[DONE] Ep. 2 - Dear God, What Happened To You?! [Deuce]

[Deleted]

Set Day 2 of Week 2, sometime around sunset.

The Western Horn was a great pyramid rising into the sky, silhouetted black as the sun set in its direction. The sky was red and pink, a flier's delight — the sunny, warm weather the valley had been graced with was going to keep up. A flock of geese honked somewhere above, distant and passing as quickly as they had come. Crickets were chirping all around, the chitter of overhead bats lyrics to the oncoming night-song.

No, more like...a xylophone, I think. Or a synth.

Sarita McCoy sat on the edge of a cliff, a long bough of pine in her lap. One hand grasped a kitchen knife, crudely carving an end into a sharp tip — the other held the middle for support. Sarita had no illusions that, in such a remote and dangerous part of the wilderness, trouble was easy to find: bears, cougars, and even coyotes could be a problem. A key part of defence was offence, and she also needed the spear to hunt for food.

It wasn't like anyone was going to miss a few deer out there. Poaching was poaching, but Sarita was more concerned with keeping a giant, alcoholic, possibly-bipolar jet safe and sound. She'd never say it aloud, but part of her...questioned...Deuce's sanity — even with the trust they'd developed — and not in a funny way. There was too much evidence to the contrary to suggest that he wasn't mentally ill, or codedly-ill, or whatever Cybertronians called their version of such sicknesses.

And Deuce had proven to be a witty, humourous, and charming (if sometimes-obnoxious) mech. Despite his ego, his fits and his disappearing acts, she did not find him threatening. She still had her guard up; he wasn't as stable as Layby or Cleaver, but she didn't think he'd intentionally harm her. Between that, and the fact she owed Deuce for the kindness he showed her, she was worried about him. Even more so than Layby, because Layby stayed in one place, and he was hanging in there with Cleaver's disappearance.

Deuce, on the other hand, looked ready to die the night he'd chased down antifreeze. He came out of the experience relatively unscathed, but what if he was sicker, next time? What if he did something that made him drunk in the air, or high, and he crashed? He was a lone wolf, save for the little singer — there was nobody to watch his back if something happened to him.

Despite said worries, Sarita tried not to fuss too much when he was away. Deuce was still a giant living jet, after all, and a military model. He had been in existence for thousands of years, piloting around solar flares while drunk on antimatter, visiting more hostile places than a human could even think of. All Sarita had to tell herself, and keep telling herself, was that Deuce was going to be fine. If he came back beat up? At least she was here to help him if he needed it.

Or if she could get him to sit still. The mech had the energy of a chicken screwing a live wire, and briefly, Sarita wondered if that was how jetformers came to be. Then she had gotten out of the sun and had something to eat, because not only was that thought physically impossible, it was also really, really wrong on so many levels.

[Deleted]

As if on cue, a muffled noise rang out behind Sarita.

Earlier that morning, Deuce had taken her aside and solemnly asked her to hold on to something for him: a battered old canvas shoulder bag, the sort you might stash a camera in. He had asked her to watch it for him. It was one of the few items that his avatar carried with it, that was truly and physically real, and not a mere prop created by hard light. It was dusty and dirty and worn, as if it had seen as many miles as the jetbot himself. Somebody had doodled on it in blue ink at some point.

'Could maybe you hang on to this for me today?' he had said. 'It's not super important or anything. I just would feel better not having it stashed in my cockpit when I'm out on patrol today. There's junk in there I'd prefer not to get banged around.'

Now, that old canvas bag was quietly ringing.

It sounded like…

A cell phone?

The ringtone sounded like…

Marimba?

What the hell, man.

[Deleted]

She nearly jumped off the ledge from the sound, steadying herself before she pitched onto the gentle slope underneath her. The singer's eyes darted everywhere, and she did a 360-degree turn on the spot; marimba didn't belong out there. The ringer she had on her phone was the Crazy In Love remix from Fifty Shades of Grey. She got up slowly, knife held at the ready, her half-finished spear in one hand —

Deuce's bag was ringing. Since when did he need a cell phone? Then again, he'd used props before to make his avatar more authentic. The woman carefully made her way over to the sack, prodding it a couple of times with the butt of her unfinished weapon. It could have been a phone ringing, but she could never be too sure with aliens involved....

Stop it. You're being paranoid again.

