[center][img]https://toppng.com/public/uploads/preview/transformers-logos-11530959978qjkhsuv0kj.png[/img][/center]

[color=ed1c24][b][right]Witwicky Ranch, Colorado
Evening
[/right][/b][/color][hr]

The scent of expended energon rose up from the smoking barrels of Bumblebee's stingers, and the surviving townspeople had been driven away. He stood sentinel before the Witwicky house, towering above the old wooden structure; his frame rose and fell in a slow, methodical fashion as heat dispersed from his form. The Cybertronian scout watched for several moments as the tiny humans scattered into the fields, their panicked cries dying out as they gained considerable distance from the ranch in record time. 

All about the yard lay piles of ash and molten organic matter with nothing that could be readily identified as human remains surviving the encounter. Energon-based weaponry was disturbingly effective against organics, Bee quietly noted. It wasn't until silence reigned over the farm that he stored his blasters in his sides, the guns disappearing up into his body so that they might recharge. The machine knelt to the ground, his shoulders sinking and his arms collapsing into themselves, continually folding and changing until the fifteen foot tall giant had compacted into a tiny, old-fashioned car. That ancient little bug drove itself up toward the ranch house's window, peaking inside to get some look at his human companions.

Daniel Witwicky had his son, Steven, laying atop the dining room table, the previous contents spilled haphazardly onto the floor. His old, gnarled hands were hidden underneath rubber gloves stained in his son's blood. The boy was howling like a banshee, but his father was yelling at him to stay still, and poking at his interior with some kind of tool. Bumblebee had seen something like it before, back on Cybertron. He'd seen the faces of old, grizzled surgeons as they tried to convince some poor wounded soldier to stay online just a little longer.

Bee grimaced at the memories, and at the ache in his spark as Rachet's face flashed before his mind. Bee remembered what it was like to be where Steven was. He didn't envy it.

Nearly half an hour passed before anything changed. Steven had stopped his screaming, and Daniel's shoulders had sunken with exhaustion. The old man slunk out the front door and cast his heavy eyes toward Bumblebee. He was quiet for a time. Not but an hour earlier, life had been...normal. He could never have expected everything to sour so suddenly. Witwicky sighed and shook his head, tossing the pair of ruined gloves down onto the porch. "Alright, Bee. You remember the drill?" The former marine asked.

Bumblebee responded with a serious of high-pitched beeps and whistles before turning about and heading toward the barn. Daniel, meanwhile, started back inside, glancing down at the watch on his forearm. They had around fifteen minutes before Steven would be aware enough for travel. Fifteen minutes to prepare all of the bug-out equipment, get the mini-cons in the air and ensure every scrap of information on Daniel, his son, and his wife was destroyed. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of leaving his life behind, but...

[i]'It wouldn't be the first time.'[/i] He thought glumly.