Chapter Text
Conversation with Black and White Entity or Entity Two
"It's a pleasure to meet you- Jazz, you said?"
Mhmm, Bee said your name was Marcus Brown?
"Yup, that's me, but you can just call me Marcus."
Marcus then.
"Yes sir."
There’s a long pause.
"I appreciate you meeting with me, Jazz. Not many of your folk are so willing."
Don't thank me. I'm not really supposed to be talking to you
"Then why are you? If I may be so blunt?"
Bee said you were different from Sector 7, and wanted to learn about us. Prime's nervous after Cliff. He thinks it's better to just stay out of the way entirely. I don't totally agree.
"Donno who Sector Seven is but yeah, my main goal is to learn about you guys."
Hmmm. Ask then.
"Pardon?"
You want to learn? Then ask questions and I'll answer to the best of my ability.
"Oh, well, why Jazz?"
What?
"Your name, Jazz, why did you pick it? That's an English word and you sure as hell ain't from ‘round here if you know what I'm saying."
No, I get it. My real name is- there’s a sound full of clicking and other mechanical noises, nothing a human could make- but it's roughest translation is 'the one who moves with grace and rhythm; lover of music', and let me tell you, when I first heard Miles Davis- Primus, I just about fell in love. It felt obvious.
"Miles Davis… hmm you heard about Sonny Rollins? Saxophonist? My first wife loved him more than she loved me and I don't blame her."
Haven't heard him, but I'll give him a listen. Sun's almost up. You're alright Marcus Brown. Just make sure you know what you're getting into. Talking to us could get messy.
Side A end.
"Notes on Black and white entity now known as 'Jazz', date 9/7/1983, time: 6:10 AM:
Jazz is definitely older. He's calm and in control of his speech. Each word sounds carefully chosen not to give anything important away.
More importantly, though, I got a sample of their language. Which means they do have one and they learned English from somewhere.
It's probable they’ve access to the internet, seeing as Jazz knows who Miller Davis is. Damn strange that a robot likes jazz music. I'm just putting that out there.
Four important things:
- Prime, it sounds like they have a leader. One Jazz is high enough ranked or has a high enough social standing to disobey. Hell, maybe it just ain't so rigid
- Sector Seven. That's the government if I've ever heard it.
But more importantly, the forest committee aren't the only ones who know about the entities.
- Cliff, another entity. No idea if I've encountered him or not, but he's been injured before.
This means these things aren't immortal. They can be hurt, or killed.
- They have a concept of Love.
Who is Prime? Is he connected to this 'primus?' How do I meet him? How can these things be hurt? What is Sector Seven?
Need to have these sessions be longer.
Side B ends.
Quinn turns off the player, carefully replacing the Jazz #1 back in its place with all the other Jazz tapes.
Marcus Brown was more than he seemed. Guess that old saying ‘never judge a book by its cover’ is turning out to be true.
Quinn never met the man face to face. He didn't care who came before him; just wanted a job away from the city.
The first Quinn had even heard the name Marcus Brown was at his job interview, but instead of the kind old man the interviewer made Marcus out to be, he was some red string, conspiracy investigator, secret tapes type.
And the tapes themselves were even more crazy , being secret tapes kept in a hidden compartment .
He was talking to them. Really talking.
They didn't feel capable of speech.
Of emotion.
There was this jarring disconnect between the voices in the tapes and The Things in the forest.
They were giant far off monsters, stalking through the trees, sending birds flying for their lives and throwing his heart into his throat.
Not someone who likes music and/or gets nervous for his troops.
Quinn looks at the big box of tapes. There had to be three dozen of them.
Maybe he should start taking notes of his own. Compile all his findings, and write a novel. Become another layer to the mystery, be the next Bram Stoker.
Mom would hate that, Dad would love it.
The sun started to really climb into the sky. The morning colors phasing out to the normal blue.
Quinn shoves some roti in his mouth before pulling up his computer. Shutting up his ‘start work’ alarm as he pulls up his inbox.
He never got the whole “thousands of emails, they never end, right?” thing that people complained about.
Then again, he had a habit of chasing off anyone who would send him emails.
Anyway.
His inbox was empty except for some spam.
He deleted it.
Just invigorating right?
The rain moves in silently and suddenly. One moment the sky was blue and clean, the next dark clouds were blotting out the sun with rain pouring down with a vengeance.
A trail of smoke raises into the air, almost invisible within the rain and gray sky.