She got down on one knee, frowning as the phone kept ringing. It was Deuce's phone, and she had no right to rifle through his things. If he was in trouble, he'd directly call the special cell he'd given her. She made a mental note to let him know his phone was ringing, but was hesitant to turn away, unsure if she should. He might not have been able to call her on her regular line, so there was a chance he was trying the other phone instead.

"I'll wait for it to ring again," the singer said aloud. Saying things instead of thinking them helped jar her out of any sudden, unnecessary action — it let Sarita listen to how stupid she sounded. She sat down again, turning away from the bag to again work on the spear, one ear perked for more marimba notes.

[Deleted]

The hidden phone gave a few more shrill rings before falling silent. Probably went to voice mail.

The warm evening silence wrapped around Sarita. A few mosquitoes buzzed past her ears and began to orbit the top of her head.

There was a chime from the bag. Someone had left a voice mail, all right. Or was it a text?

Less than a minute later, the phone began to insistently ring again.

[Deleted]

The mosquitoes were promptly swat at, Sarita managing to smash one against the arm of her t-shirt. Instead of her usual, Bohemian reds, she was sporting a pair of hardy jeans and a grey t-shirt. Skirts and blouses were pretty, but not useful out here — her fancier clothes were better suited for performances and events. Now that money was coming more often than not, she could afford to splurge a little, and not risk being nabbed for a gratuitous shoplifting spree.

The phone began to ring again. She turned towards the canvas bag, reaching but suddenly stopping halfway there. No, no, there was no need to answer, no need to check for what it was; Deuce trusted her. She wasn't about to mess with that trust, or at least, not knowingly. The singer had her cell, Deuce had a number specifically for her, and that was that. The piercing sound still going off behind her, Sarita turned away from the bag, settling down to work at her spear a little harder.

Another text chime. Another few shavings taken off her spearhead. Her eyes focused down and on her project, attempting to bring about some form of tunnel vision. He had her number, he had her number...but she'd never heard a cell phone with or around him. In times further past, people had left their cells with her, telling her to check in case there was an emergency. "We might call our spare if something's wrong," they had said, "so keep an ear out. Don't answer it, but check if it's a number you know, and if you do, then take the call. We might have forgotten your number or can't get you the usual way."

And...his radio sometimes was a bit too crackly, to the point she had to shout for him to hear her....

The marimba music went off again. Nearby, something in a cluster of bushes yipped and scrambled off; Sarita nearly jumped off the small ledge again. Wide-eyed, it took a moment for her to stop staring dumbly at the foliage, turning her attention to the bag. Screw it, it's making too much noise anyways, she thought, reaching for Deuce's belongings. Very carefully, she undid the straps that held the satchel together; even with the fading light, she dared not peek inside, for fear she'd spot something too personal. A hand blindly reached in, the singer trying to navigate by ear to something vaguely phone-shaped. She prayed — a very rare thing for her to do — that she would not break any of Deuce's things; she moved with the utmost care, fingers working slowly downwards.

[Deleted]

The old bag was pretty empty.

Sarita would feel a skinny leather wallet inside, alongside something bumpy and hard plastic, perhaps the size of her hand. Felt like a little radio maybe. Deuce did love electronic gadgets. There was also some wadded cloth, a few bits of paper, and a small ring of keys. A bit of loose change jangled about the bottom.

And then - a phone-shaped object!

If she pulled it out she would see it was an iPhone in a slim black folio case. It vibrated furiously as it rang.

[Deleted]

Sarita withdrew the phone like she had touched a hot iron. The satchel was cradled in one arm, but the way she was so carefully, so firmly grasping onto it, one might think she was holding a newborn baby. Very, very slowly, she lowered it to the ground at her feet, also dropping the spear that had been held by that arm's hand. Her other gripped the iPhone with force bordering on overkill.

Slowly, Sarita brought the phone up to view it. Delicately, she began to pull the casing off — Oh, shit. Wasn't there an activation screen she had to unlock? Some sort of pattern with fingers, or a password? Hell, Deuce could have jailbroken it, and put in a custom security system that would zap her if she tried to crack it.

First thing first: let's see who called and texted....

She looked at the screen, holding it towards the face of the setting sun if the brightness wasn't high enough. Maybe it would match the number that came up whenever Deuce called her.

