The Tragedy

“Mirage!”

The blue-white spy paused in mid-transformation; his joints ground as he hurriedly torqued his body back into robot-mode. “Yes?”

Hound came jogging up and sluiced to a stop next to the other. “Hey, where’re you off to? I thought we were going to watch the meteor shower?”

The spy sighed, silently cursing himself for forgetting. He had promised Hound that they would watch the display … but he’d also promised to meet Alina in the park for their weekly conversation. “I … I’m sorry, Hound. I forgot. I was just on my way into town.”

Hound’s grey features creased slightly, then he nodded. Whatever he thought of Mirage’s excuse, he wasn’t going to say anything about it. Reaching out, he jabbed the spy lightly on the upper arm. “It’s going til tomorrow,” he said, turning and walking off to their usual perch high on the mountainside.

This was one of the few times Mirage felt truly awful. Usually, he didn’t care what the others said to him, what they said about him, because he felt himself above that sort of thing. But Hound … Hound was the closest thing to a friend that he had here. With another sigh, he transformed and sped on down the rocky road.

Alina was waiting for him, leaning back on the hood of her car, reading. She sat up when he pulled up, marking her place in the text and tossing it lightly onto the roof. “You’re late,” she remarked, chuckling as she slid off the hood.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling himself out of carmode and parking his skidplate under one of the large oak trees. They’d chosen the park as their preferred meeting place, as it was getting mighty hard to keep the neighbors from peeking over the fence, even with Alina’s bushes and trees shielding him. “I was talking with Hound.”

“About what?” She wandered over to him and sat by his side, legs crossed, arms folded over her knees.

Mirage leaned back, linking his hands behind his head. “I forgot I was going to watch the meteor shower with him tonight.”

“That’s tonight? Why don’t you go back and watch it with him then?”

Mirage looked at her out of the corner of one sky blue optic. “I promised to be here.”

Alina chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, come on, Mirage. I’m a big girl.”

He smiled despite himself. “True. But I’m here already. And if I go back now, I won’t get there until it’s over.”

A slow smile creased her face and she reached out and jabbed him in the shin with her foot. “You’re telling me that as fast as you are, you can’t make it back in time? Bullshit,” she laughed. “You just don’t want to.”

For a moment, all that could be heard was the low whine of Mirage’s internal system. “I suppose you are correct,” he admitted. There was no doubt in his cortex that he could make it back to the Ark in time for the shower, but now that he was thinking about it, he’d rather be here, watching it with her. Hound was pleasant enough company, but he didn’t listen to the spy like she did. He started to rise, to suggest that they move higher up for a better view when his sensors began to flash. Swiftly turning his head, he called up infrared and his targeting system. Optics swept the brush in a millisecond, zeroing in on a squat male human with a camera hiding there. Pulling his hands out from behind his head, he reached into subspace and brought out his hunting rifle.

“Mirage --”

“Quiet,” he murmured, flicking his fingers at her with the other hand. Sighting down the line, he could easily pick off the tallest hair on the human’s otherwise bald pate. Raising the volume of his vocalizer, Mirage called out, “Get up slowly, human, and take your imaging device with you!”

The bald man popped up like he’d had a bomb explode under him; the camera dangled limply from one hand. “You -- you wouldn’t!” he spluttered. “You’re -- you’re an Autobot!”

“What faction I am does not dictate what I can do when I catch someone spying on me for a profit!” There was a faint click as Mirage flicked off the safety switch. Down by his shin, Alina’s eyes never left his face, never tore her gaze from the way his grey features easily slipped from calm to a cool and calculating façade. “You won’t need that, I’m afraid.” A short burst of energy exploded from the muzzle of the rifle, neatly shooting the camera from the paparazzo’s fist. The man jumped, his face deathly white. A split second later, he was gone, the rear of his pants decidedly soiled. With a puff of his compressor, Mirage slipped his rifle back behind him and rested his bulk against the tree trunk. “No spy allows himself to be spied upon,” he muttered aloud. Then he looked down. “Alina --?” Putting out a large black hand, he tentatively touched her shoulder.

The human woman shuddered once, head dropping down to her chest. Mirage swiveled, inclining himself down to her level. “Alina?” he repeated, Energon pump seizing.

Finally, her hand came up, brushing off his black digits. “I -- I’m fine,” she managed. “You -- scared me, that’s all.”

Once again, Mirage felt guilty. He was feeling that emotion a lot these days, he thought to himself. “I wouldn’t have killed him,” he reasoned with her.

“No?”