A flare, it had to be.
“Maria, this is Quinn. There's a flare out there. I think someone's in trouble."
“Quinn, the storm will only get stronger, you'll get killed out in that rain."
“And risk someone else getting hurt? I have to go."
“Quin-”
He gathered every scrap of rain gear he could find.
The rain outside was cold and came down in sheets. Walls of it, and he could barely see five feet in front of his face, the poncho and raincoat little more than bedsheets against the rain.
He was soaked through his socks; to his bones.
Fuck.
His teeth clatter in his gums, but he can't stop.
The flare came from due west.
It was nearly impossible to see the compass face, even harder to focus on it.
Hard to focus on anything but his rapidly numbing fingers.
Mud sloshed under his boots as he trekked through the forest.
The trees shook and shuttered with the wind and rain. The storm gave them emotion. Made them angry.
His eyes trained on the ground, tripping and hurting himself wasn't an option right now.
The rain keeps pouring.
Time became fiction.
Had it been ten minutes? Or had it been thirty?
An hour?
He counted seconds in time with his breath.
In. One. Out. Two.
He could never focus past twenty. It was pointless. Like trying to run your hand through molasses.
Between the rain and the noise of it falling, the only real sense of time he had been the rate he's lost feeling in his body.
Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. It had long soaked through the rest of his clothes, the poncho, none of it meant for this kind of torrent.
The distant thought that his curls were going to look awful when he managed to get them dry echoed in a voice like his mother’s.
Words and thoughts slipped through his fingers like the rain itself.
Fingers. Hands. His hand hurt. The rain got through the plastic wrap he placed around the gauze. Moving it tore open the scab.
Blood started mingling with the rain water, turning it red. It dripped onto his pants.
Maria was right.
He shouldn’t be out here. This’ll kill him. He shouldn’t have challenged nature. No one wins that fight.
Through the rain and the earthy smell of mud, a hint of smoke peaked through.
The flare.
In a clearing, he sees a lone flare with no one else in sight.
The sound of bird cries cut through the storm.
A large metal foot slams down next to him. The earth shakes at the impact of the foot, Quinn is sent falling into the mud.
Water running down it in rivets, his reflection stares back at him in the metal, his copper complexion warped in the yellow paint.
Yellow.
Entity one.
Bumblebee.
Large blue eyes peer down at him. They almost seemed curious.
Bumblebee (It must be him, unless there was another yellow entity) moved slowly till Quinn was covered in his shadow; shielded from the rain.
He was much smaller than the one that looked through Quinn's tower. More big than gargantuan.
Little antenna-like appendages twitched on his head. It was all kind of cute if he was being honest with himself.
The growing fear in his gut started to melt. Releasing the choking knot. This big guy wasn't going to hurt him.
Hopefully.
All the parts and mechanisms whirled under his plating as he moved again.
There had to be hundreds of moving pieces.
He breathed, and warm air was released through vents along his sides.
Those camera eyes shuttered at him. Quinn sputters out,
"H-hi."
Which was more than he expected himself to get out.
"Hi!"
Bumblebee smiled at him. Or at least what felt like a smile.
hhhhhhhhhh
ok
This was real.
Nice.
He can handle this. Yeah.
Being picked up by Bumblebee was what he imagined being held by a bulldozer would be like.
Just, much, much higher. So high. Brahman help.
The thought of struggling did cross his mind, but it was quickly followed by the image of being stepped on. That line of thought probably stops.
He was held in a gently closed hand(?) as they moved, and felt incredibly like a bug caught by a small child. Oh, how the tables turn.
Very little light filters through the rain. Even in the darkness, Quinn can see small scratches and dents littering the metal beneath him.
It was warm and rough, and spoke of stories in the way old things do.
The same way his mother's sari once did. The orange one she got out for special occasions and always smelled like perfume.
Bumblebee didn’t feel like an old thing. He sounded so young on Marcus recording, but Quinn knew he was at least 20ish years old, if not more, and the way he smiled wasn't one of an adult. Just how old was Bumblebee?
Can these things even be young in the first place?
That thought was pushed to the back of his mind when his hands slowly began to gain feeling back as the warmth emanating from Bumblebee soaked into him. They tingled and slightly burned as they thawed.
Some mechanisms shift in the giant's body as he walks. The weight of each stride shifts through Quinn’s whole body.
Did someone make these guys? Who had the technical genius?
