I do not own Transformers, only my OC.

Quick note: This story is a sequel to "Unforeseen." You do not have to read the prequel to understand this story but it would certainly help.

To new readers, welcome. To those who have followed me since "Unforeseen," welcome back!

Prepare yourself for a whirlwind adventure starting...

Chapter 1

In a world where the tree's reached for the sky and cities stretched ever further, in a place where the colors were lively and air fresh and crisp, where birds sang merrily and the waters were a brilliant blue; there was something festering, something dark. I couldn't see it. Couldn't hear or smell it, but I knew it was there. I could feel it.

And it threatened to consume me.

The once still air picked up and tossed my hair about. Not even my frigid hands could contain the mass and prevent it from scratching at my eyes. Where was a hair clip when I needed one? For that matter, where was I? There was something vaguely familiar about this place. I had seen a few forests in my life but none quite like this and never from such a high angle, which brought up a very interesting question.

Why was I flying?

Humans shouldn't be capable of such a feat…

Then it came, a deep rumbling noise that bore into my very heart. The sky twisted into a sickening swirl of red and green. Electricity burst through the clouds. The ground quaked ferociously below. Rivers rose. Mountains sank. Cities collapsed.

And I hurtled towards the ground.


I shot up. The world shook violently beneath me. Screws rolled off the desk, books cascaded off their shelves and, worst of all, shouting filled the air.

As quickly as it had started however, it ended.

"What in the blazes?" My heart raced with the fury of frightened mouse, yet a puzzling sense of exhilaration played at the fringes.

The dream, I sighed. It had plagued my mind for some time now. Each occurrence was different than the last, but they all shared two things in common: the forest and my catapulting out of bed, or in this case, my chair.

I let out a yawn and rubbed my face. I hadn't the slightest idea as to why my mind waged war on itself. In fact there was only one thing I knew for sure right now - I had not caused the real life rumble.

"Melry," a masculine voice shouted from somewhere outside the room.

Something had gone wrong and I had a feeling the tickling at my heart had something to do with it.

"Melry Lennox," the voice called again.

"One minute," I shouted.

Where were my glasses? The desk before me was littered with blurry piles and my glasses were somewhere among them.


Nuts, bolts, plates and other miscellaneous building supplies were jostled from their piles as my hands searched for their prey. It was hard to believe my vision had come to this. Once upon a time I'd been graced with perfect vision, but a near fatal bout with a rare poison known as energon had left me with small fraction of what I'd once taken for granted.

"Melry, now!"

Damn those thin frames! I swear they sprouted legs when I wasn't looking.

Electrical wires met their container, as did a handful of screws, half of which hit the floor. Tools landed into another container on the ground and – there they were, next to the box. Should have known.


For the love of - "Coming!" I grabbed the frames and hurried for the door.

The main hanger was in a state of hustle and bustle. Soldiers clad in black uniforms scurried about below on the main level. It seemed just about everyone was on the move, everyone that is except for one man. He stared up at me as I came to the railing.

"About time," he said with annoyance, though the tone didn't seem to be directly related to me. "Can you lend us a hand?"

"What with?"

His thumb jabbed towards the west wing.

My legs nearly gave out. How in the hell had I missed that! "Did a bomb go off?"

Thick, black smoke was billowing out of the science wing.

"Close enough," the man responded. His dark hair nearly blended with his uniform and would have rendering his olive complexion an almost ghostly appearance in the dead of night. Here, in the brightly lit military facility however, he was as visible as the brilliant red sports car behind him. "Think you can convince you-know-who to vacate?"

I let out a deep sigh. "On it." I should have known my boyfriend was involved. He almost always was.

"Thank you," the man gave the thumbs up and headed off. My poor Uncle was overworked.

Colonel William Lennox, as most knew him, functioned as both commanding officer and liaison for NEST, a special ops team formed by the government some nine years ago. His greatest attempts to control the division's operations however often led to snide remarks from the Director of National Intelligence, despite the praise it earned from just about everyone else. What did she expect him to do? Ignore the lives of the people they had sworn to protect? NEST was a secret army, fighting a secret war against an enemy who had no desire to keep secrets. The Decepticons, as they called themselves, would destroy an entire city if given the chance and sometimes NEST's operations were seen by the public in order to prevent a massacre.

The wonderful Director was too vain to acknowledge this fact however, leading me to believe she caused trouble simply to validate her own existence. After all, it was no secret that the most vital members of the team, the Autobots, had more years of experience under their belts than she had been alive.

She'll have a fit about this too when she hears, I thought.

My steps resonated on the metal stairs as I descended. The hanger, despite its name, did not actually hold aircrafts. It held vehicles and the three motor bikes I passed on the main level were just the beginning. On a normal, uneventful day this place could be a little interesting.

I had to remind myself I had known of NEST for four years. It didn't feel like it. Then again, I had spent the better portion of my first year sleeping thanks to energon poisoning. What had started out as an unwanted move from home, forced upon me in the wake of tragedy, had turned into a whirlwind of discoveries and near death scenarios that had changed my life.

And the way I looked at things.

The Autobots were truly a special group of people. I was glad I had been given the opportunity to know them.

"Quit complaining," a deep baritone voice bellowed from within the west wing. "None of you were injured."

I rolled my eyes.