“Of course not,” he replied, slight indignation layering his cultured vocalizer. He glanced up briefly, sweeping the area. “You’ve had people like that following you for a long time now; I’ve seen the papers. Why didn’t you ask me to take care of it?”

Now it was her turn to look guilty. “They -- don’t harm me. All they do is take pictures.”

Mirage frowned. There was more to this than she was willing to let on. “I think they take more than pictures,” he said at last, getting to his feet. She watched him rise out of the corner of her eye. “C’mon.” Reaching down, he grabbed her hand and delicately hauled her to her feet. “There’s a show on tonight.” He grinned broadly, hoping to elicit some sort of response from her.

Somewhere in the mass of dark hair that framed her face, whipped up by the force of his pull, she smiled. “Then let’s not miss it.” A whooping laugh burst forth as Mirage leaned down and swung her up high to settle on his left shoulder; breaking into a jog, he headed up the hill.

“What is this? Tell me now, Mirage!” Red Alert shook the large-print newspaper in the spy’s face for emphasis. “Why are you and a human female on the front page of the paper!? Do you realize what a security breach this is?”

Mirage hunched his shoulders and tried to look intensely interested in the lines of data scrolling by. Red Alert waving the paper right in front of his optics didn’t help any. “No,” he drolled, “do enlighten me.”

Predictably, Red huffed. “Listen up, mister smarty-spy-pants, we don’t need this kind of … of … publicity!” For good measure, the security director shook the paper again. “And in case you didn’t read, a human photographer is claiming that you tried to kill him. DID YOU?”

Mirage punched a few buttons. “I didn’t do anything of the sort. He was spying on us so I shot the camera out of his hand.”

If anyone could work themselves into a frenzy, it was Red Alert; he was practically dancing on the spot, fuming, when Optimus Prime walked onto the bridge. “Optimus! Have you seen --?”

Prime waved at Red, silently urging him to calm down. “Yes, Red, I have seen. Mirage, what is your explanation for all this?”

Spinning his chair around, the spy crossed one leg over his other knee. “As I was telling Red Alert, Prime, I was being spied upon. I didn’t take a fancy to being photographed with primitive human devices without my consent, so I destroyed his camera.”

Optimus locked his hands behind his back and leaned forward slightly. “I see. Although I don’t approve of the human’s actions, neither do I approve of yours, Mirage. You shouldn’t have shot at him.”

Before Mirage could reply, Red started waving the paper again. “And this human, Optimus -- the very same human I tried to stop Hound from bringing in months ago! I told him she was a liability, but he ignored me. And look what happened as a result!”

Sighing behind his mask, Optimus reached for the newspaper and plucked it from Red’s fervent grasp. He studied it a moment, before turning to Mirage. “You said you shot his camera. Then how did this come about?” He folded the paper over to display the front page, with a black and white photograph of the spy with Alina perched on his shoulder. In giant, boldfaced letters, the headline read: “ ‘PEACEFUL’ AUTOBOT FIRES ON PHOTOGRAPHER”.

Mirage studied the picture, noting the angle of the shot. “Another cameraman?” he suggested, handing the paper back to the Autobot commander.

“Indeed,” Prime conceded. “Still, Mirage, the fact remains that you shot at an unarmed, harmless human.”

The spy’s optics flicked back and forth between Prime and Red Alert. “I don’t deny it.” Commander and Security Director looked at each other, but before the former could move his battlemask to speak, the bridge bay doors burst open to admit a raucous Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Sunstreaker was waving an identical copy of the newspaper.

“Mir-age! Got a girlfriend and didn’t tell us?” Sunstreaker let loose a massive belly-laugh -- and spluttered off into a raging fit of coughing when he noticed Optimus standing there. “Whoops! Tell us the dirty details later, you sly spy!” The twins did a quick 180-degree turn and bounded out the way they’d come in.

Optimus didn‘t even give them the benefit of a glance. “Mirage, I’m putting you on punishment detail for two weeks. During that time, you are neither to see nor contact this human woman. You will report to Prowl first thing in the morning. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he replied dutifully.

Sunstreaker jostled him in line for their nightly Energon. “So, Mirage. Gallivanting about with the little human Hound brought. Who’d’ve thought, Sides,” he said over his shoulder to his twin. “Loner Mirage. Got a sweetie.”

Right now, Mirage was wishing he still hadn’t put his shoulder cannon away, so he could stuff a missile down Sunstreaker’s piehole.

Sunstreaker carried on, blissfully aware that Mirage wasn’t replying on purpose. “I heard you got punishment detail for two weeks because you blew up a human’s camera. Gee, didn’t know you had a temper!”

“Shove it, Sunstreaker,” Brawn growled, knocking him in the elbow as he made his way past.