Was this whole thing some kind of weird dream, and actually he was still asleep in his shitty one-room apartment?
He really hoped not. He hoped with his whole being this was real.
Bumblebee slowed to a stop. They must be wherever Bumblebee had decided to take them. Quinn peered through the gaps in the massive fingers.
His tower was right there.
He'd taken him home.
"Uh, thanks." Quinn said with far less shake than he'd expected.
The mud sloshed as he made contact with the ground.
Bumblebee nodded his head in place of actually saying anything, then turned to leave.
With five long strides, he disappeared into the tree line.
Quinn was alone, like the whole thing had never happened. Rain poured down his face.
Getting out of his wet clothes was a challenge. They clung to his skin in all the wrong places. Blankets almost made everything better.
Almost.
He was sniffy and the tell-tale dull throb of a headache pulsed on his temple.
Checking for signs of hypothermia would be the smart thing to do, but he really can't be bothered.
Not right now. Nothing that involved moving.
"I'm fine Maria."
"Don't do anything like that again? Okay? You scared me half to death when you went out there."
"You've known me for like 4 days."
"I still care."
Quinn believed her. The resolve and concern in her voice made him want to believe her.
"Right, I'm sorry. I'm okay. I'm not blue anywhere, just hungry."
"Then eat. Did you manage to get whoever set off the flare to safety?"
It dawned on him, there was no one at the flare.
"They must have left it, because other than the flare there was no sign of life."
Maria went quiet.
"Mari-"
"I'll get back to you." Maria abruptly left the conversation.
Ok then, weird. Not like her to just stop talking.
Quinn stared down at his can of warm potato soup and shoved more in his mouth. Eating directly from the can, skipping the bowl.
He could feel it travel down his throat and settle in his stomach. Radiating warmth from the inside out.
The universe was kind.
He ate that can, and then chugged a water bottle from the cooler.
The rain still poured outside. One of the giants lumbering through the forest could be heard.
Quinn put in a tape.
Conversation Bumblebee number 2
"Good to see ya again."
Yeah! I almost wasn't able to come, had to sneak out past Prowl.
Someone laughs.
"Prowl, he, uh, he a friend?"
Sorta, he's second in command. But he's not a bad bot, just not very fun.
"Mm, second in command, like a military?"
Yeah, we're the Autobots. Anyway, do you want to hear about what Wheeljack did?
"Ah, sure, but you did say you were part of a military?"
Yeah, but that's not really important. Wheeljack managed to make a new sticky tack, so we can climb stuff, and get this, he forgot to make a way to get it off, so Wheeljack and Percy were stuck together for cycles!
There's more laughter, louder this time.
"Wheeljack is an inventor?"
Only the best! He's a good joke teller too. He let me hide from Prowl in his lab once, so he's good in my datapads.
"Right. If you're part of the military, what rank exactly are you?"
I'm a scout! A B-127 unit. Why do you care so much about us being a military force? We're not going to hurt you.
"I'm sure you're not. Just curious is all."
Ok, well the sticky stuff ended up being a fail, but Wheeljack says that science is 90% failures anyway, BUT I did get pictures of Percy stuck to Wheeljack. The– there's a bunch of clicks and words, all mushed together– the translation matrix is giving me the word twins, but I don't think that's completely right. That's okay though.
The twins were so jealous and begged me to give them a copy.
There's laughter again, softer this time.
"Mhmm, twins? They brothers?"
Sorta, but not exactly. If I know what brothers are correctly. They're two halves of the same bot, a split spark, but from what I've seen on TV they sure do act like brothers.
"Scout, are there more like you? More B-127 units?"
Yeah, once. I was good friends with them too. I think I'm gonna go back home now. Thanks for talking with me Marcus.
"Wait–"
There's a long sigh.
"Notes on Bumblebee, date: 9/14/1983, time: 6:09 PM:
I really need to ask more subtle questions. He's catchin' on. One of the most important things I’ve learned today:
They're part of a military.
There is a foreign military on US soil. Rather, It might be Earth soil. And I've learned about a spark, which could be anything from their energy source to their soul– strange language– along with limited knowledge of common things like brothers. I don't think these guys are man made. The thing that worries me, though, is that for every military there's someone they were formed in response too.
Who are they fighting, and are they a threat to humans?
That Prowl character apparently is pretty high ranked, and Bumblebee has a direct line to him.
That could be pretty useful once I get him to trust me, but I'm once again left with more questions than answers.
What else is new?"