The events of four years ago had also led to the introduction of my long term boyfriend, who, in his own right, was a troublemaker. He might have saved my life with a unique donation but sometimes I wanted to kick him. Sadly, as I entered through the once polished doors now teetering on their hinges, I was reminded why such a blow would only result in my own foot being broken.

Standing more than twenty feel tall, with a body made entirely of metal, Ironhide was a force to be reckoned with, and if any dared question that fact, he had two massive cannons integrated into his forearms. He needed only a second to draw them.

"What a mess," I breathed. The lab was a complete disaster!

"Everything's under control," Ironhide shooed several soldiers away with his foot.

What part of the gaping hole in the wall spoke of control? Had there not been several feet of material in the laboratory's framework pedestrians would have been staring in with horror. The partially melted desk and blackened walls didn't help matters either.

"I'd say that was a success," Que, another large alien robotic creature, said cheerfully. He used an oversized fire extinguished to put out what remained of the smolder.

"Save for the faulty trigger," Ironhide chuckled.

"That's easily remedied once it's reconstructed," Que replied.

My lips pulled in disapproval. "Doesn't needing to rebuild it mean the experiment was a failure?"

Both Autobots turned their attention upon me. "Hardly," Que beamed. He might have been shorter than Ironhide, but he still towered high above me. "The weapon needed dismantling anyway. This saves a few steps."

I shook my head in defeat. I had long come to realize that Autobot scientists were crazy.

Ironhide fell into a crouch and held out a hand. "It will give us an advantage on the battlefield when completed."

"Well right now it's a disadvantage for the budget." I climbed into his palm.

"A small price to pay when it comes to saving lives."

"You mean a small price to pay so you can have a bigger gun."

He grinned.

Knew it, I thought.

Ironhide was a weapon specialist, a title bestowed upon him for his vast knowledge and experience with a wide array of weaponry. From guns to cannons, bombs and death rays (as I called them), he knew how to blow a person from here to Kingdom Come, a thousand times over. In fact both of his signature weapons were capable of causing serious damage - an energy cannon on one arm, and a plasma cannon with a Gatling gun mount on the other. They severed him well, much like his black and silver alloy during nightly missions.

"How big was the gun?" I asked.

Ironhide shrugged.

"How big?" I asked again, stressing each word.

"Twice as long as my cannon. And much more powerful."

I couldn't help but laugh. His cannons were already huge! They nearly dwarfed his forearms. "Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked. "Like, are you trying to compensate for something?"

The world suddenly turned upside down. "Do you need help Que or can I teach this punk a lesson?"

Blood rushed to face. There was no escape. I was lodged between his fingers and one fell move would have me crushed, but it also meant I could not slip and fall to the ground.

"Don't be too hard on her," Que warned. "You know how Ratchet is."

I giggled. Ironhide grunted.

In one swift motion, mastered from years of use, I came to stand up on the crest of his helm. Ironhide's structure rendered his shoulders an impractical place to sit, what with the steep inward angles. And being carried in hand was an inconvenience for someone who actively used them. It was for that reason Ironhide had trained himself to use limited head motions when I was around, an action which, surprisingly, helped him on the battlefield. He listened more and his aim had improved because of it.

He often joked I was his most demanding teacher.

Once I had settled into a comfortable position I patted his head, a cue that let him know I was ready. His large strides carried us quickly from the lab. All in all the motions were like riding a horse, not that I would admit that to him. He'd taken great offence when Uncle Will signed me up for horseback lessons a few years ago.

He still held great distain for the poor beast.

"So what's my lesson for the day?" I asked jokingly.

A brilliant swirling blue light appeared before me.

"Oh," I stared down the barrel of an oversized plasma cannon, "The over compensating methods of an Autobot weapon specialist."

A puff of hot, static filled air hit my face and sent my hair flying. My features scrunched and I fanned my nose free of the fumes. "I think you need to have that checked out. The odor isn't strong enough to kill yet."

In a flurry of moving parts the weapon vanished, recoiled back into his arm like a cowboy did to his holster. "Maybe you should have left your gym clothes in my back seat again."

"Hey, I only did that once!"

"Once was enough," his voice was filled with mock disgust. "I could have killed a Decepticon by shoving them up their nasal cavity."

"I don't know Ironhide, you could kill a 'con just by walking by them right now." I covered my nose. "You smell awful." And for someone made of metal that was an achievement. Aromas didn't saturate their alloy like they did human skin.

"Sulfur," he explained. "It's a component of the weapon we were building."

"Yuck! Good thing I'm not allergic."

"Interested in a bath?"

A snort was hindered by my hand.

"You can undress if you want."

I whacked his helm. "Not funny." How could he say that in public? The bath wasn't even private!

He laughed.

"Dirty old man."

"That'll be remedied in a few minutes."

"Ha! As if hot water could purify your mind." I leaned forward and pressed my stomach against his helm. "How many baths did you take when I was sick?"

"Once, sometime twice a day for six months," he said easily.

It might not have sounded unusual but his kin did not require regular baths. Quite the contrary, once a month was overkill unless they got into something.

Ironhide pulled the door of the decontamination chamber open. "You do intend to explain why you had panic attack a while ago, don't you?"

I groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Am I required to keep the water temperature down?"

I let out a small whine. Sometimes our unique connection was troublesome.