[Deleted]

Surprisingly, the phone was activated with a swish of her finger. Deuce had evidently been too lazy to put in a password. Or perhaps his avatar simply did not have any fingerprints? The new iPhones were thumbprint locked now.

Who knows!

The phone unlocked. Right away she was greeted with rows of the usual Apple apps. The wallpaper was simply a black screen with big red words outlined in yellow that said: DON'T PANIC.

The Phone app registered two recent calls from an unknown number. The Messages app indicated there were 4 waiting texts. They were from a sender named 'Marco'. In order, they read:

Today 9:18 PM
PICK UP YOUR PHONE

IM SERIOUS PICK UP YOU PHONE

+YOUR

DAMN IT I H8 TEXTING ANSWER YOUR PHONE

As if on cue, the phone rang.

[Deleted]

"Marco?" Who the hell is Marco?

A less paranoid, less temporarily-brainless person would have shrugged and put the phone back; Sarita's mind went into a tailspin of "what-ifs". There were a few options she could consider at this point.

1) Deuce had another human contact. He (most likely a he) probably didn't know he was a giant robot, with how secretive he could be. Or, this Marco fellow did know, and suddenly Sarita was sincerely hoping Deuce hadn't been talking about her behind her back. The thought of two guys talking about her — including one who had been getting to know her and gave her odd looks from time to time — gave her a sketchy feeling. The back of her neck felt itchy.

2) Deuce had another Cybertronian contact. This seemed less likely, as Cybertronians had a unique naming pattern — they often had English, technology- or nature-based translations of their Neocybex names. Layby, Dart, Cleaver, Deuce...none of those were anything the average American might call their child. There was a reason Sarita referred to Layby as "Mr. Lays" in public conversation.

3) Deuce had a job he had to get back to, and this was his boss. From the looks of it, said boss was pissed (or at least annoyed), and could also under either of the former options. The money the jetformer gave her had to come from somewhere —

As if on cue, the phone rang.

She was more nerved up than she thought. When the shrill marimba music came back, Sarita's hand jerked, and her grip loosened. The iPhone was dropped as if it sprouted fangs, only to be caught again by fumbling, anxious fingers before it hit the ground. The singer succeeded in catching the slick smartphone —

And hit the answer option with a mis-tap of the thumb.

"Shit!"

[Deleted]

The cell phone's tiny speaker erupted in yelling.

"OH SHIT IS RIGHT, MY FRIEND," it roared.

A man's angry voice echoed through the evening calm. Moths attracted to the glow of the screen fled in all directions. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO?! DON'T THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE THE STUNT YOU PULLED, CHIEF! IT WRECKED ONE OF MY RADIOS! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THOSE THINGS COST OR HOW MANY NUTBALLS I HAD TO NEGOTIATE WITH TO FIND THAT SPECIFIC UNIT? A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT, BUCKAROO! AND THEN I FIND OUT YOU SHUT OFF THE SAFETIES?! GOD DAMN IT! YOU ARE NOT A WELL PERSON! I'M GONNA TRACK YOU DOWN SON, AND WHEN I DO I AM GONNA PULL OFF THAT STUPID HAT OF YOURS AND JAM IT UP YOUR-"

The voice fell silent. There was a long pause. The moths hesitantly fluttered back.

"Wait a minute," said the man. He was suspicious now. "You don't sound like Lenny. Who is this…?"

[Deleted]

The voice was like a snarl ripping from the abyss beyond the speaker. Sarita flinched back, nearly holding the phone at arm's length, wincing at the volume. Despite the howling rage that flew into her ears like angry birds, she was still able to make out that a) Deuce had done something stupid, b) that his stupid mistake might cost a lot of money for him, and c) that this fellow at the end of the line was threatening her jet.

He was threatening her jet.

He was threatening her jet.

As soon as the man's tone turned suspicious, Sarita brought the phone to her right ear, glaring at the space where the moths had been. The look on her face matched the fury that had been levelled at her through the phone. A cover story was already on her lips, filtered out from a dozen or so scenarios she had run with before.

"This is his girlfriend, motherfucker. And if you don't tell me what the hell is going on right now, I will hang both of you upside-down, from a tree, rip off your dicks, stuff them in your mouths, skin you alive like I'm a motherfucking Bolton, and then tear out your hearts while you still have energy left to scream."

She gave a few moments for the excuse/death threat to sink in. Hopefully he'd get the point of not yelling at Deuce the next time they talked. She'd handle the jet's inevitable questions later, switching from icy-cold venom to sweet, "leetle love cockroach" friendliness.

