t. ‘Is this the peace you spoke of?’ he thought bitterly as he climbed over debris. ‘This destruction?’
A high pitched sound from above brought him out of his thoughts, a sound he knew all too well. “Take cover!” he ordered, his deep voice carrying over the battlefield.
It was too late though as the first bomb landed behind them. His men there cried out as they were flung in different directions. He turned to look at the macabre sight, hoping that it wasn’t as bad as he had heard. It was worse as half of his men were now gone and still he heard more noise from above. He grinded his denta together and forced his optics to remain operational even though he just wanted to shut them off from sight.
“Keep moving and take cover!” he forced out, his voice strained as he turned away.
In the past he remembered that many would have protested at leaving their fellow soldier behind. Now though, as if to point out the number of years of fighting and destruction, his men just followed his orders and ran. It was now a battle to live no matter the cost.
They scattered as best they could in the tight street but still it wasn’t enough as the bombardment continued. There were sounds of explosions and screams that filled his audio receptors. He didn’t think though, just continued to run and tried to encourage his men to do the same.
Ahead of him, one of his smaller men tripped. He knew he shouldn’t but he stopped only for a moment to yank the bot upward and move him forward.
“Look out!” a voice called. He didn’t have time to process the words as a sudden explosion went off nearly next to him and sent him flying into a close building-
With a sudden jolt Optimus Prime’s optics shot on. His ventilation systems kicked online to try and cool him down as he stared ahead with wide optics and gasping for air intake. He then came to realize he was in a location he had never seen before. ‘Where am I?’ he thought frantically as he looked around at the darkened room. ‘Was I captured?’ He pulled himself up from the recharge berth. Save the for the berth, there was a work station and, what appeared to be, an unguarded door that was not standard in prisons. He transformed one of his arms into its gun forms and slowly got up to approach the door. ‘I can’t let my guard down with the Decepticons,’ he thought as he brought up his face guard. Just then a notice of a comm link communication came through. ‘How would an Autobot communication get through Decepticon walls?’ He brought up his free servo and used it to press against the communicator on his helm. “Optimus Prime here,” he murmured. Before he could say anything on his current situation though, a voice, one he recognized as one of his second lieutenants, Jazz, said, “Optimus, we need you in the Main Deck.”Optimus paused at the words, not making any sense to him. He was about to say something when it suddenly just clicked in place. He groaned in pain as recent memories came flooding back and staggered against the wall. “Sir?” Jazz called. “I’m fine,” Optimus responded, feeling all out of sorts. “I will be there shortly. Optimus out.” He closed the link before anything else could be said. He leaned fully against the wall as he transformed his gun back into a hand servo and withdrew the face guard. He could feel his cooling fans shut off as his systems returned to normal. He shut off his optics as he got his processor together. ‘I’m fine,’ he reassured even though he didn’t feel like it. ‘It’s over.’ He stayed that way for a moment. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened and, each time, he hoped it would be the last. He hadn’t spoken to any of his men about what was going on; he didn’t have time to focus on whatever was happening to him, nor did he feel that he should worry the others. Once he was sure that he was ready, he turned his optics back on and slowly stood up straight. ‘I need to stay focused,’ he reminded himself as he left the room. ‘There is no time to deal with this. We have to find the Allspark.’ He quickly made his way to the command center of the spacecraft. It wasn’t much, just an old transport ship, but it had room enough for 5 bots and was good for deep space travel. They had been lucky to find this vessel back when the Great Exodus had happened on Cybertron. Such ships like this one were either in disrepair or had already been taken. It wasn’t long until he entered the flight deck. He was a little surprised to find everyone was gathered all around the star chart while Jazz was sitting and typing on the communication console, where the small screen was displaying an array of red characters. “What is going on?” Optimus inquired as he approached. “Jazz has intercepted on open communication call,” Ratchet, the team medic, responded as he unfolded his arms and faced Optimus. “Autobot or Decepticon?” the leader pressed. “Unclear,” Jazz notified as he still typed. “There is an outer layer that is Decepticon but the origin stems from neutral Cybertronian. I can’t make heads or tails of it, Big Bot.” “I say let Optimus give it a go,” Ironhide, the team’s weapon specialist, grunted. “He knows more about it then any of us.” There was a buzz of agreement from Bumblebee, their scout, as he looked between Optimus and the screen. “Very well,” the red and blue bot conceded as he started to approach the console. “Jazz?” “All yours, Big Bot,” Jazz laughed as he pushed himself away and out of the chair. Optimus didn’t bother taking a seat as he started going over the encryption. ‘All very odd,’ he thought as he went to work. ‘I haven’t seen this kind of code since Iacon.’ He paused for a moment at the thought. ‘If that is the case....’ He doubled his efforts. ‘Iacon writer’s liked to embed things in characters. If I can find the right combination....’ As Optimus hit one last key, the transmission suddenly turned green in color and he pulled it up to the main console screen where the full message could be read. “It’s a map,” Ironhide whispered in awe as he approached. In fact, all of his men had gathered closely around to get a better look. Optimus noted that Jazz and Ratchet had separated the farthest and as they came closer they both glanced his direction. They didn’t say anything though as they focused on what was on the screen. Bumblebee gave a loud whir sound as he pointed to the far left where it seemed to begin. “It is Cybertron,” Jazz agreed. “But wha' is this leadin’ to?” “Looks like a small galaxy not far from us,” Ratchet replied as he pointed to the other end where it stopped. Bumblebee started chirping excitedly. “Now hold on Bumblebee,” Ironhide cut in as he looked at their youngest member. “I am not going to go and run after somethin’ if we don’t even know what it is!” As discussion started around him, Optimus grew quiet as he continued to stare at the map. ‘This looks familiar to me.... Where have I seen this before?’ He closed his optic ridges as he drew deep into his memory banks. He tried not to dwell on some of the gruesome memories as he pushed further and further back until he finally was able to pinpoint it. “The Allspark...,” he whispered as he came back to the present and opened his optic ridges. “Optimus?” Jazz inquired, being the closest to hear him. The room became quiet as Optimus looked them all. “I have seen a part of this map before,” he explained. “All of us here know that the Allspark was sent into deep space during the war. The plotted course was kept secret, even from myself. One of only a handful who knew of the course was Alpha Trion. When Iacon was attacked by the Decepticons, he sent out an encrypted message. “We were only able to get a small portion of it but the Decepticons blocked the rest of the communications and proceeded to corrupt what little we had obtained.” He paused and looked at the map. “I was only able to catch a small glimpse of the beginning of the map before it became completely destroyed.” He then looked back at his men. Bumblebee once again chirped excitedly. “I wish Primus was smiling on us,” Optimus replied sullenly. “But as I said, only a handful of bots knew and that information was not given freely.” “You mean that slagger Megatron,” Ironhide hissed. “That, or a trusted subordinate,” Optimus agreed as he looked back at the map. “You think that this has to do with his sudden disappearance?” Ratchet purposed. “It must,” the leader replied as he zoomed in on the sector were the end was. “He went missing shortly after the Iacon fell. With the map, he would have returned to Cybertron and finished the war.” “Then ya’re thinkin’ somethin’ happen' to 'im?” Jazz asked. “Very much so. This could be a distress message for the Decepticons to find.” He manipulated the map until a small planet came up. “Or somethin’, or someone, else,” Ironhide challenged as he folded his arm servos of his chest plate. “It could be a trap.” Optimus paused for a moment and then turned to look men. As he met each one of them in the optics there was a sudden sense of heaviness on shoulders and a sense of fear that nearly made him unable to speak. ‘How can I nearly forget?’ he thought. ‘I can’t lose anymore.’ He curled his hand servos into tight fists as he gently admitted, “I know this is a risk. It could be a trap. It could be anything. But if there is just a sliver of a chance that we can get out hands on the Allspark before the Decepticons can, then I will take it. But the possibility of danger is high-” “Hate ta interrupt ya, Big Bot,” Jazz chuckled as he stepped forward. “I’m havin’ a feelin’ that this is going to be one of ya ‘last team up’ speeches. Save ya words then, Optimus. Ya know I will follow ya, wherever that would be.” Bumblebee stepped forward next and gave a happy chirp as he brought up his arm servos and started doing short jabs. He then stood up straight and gave a curt nod. “Jazz is right,” Ratchet said as he straightened up. “And so are you, Optimus. If there is even a small chance that we can bring Cybertron back to life, no matter the risk, I, too, will take it.” Everyone then looked at Ironhide. “Hey! Don’t go making me look like the bad guy here!” the weapon specialist grumbled as he too stepped forward. “I was just sayin’. I never said I wasn’t going with him!” He glowered at everyone which caused Ratchet to sigh and roll his optics while Jazz and Bumblebee just snickered. Optimus took a moment to study his team. The heaviness in his body lessened while a feeling of gratitude and awe filled him. “Thank you,” he murmured, humbled. When his men turned to look at him, he added a bit louder, “All of you. Thank you.” “There’s no need to thank us,” Ironhide countered. “We’re all here for the same reason.” Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, looking at him with soft smiles. The corners of Optimus’ lip plates tilted upward as he took a deep intake of air before letting it out. “Very well,” he said as he looked back at the map. That smile quickly went away though as he tried to find out more information about the planet on the screen. “Looks like we will be goin’ in blind,” Jazz remarked as he noticed the lack of information as well. Optimus ground his denta together as he nodded his head. Quickly, his processor formed a plan. “We’ll keep heading towards the planet,” he started as he looked at everyone. “We will keep radar and our cloaking on to pick up any other signals and to avoid detection if we can.” He paused at the next part, nearly too much for him to say. “Bumblebee..,” he continued as he looked at the scout. “When we are close enough, you will take one of the escape pods and go down to explore. See if you can pinpoint the exact location of the signal.” ‘I would go in your place,’ he thought all the while as he met those soft blue optics. ‘You’re too young, but you are also the fastest and most agile out of all of us here.’ “If you do discover where it came from,” he instead stressed. “Contact us immediately. Do not engage if you find any Decepticons. Am I clear?” The yellow bot nodded his head firmly as he chirped. “Alright,” Optimus breathed as he looked back at everyone. “Ratchet and Ironhide, help Bumblebee out with everything you think he will need. Jazz continue to guide the ship in accordance with the map. I will continue to look at the transmission and see if there is more to it.” A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” rang out in response. Immediately the group broke apart. Bumblebee joined the medic and weapon specialist as they started to leave the room while Jazz took a seat in the pilot chair. Optimus watched as everyone did as they were told, before he situated himself at the communication console. Before he went to look back at the message though, he closed his optic ridges as he bowed his head and folded his hands to his lip plates.
‘Primus, please be with us all.’
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The last day of school was always a big deal at Jasper High School. Students and teachers looked forward to the months ahead of no work and relaxation. Some classrooms celebrated, especially those of the senior level, but still others had work to do. Sam glanced at the clock. ‘30 minutes until class is over,’ he thought as he shifted in his seat. All the students, except for him, had already presented their projects and Sam had hoped his could be avoided but with no such luck. “Alright! Alright!” Sam watched Mr. Hosney yell over the noise of a bunch of teenagers. “Settle down!” The sound merely trickled down to a soft murmur but quiet enough for the teacher to talk without shouting. “Alright, I know we are all excited about school being out,” the older man continued, “but! We still have one more project to present. Mr. Witwicky.” The teacher motioned Sam to come to the front of the class before he took a seat behind his desk. ‘Well, here goes nothing...,’ Sam thought as he stood up and carefully handled his backpack. He wished his friends were here, so he could feel more confident about this. As he clutched the bag to his chest, he started making his way from the back of the classroom to the front. As he passed by the more popular teens in school, he suddenly tripped over something. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself before fully falling as the majority of the class snickered. Feeling his face heat up, he glared behind him to see Trent, the school’s quarterback, trying to look completely innocent. Sam was tempted to say something but decided to be the better person. Instead, he stood up straight as he took a deep breath and then moved forward. At the table in front of the room he swiftly pulled out his ancestor’s old items. A telescope, a map, and a photo of the expedition party before they left on their journey. Once he had set it out, he cleared his throat and with one glance at the teacher, he opened his mouth to begin only to have a piece of balled up paper hit his head. He felt his cheeks heat up more when the class begin to snicker again as Mr. Hosney stood up. “Who threw that?” he demanded as he looked around the class with a pointed finger. He asked again but no one came forward, but Sam saw Trent looking around too innocently. ‘Bastard,’ Sam thought as he tried to gather his courage again as the teacher reminded them all of “responsibility.” Licking his dry lips, he waited until the teacher sat down again before taking a deep breath and started, “So, ah, for my ‘ Ancestor Project,’ I decided to do it on my great-great grandfather, Captain James Archibald Witwicky. “Um, you see, he was an explorer,” Sam continued as he picked up the map and folded it out carefully. “He was one of the first to ever explore the Arctic Circle.” He raised the old map of the subject to emphasize his point. “Which was really important in case you didn’t know.” From there he explained what exploration was like in the past, what tools they used, and, as much as he didn’t want to, what happened to his ancestor. He just kept it short, just mentioning that he went insane, not saying anything about the symbols. People might ask what the symbols were and, much to Sam’s frustration, him, Raf, and Miles had still not gotten any closer to what they were. The internet could only offer so much information, even with high resolution photos. He managed to finish up everything, only stumbling over his words every once in awhile, and a little awkward delivery of jokes. Luckily no one mocked for it, perhaps because most were not really paying attention. At the end, he got a polite applause as he gathered up his stuff and meandered back to his seat. They only had 15 minutes left, so Mr. Hosney decided to let them talk amongst themselves. This only left Sam time to think, his thoughts turning to the fact that today was the day that he was supposed to get a car. He shifted in his seat as he imagined finally getting a ride and the freedom that came with it. It would be awesome and so much fun, especially with his friends. ‘Maybe we can go to the coast this summer,’ he thought as he looked out the window. ‘Trying to solve the mystery of those glyphs. Getting a new car. This summer is shaping up to be great! I just have to do one last thing....’ Just then the bell rang and instantly there was a mad dash from students to get to the door. Sam lagged behind though until everyone was out of the room. The brunette then stood up and cautiously approached Mr. Hosney’s desk, the teacher now rifling through assorted papers. “Um... Mr. Hosney?” The older man stopped and looked up. He blinked slowly once and prompted, “Yes, Mr. Witwicky.” Sam shifted from side to side for a moment to adjust his backpack. “Uh... I was wondering, I know it is the end of the year and all, but, you see, my dad is helping me get a car and, uh, our deal was that if I-I get nearly $2000 and get all ‘A’s’ this year-” “He would help you get a car?” Mr. Hosney concluded. “Seems like an easy thing for you to do since you’re a smart kid.” “I-I know,” Sam agreed as his heart started beating frantically. “But w-with what happened at the beginning of the year-” Mr. Hosney pulled up his signature paper ‘Stop’ sign and the teen instantly grew quiet. Sam watched with wide eyes as the teacher leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Witwicky, it is understandable why you skipped so many assignments at the start of the year but rest assured,” he then leaned forward and picked up a paper with a red ‘A’ on it which Sam recognized as his own, “with this and your presentation, you pass the class.” “YES!” Sam yelled as he practically jumped in the air. He glanced out the window just in time to see his Dad pull up in the classic 1959 convertible Porsche, top down, that he loved to drive on his days off work. ‘Oh sweet!’ Sam thought as he grabbed the paper but focused back when he realized that Mr. Hosney still had a firm grip on the other end. The teacher had a stern look on his face as he added, “A word of advice for next year, Mr. Witwicky, try to focus on your public speaking skills.” He let go of the paper and leaned back in his chair. “You’re a very bright young man,” he complimented. “With your knowledge, when you graduate, you can go to any university you want. You are more responsible than most and know your actions do have consequences, not just for yourself but for others around you. But!” he raised a finger. “You must learn that in order to do that, you need to extend out of your group of friends.” Sam looked at him curiously as he fought back a glare. “Just some food for thought as you go out for the summer,” the teacher concluded with a shrug before Sam could say anything. “Now have a nice summer and see you next year.” “Uh... right...,” Sam replied, pulling the paper close to him. ‘Who does he think he is talking about my friends like that!’ he thought as he rushed out of the classroom. He glared back at the door but then raced through the nearly empty halls. He pushed it to the back of his mind to analyze later and he bursted through the school doors. Raf and Miles were watching outside by the stairs as he rushed past. “Sorry! Dad’s here!” he called back as he made his way to the car. “Dude! What did you get!” Miles yelled. “I got an ‘A!’” He heard his friends hollering in joy as he jumped into the car. “Look an ‘A!’” Sam yelled excitedly as he waved the paper at his dad. “Let me see,” the older man laughed. “Calm down, and let me see.” He grabbed the paper and held it out to show the red ‘A.’ He glanced over at Sam. “So you got an ‘A’ in the class?” “Yep!” “That a boy!” his dad laughed as he ruffled Sam’s head. As his father started up the car and drove off, Sam couldn’t help but look at the man. Ron Witwicky, known as “Sparkplug” to his friends and family, was a large man. He was tall and having worked in construction for most of his life, his muscles were big. He did have a bit of a gut though, due to the fact he was a supervisor and no longer worked out in the sites like he used to. His brown hair was thin and going a little bald on the top. To make up for it, he had a dark, close shave, full beard. ‘I definitely look more like Mom,’ Sam thought as he now watched the passing cars and buildings in anticipation. It took them nearly half an hour before they arrived where all the dealerships were. The teen’s eyes widened in shock when they pulled into a Porsche business. “Dad! No! Really?” he screamed in delight in quick fire succession. He practically started bouncing in his seat when his father smirked. “Yeah, really. You’re not getting a Porsche.” He then proceeded to drive out of the lot. The happiness Sam felt shriveled inside and his smile dropped. “You’re not funny,” he said in a deadpan tone. His dad only laughed. “Really? I thought that was really good,” he chuckled as they drove down the road to the used car dealerships. “Did you honestly think I was going to let you get a Porsche for your first car?” ‘I had hoped,’ Sam thought disparagingly as he sneered at his father, which caused the man to only laugh harder. They pulled into the first lot they saw, a dingy yellow place with a clown in front. ‘Hope they are okay considering the heat,’ Sam thought. Just then he heard a deep voice yell, “Manny! Get your cousin out of the clown suit! He looks like he is about to have a heat stroke!” Sam looked to see a black man in a bright hat and Hawaiian shirt had poked his head out of what Sam supposed was the office building. ‘Manny’ looked to be a mechanic that rushed by just as Sparkplug parked the car. ‘Oh come on Dad, really?’ Sam thought as he looked at his father pleadingly. The older man simply got out and Sam groaned in despair as he followed suit. That’s when the man at the office door saw them and suddenly gave a thousand watt smile with bright white teeth. “Hello!” he called as he came to meet them halfway. “Welcome to Bolivia’s Auto!” He held out a hand to Sparkplug. “Name’s Bobby Bolivia, owner of this fine establishment.” ‘If you can call it that,’ Sam thought as he looked at all the old, beat up cars. “Rob,” Sparkplug greeted which caused the teen to look back at the other men and see his dad take the dealer’s hand. “And this is my son, Sam.” The said teen tried to give a polite smile but knew it came off more as a grimace as he stepped forward to also shake the man’s hand. “What can I help you with?” Bobby asked. “Well, my son here is looking to buy his first car,” Sparkplug responded as he slapped Sam’s back. The look on Bobby’s face was something Sam could only describe as fake