Immediately, the good humor fell from the yellow Lamborghini’s face. Clenching his fist, he rounded on the stocky Minibot. “Why you --!”

Sideswipe grabbed his twin by the shoulder. “Ease off, bro,” he whispered. Shaking himself free, Sunstreaker snorted and barreled his way up to the front so he could drink in peace.

As quickly and as efficiently as he could, Mirage collected his drink and made for the furthest corner of the rec room. He sat in silence, staring at the cup and the pink energy that swirled around in it. A chair scraped backwards and Hound plunked himself at the table. “I thought something was going on,” he began softly, sipping at his drink. “You’d become far too … happy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mirage looked up, blue optics hooded under his headgear. “A mech has to have his private secrets.”

Hound grunted. “I won’t begrudge you those, but gee, Mirage -- Alina?”

The spy was quiet a moment. He could tell by the way Hound was speaking that he was jealous, perhaps upset, that Mirage had taken over his time with the woman. The two of them had hit it off pretty good. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.

Hound sighed. “Nevermind. There’s plenty of humans out there.” A smile flittered across his grey face. “Besides, she seems to have done a world of good for you. I haven’t heard you complain about going back to Cybertron in months.”

Mirage supposed that he’d let the conversation about Hound and Alina die. Every mech had a right to his secrets of course. “Probably because I’ve exhausted myself with that topic,” he replied, quirking a grin. “She milked me good with questions. Never thought I’d grow tired talking about home.”

“Humans surely have a lot to teach us. Even after all this time.”

“Indeed.” The spy simply smiled and lifted his mug; Hound tilted his head in query, then grinned back, clinking his mug with Mirage.

Megatron tapped the arm of his throne with swift black digits. In the other hand he held a ratted copy of yesterday’s newspaper. “Soundwave. Find the coordinates of one human, Alina Michaels, and have Ravage terminate her. It seems the Autobot spy Mirage has developed a fondness for the flesh creature.”

“Of course, Megatron.”

Ravage sat in the shadows, watching as the Autobot Hound pulled up to the library. The human Spike got out first, followed by his target, the female Alina. The panther-bot kept low, making sure that Hound didn’t follow them into the building. When it became clear that all Hound was going to do was sit outside and idle, Ravage made his move. Bunching powerful hydraulic hindquarters, the panther leapt straight up into the air, crashing through a window.

The screams started almost immediately as he landed, spraying glass everywhere. Swiftly, for it would not take long for the Autobot to be alerted to his presence, Ravage wound his way through the library, knocking shelves and people out of his path. He knew the human Spike’s scent; Ravage’s sense of smell was sharper than any organic creature on this mudball and he followed it unerringly into the computer lab. It was a pity his orders only included destroying the female; the panther would have liked nothing more than to terminate the male, who had caused him so much trouble in the past. Another time, he thought with a mental smile.

Spike saw him coming. “Alina! Get back!” he cried, shoving his chair out from under him, spinning it so that he held it up in his hands like he was warding off a circus lion. “Get Hound!”

Ravage hissed, snapping his jaws at the wooden chair. Spike jabbed it at him, only to see it crunched into splinters. With a menacing growl, he leapt once again into the air, over Spike’s head, to make contact with the ceiling. Powerful paws smashed through the ceiling, bringing large chunks of material down on the people below. Landing on the other side, Ravage paused, his fangs bared in a feline smile of satisfaction. He turned to leave, thought a moment, and then fired one of his hip-rockets into the melee. Powered by the resulting explosion, the panther bounded down the hall, snapping at Hound’s shins as the Autobot scout stumbled into the building. Once out into the open, he was gone, a shadow weaving in amongst the tall structures that surrounded him.

Hound crashed through what remained of the wall, optics frantically searching. Humans crowded around him, some bleeding, some broken, many both. He herded them out the best that he could, still looking for Spike and Alina. Sparkplug would kill him, Mirage would dismember him and hang him on his wall like that deactivated turbofox carcass he had, if he let either of them die.

“Hound to Autobot Headquarters,” he said into his comm unit, waving a hand in front of his face as the miasma of dust and debris threatened to clog his ventilators.

Mirage was halfway in the barrel of one of the Ark’s main defense cannons when Prowl came barreling up. Banging on the muzzle of the cannon, he hauled Mirage out by the heel. “Get down!” Prime’s second-in-command ordered, his optics wide with uncharacteristic panic.

“Wha-what?” Mirage stumbled backwards, wiping his forearm across his headgear, smearing oil. “What’s going on, Prowl?”