"With that in mind, what did you need my Len-Len for, sir?"

[Deleted]

The man hooted.

"Don't be stupid, kiddo," he said. "His girlfriend is a space robot from Maaaars, or Venus, or wherever the hell they make giant space robot girls who spook at plastic bags caught on fences and sniff you inappropriately, which is apparently his turn-on. I don't know the details of space robot girl origins! I only harass NASA about these things after major launches, and we all know how many of THOSE have happened within the past decade, thank YOU idiotic American extravagant wartime budgeting."

He snorted.

"Anyway, enough of that. Don't threaten me, kiddo, I poop scarier stuff than you into my latrine out back. That's what a diet of waffles and coffee will do to you! Obey the food pyramid, children. The USDA overlords will not steer you wrong. Now seriously, where is Lenny? I have a psychological profile full of red ink and a mouth full of yelling to lay on him."

[Deleted]

He knew about Cybertronians. He knew about Dart. She was wobbling back-and-forth on whether or no he knew Deuce was one, but she had to assume he didn't, until she got more proof. For now, she had to play dumb, and then try and figure out how the hell she was going to explain this mess to her friend.

"What do you mean 'robot space girls'?!" Sarita hollered back, tone an infuriated fluster. "And I don't know where Len-Len is! Hell, I never know where he is!! All this time and effort I put into our relationship, and what do I get?! A few cheap nicknames and a lot of cold dates, that's what! Are you some sort of side-dude thing he's got going on?! Don't you dare call me kiddo, I am twenty-seven years old, I am a woman in my prime! You want scary, you come and try to touch me, I will have your head on a silver platter and mailed out to sea! Where is Len-Len?!!"

There. Hint of psycho girlfriend, mostly hormonal bitch, about two years tacked on to my real age.... But he doesn't need to know that. He sounds crazy, but hopefully he'll have an "oh, shit" moment and think he's really talking to some jilted ex-girlfriend.... God, I'm going to have so much explaining to do after this! This sucks. Why did I even pick up this phone, dear God??

To top it all off, she added a very shrill, "ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!"

[Deleted]

The man just laughed.

"Don't try to bluff me, kiddo!" he said. "I know exactly who you are now. Sarita McCoy, born June fifteenth, a former music student turned busker, currently playing the gee-tar in gigs throughout the Nevada area! Lemme see here…"

The sound of paper flipping echoed over the phone.

"Kind of a shortpants, adoptive parents had a coffee shop, were fairly well off, loving home, blah blah blah, high school graduate, yadda yadda, parents lost money in 2008, debt, debt, debt, and now you live in your car! Congratulations! Of course I can't get too sarcastic about that, seeing as I live in a shack, but watch me go anyway! Did I miss anything? Sure I did! Lots of things! But I've got 'em all down here on paper! I got lots of things written down here on paper! The radios talk to me, and so do the space coyotes after I go on my spirit journeys! Mm mm, cactus juice!"

He sobered. "And for the record, I am forty-eight years old, and ornery, and loaded with piss and vinegar, and two hours ago I was only loaded with vinegar! So don’t try to out-rage me, I'll win every time. Unlike the orphans, who are waiting to be baked into pies. So once again I ask you: where. Is. Lenny!"

[Deleted]

Sarita just...stared. Stared ahead at the moths, at the emptiness of the air off the cliff, at the nearly-darkened sun and the mountains shadowed in front. Her face was expressionless, her lips a flat line, and there were several minutes of silence on her end. A couple of bats flew overhead, diving as mosquitoes that were still trying to bite her.

Deuce had probably talked. Of course she was friends with the crazy ones, of fucking course. How could she expect him to not have friends, or anyone else to talk to? He probably had told this man all her secrets, and she had been foolish enough to open up to the jet in the first place. Sarita had leaned too far into his shoulder, been a bit too hopeful and naive, even though she had already gone through such a thing before.

And now, she had just finished trying to out-crazy, out-threaten, and throw off a complete stranger, who probably babbled on insanely to try and throw people off. There was thorough information on his end, enough to back up his threats with; how hard would it be for him to make Sarita disappear? People in "Marco's" situation usually had other contacts they could use for disposal.

The fire gone out of her, she simply said, "I don't know. He broke a radio, right?"