awe. “You comin’ to me about a new car?” he asked as he retook Sam’s hand. “Didn’t really have a choice,” Sam muttered and almost resisted when the guy pulled him forward. “Well this practically makes us family,” Bobby continued as if he hadn’t heard Sam. “You can call me Uncle Bobby.” He clapped the uncomfortable teen on the shoulder as he started leading them to a selection of cars. Sam could feel his face contort into horror as they approached two old cars. “Now these!” Bobby started as he let go of Sam and stood between the vehicles. “These are always good for a first car. Reliable and good on gas.” He slapped the tops of both cars and with a resounding bang, one of the car’s front bumper fell off. “I can fix that in a jiff!” Bobby quickly offered. “Even give you a discount!” “Uh... No thanks,” Sam replied, at least trying to be polite. “What’s the matter, Sam?” Sparkplug asked. Sam glared at his dad and saw the mirth lurking in the older man’s eyes. “Not your taste?” he added. “Of course not!” Sam bit back, letting a little of his anger show. He pointed at one car and snapped, “You’ve seen that movie 30-Year-Old Virgin ? Well this is 40-year-old virgin,” he then pointed at the other with the broken bumper, “and this is 50-year-old virgin!” His father finally broke down laughing as Bobby started waving his hands and quickly pleaded, “No worries! No worries! Uncle Bobby always has something!” He then walked on and continued talking. Sam groaned as he and his father followed. They moved to the back of the lot, which looked like an old gas station, and Sam was not impressed with the selection. ‘It seems to be getting worse and worse,’ he thought as he wandered off after a while, not being able to handle much more of Bobby’s salesman talk about the last five cars they had seen. As Sam moved toward the old gas pumps, he stopped as he spotted a car that he hadn’t seen before under the gas station awning. It was a dirty, bright yellow Camaro with two black racing stripes down the center. The windows were rolled down and it was pretty beat up, like the others cars in the lot but, in a way, it made it look stunning. He glanced back at where his dad was to make sure they were in the vicinity, or anyone else for that matter to make sure that the car wasn’t already owned, and then approached the vehicle. ‘Must have just been placed here,’ he thought as he ran his hands over the hood to feel it was still warm as he went to the driver side door. ‘Funny I didn’t hear it though....’ “I see you’re a connoisseur of the finest cars,” Bobby’s voice called which caused Sam to jump. He turned to see the two older men coming toward him. Bobby went to the opposite side of the car. “This car right here,” the black man started as he laid both hands on the top of the vehicle. Sam watched as the man’s face suddenly became very confused. “Huh, I don’t remember this car,” Sam heard Bobby muttered before he looked over to the garage and yelled, “Manny! Manny!” The exasperated mechanic stepped out of the shop. “What do you know about this car!” Bobby inquired. “I’ve never seen that car before in my life, Boss!” the man replied. Sam chose then to ignore the rest of the conversation in favor of opening the driver door and got inside, liking how easy and smooth it was to open it considering how old the vehicle was. “Feels good,” he muttered as he shifted in the seat, again surprised to not feel any misplaced springs. He placed his hands on the wheel and noted that the keys were still in the ignition and the rest of the car looked worn and dirty but serviceable. Then he looked back at the steering wheel and there was a flash from the sun over where the cars logo would be. He frowned as he wiped away the dirt that covered most of it and instead of the logo, he found what he could only describe as a robotic square face, the shape outlined in silver against the black worn leather. ‘Huh,’ he wondered. ‘Must be a custom thing.’ “What do you think?” Sparkplug asked, drawing the teen out of his thoughts. He looked to see his dad now leaning in through the driver’s side window. The older man pointed. “Hey look, an actual 8-track,” he laughed as the teen pulled a face. “The girls will swoon,” Sam muttered as he looked at the old radio. “Why not carry around a boom box too.” “But think of all the fun you will have when you have to search for the cassettes on Ebay,” his dad continued to laugh. “But honestly, what do you really think?” Sam paused for a moment in thought, running his hands over the steering wheel again. ‘The car is old,’ he pondered, ‘but it feels good so far....’ “I really like it,” the brown haired teen finally replied as a slow smile crept across his face and looked at his dad. “Well then, you know the last thing to do,” Sparkplug smiled as he leaned out and went to the front of the car. “Pop the hood.” Sam reached for the open latch and, though it seemed to not want to release at first, it did finally give way. The teen got out of the car and approached the front, just as his dad opened the hood. Sam, admittedly, didn’t know much about car specifics like his father, but even he could tell that the engine was practically brand new with it being all clean and no cracks in sight. The hoses were new and no out of place wires could be seen. ‘What the hell?’ he thought as Sparkplug whistled in appreciation as he began to inspect everything. “May not be much on the outside,” his dad said as he stood back up straight. “But someone put a lot of love into the car to give it a new engine. This car could go from 0 to 100 in practically under 10 seconds with everything that it was given.” He glanced at Sam. “Give this car some good TLC, like we did before, and people will be begging for you to give them rides.” Sam paused at that as Sparkplug closed the hood. It took him a moment to realize what his dad was talking about and when he did he bowed his head. ‘He’s talking about restoration....’ In his head, Sam pictured their backyard, a barren gravel area with old oil spots. Sam remembered growing up, there would sometimes be 3 or 4 old vintage cars that his dad would restore for fun. Sometimes he would even let Sam help, even though it wasn’t the teen’s thing even as a kid but it was always fun to spend time with the older man. As a kid, it would be saddening when his father would sell the cars before being excited when new beat up vehicles would come in to be worked on. After his mother’s passing though, Sparkplug had sold all the of the cars he was working on at the time except for the Porsche and a 1947 Cadillac that now sat in the garage. Sam placed a hand on the hood of the car, ‘It’s been a long time since Dad and I really have done anything together,’ he contemplated. Although his dad hadn’t been distant, Sam knew their relationship wasn’t the same as before. ‘This could really help us though....’ “Yeah,” Sam pronounced as he began to nod. He then looked at his dad with a smile. “Just like when I was a kid right? I think that would be cool.” Sparkplug’s huge smile was more than enough answer for the teen. His dad then looked at Bobby, “So how much?” “Well...,” Bobby started as he looked over the car. “Considering the classic nature, the engine, and the custom paint job-” “But the paint job is faded,” Sam interjected, “and has scratches all over it.” “Yeah but it’s custom faded,” Bobby replied. ‘What kind of BS is that!’ Sam thought as he gave the man a look. “I’d say...,” Bobby continued, “$8,000.” ‘Shit,’ Sam groaned. ‘Dad and I already agreed that 5 to 6 thousand was the limit.’ “Look the engine may be nice and all,” Sparkplug countered. “But then there is the breaks that need to be looked at, and maybe a problem that isn’t visible. The outside itself should drop it down to at least 6 thousand.” The two men then started haggling over the price. Sam frowned at the two men before he heard a clicking noise and then sound of coming from the car. He turned his head to see what was going on when the volume was suddenly turned up nearly all the way. He closed his eyes and covered his ears at the deafening screech that emerged, barely hearing the shattering of glass over it. Just as suddenly as the noise came, it disappeared. With a ringing still in his ears, Sam slowly lowered his hands and opened his eyes to see the glass of almost every car in the immediate vicinity broken in tiny pieces on the ground and in vehicles. “What the fuck!” Bobby suddenly yelled, voicing the teens thoughts, and Sam watched as the salesman surveyed the damage in horror. The man then let out a slew of curses and shouting that Sam found one part amusing and one part disturbing. The ringing sound in Sam’s ears died down just as Bobby calmed down and looked at the father and son duo like he had actually forgotten they were there. ‘Perhaps he did,’ Sam thought sympathetically as the man’s face morphed into one of defeat. “$5,700,” Bobby suddenly said, voice cracking as he glanced at the Camaro, the only car untouched by whatever happened. “Final offer. I don’t have time to deal with a car I don’t know where it came from or even if I have paperwork for the damn thing.” Sparkplug glanced at Sam and gave a little shrug of his shoulders. He looked back at Bobby and said, “Sold.” Sam grinned ear to ear when the two adults started talking more. He looked at the car and thought, ‘This is going to be an amazing summer!’