Prowl nearly frog-marched the spy down the path, his words coming fast. “There was an attack at the library. Spike and that girl you know are trapped in there. Prime wants us all down there immediately.”

The mechfluid in Mirage’s pumps nearly froze; his cortex seized and he stumbled, almost causing he and Prowl to tumble head-first down the hill. A split second later, he was racing down the mountainside, transforming on the fly and landing with the pack as they raced out of the Ark’s main bay.

Prime wasted no time in delegating duty. He put Brawn and Sideswipe to work immediately, using their incredible strength and piledrivers to clear the worst debris. The Autobot leader surveyed the scene: if Ravage was anything, he was precise. The worst of the damage was concentrated around the hole in the ceiling; some humans had been trapped under the fallen bookshelves, which Windcharger, Ironhide, and Bumblebee were quickly lifting. Tracks, Trailbreaker, Smokescreen, and Sunstreaker combed the inside, searching under tables, in other rooms, for stragglers. Optimus sighed; this was the part he hated the most about war -- the senseless destruction of innocent lives.

“Spike! Here, take my hand!”

Optimus’ head turned at Brawn’s shout. Quickly, he wove his way about the piles of cleared wood and sheetrock to stand at the Minibot’s side as Spike was hauled clear. The human boy was bruised and bleeding from a large cut on his brow, but otherwise looked fine. “Alina -- she’s still in there, Prime!” he cried out, shaking as Brawn set him on the floor. Optimus knelt on one knee, drawing Spike close to his leg.

“We’ll get her out, Spike, I promise.”

Trembling, Spike nodded. Suddenly, he looked up, seeing Mirage standing in the doorway. “Mirage! I’m sorry --!”

The Autobot spy just stood there, slack-jawed, as Sideswipe’s piledrivers ceased and he pulled out the limp form of a human woman. “Mirage --” the red Lamborghini began, looking down at her crushed body, then back up at the spy.

Optimus stood up, walking over to the blue-white mech and gently guiding him out the door. “Go, stand sentry outside. GO,” he ordered gently, giving him a push in the back. Shell-shocked, Mirage wandered out … and kept on going, rifle in hand. Ravage would pay dearly.

Sideswipe cradled Alina’s body gently in his massive arms, blue optics wide. “What -- what do we do now, Optimus?”

Spike was in tears. “It’s my fault, Optimus Prime -- I should have protected her better.”

Optimus shook his head slowly, reaching out to touch Alina’s broken arm. “It is no one’s fault, Spike,” he said quietly. But on the inside, it was a different story. He saw Spike lying there in Sideswipe’s arms, Sparkplug, Carly, Chip. He saw all the humans the Autobots had made friends with, had worked with. The great Transformer’s fists clenched at his sides, sparks of energy shooting out, licking across his knuckles. “Somebody get Ratchet -- now! We’re taking her to the hospital!”

Red Alert came pounding up, optics wide in horror. “It’s my fault, Optimus -- had I not been so stupid --”

“Enough,” Prime rumbled, more forcefully than he meant to. “I told Spike that it was no one’s fault, Red Alert, and I mean it. Provide escort for Ratchet. Prowl too.”

As he turned, Optimus felt Spike’s hand on his lower leg. “What if we take her to the Ark, Optimus? Use that device Wheeljack and Ratchet used on me when I was injured?”

“She needs a human hospital right now, Spike,” he replied, watching Sideswipe exit with Alina dangling from his arms. “We can’t afford to waste time on unpredictable measures.”

“We have to try, Optimus. We have to!” Fresh tears flowed down the boy’s face, streaming down his cheeks, carrying more blood with them.

Reason tugged at Prime’s logic circuits, drawing him in two directions. On one hand, the boy was right -- the Autobot’s repair bay had more sophisticated equipment than the humans could ever imagine having right now. On the other, Ratchet was only set up for fixing mechanical bodies, not ones of flesh and blood. Yet … he had taken time to study human medicine in his spare time, just in case something happened. Optimus sighed, torn. Finally, he lifted his wrist. “Prowl, Ratchet, Red Alert, head for the Ark. We’re going to try the mind transfer we used on Spike.”

Silence met his decision. Then Ratchet spluttered back, “Are you insane? She’s broken in ten places, bleeding in twenty more --”

“Do it, Ratchet.”

“FINE.”

Optimus pulled Jazz aside as he passed. “Is everything clear?”

Normally-energetic Jazz was subdued. “Aye, Prime. The human authorities have arrived and they’re taking over. What do you want us to do now?”

Laying a hand on Jazz’s shoulder, Optimus felt heavy, so heavy -- and old. “We go home, Jazz. And hope.”