Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"Alright, you're up," said Director Leland Silas Bishop, his voice echoing through the control room. His eyes scanned the screens displaying various parts of the island. Each flickered with a new sighting of the metal figures that had been plaguing their lives for weeks. The young agent nodded, swiping the beads of sweat from her forehead. It was her first mission with NEST, the newly formed division that had been her entire world since the unexplained events had begun.

"Affirmative," she replied, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands. She stepped into the elevator, the cold steel walls seeming to close in around her. As the doors slid shut, she took a deep breath and whispered a silent prayer. The descent into the bowels of Alcatraz Prison, now repurposed for holding the inexplicable robotic creatures, was always a nerve-wracking experience. She had seen the footage, the interviews with the distraught families who had woken up to find their loved ones replaced by these... things. The robots that claimed to be human, that had somehow assumed their identities.

The elevator jolted to a halt, and the doors slid open to reveal the gleaming corridors of the containment facility. The air was thick with tension and the faint scent of ozone. She walked down the hall, her boots clicking against the floor, passing cells filled with the unblinking gazes of the captured machines. They were human-like in their forms, yet utterly alien in their cold, unyielding metal surfaces. The first cell on her right held a robot that insisted it was once a man named Orion Pax. It sat in the corner, its head in its hands, sobbing quietly. It was disturbingly lifelike, yet utterly devoid of any human warmth.

Sari Sumdac, a researcher with a penchant for the unorthodox, observed the scene with a mix of fascination and horror. She had been brought in to study the psychological effects of the robots' integration into human society, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the creature in front of her. It claimed to have a mother and father waiting, a family it had been torn away from. The thought of such a life, trapped in a metal prison, unable to feel the sun or feel the wind on its skin, was almost too much to bear.

But there was no time for emotion in the face of the unknown. She had a job to do, and the fate of humanity might just rest on her shoulders. She approached the cell, her hand hovering over the intercom.

"Orion Pax," she called out, using the name the robot had given itself. "Can you hear me?" The robot looked up, its glowing blue eyes meeting hers. It was a strange sensation, looking into the eyes of something so... alive, yet so clearly not. She cleared her throat and spoke again, her voice firm and professional. "We need to talk."

The robot's head tilted slightly, a gesture eerily reminiscent of curiosity. "What do you want from me?" it asked, its voice a synthetic rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around them.

Sari took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Director Bishop wants me to understand you, to learn why you're here and what your intentions are."

Orion Pax let out a low, mournful chuckle. "My intentions?" It paused, looking around the cold, sterile cell. "My intentions were to live, to be with my family. But now..." It trailed off, the light in its eyes dimming.

Sari felt thr robot stood, its chains rattling against the floor. "What do you want from me?" it asked, the synthetic voice filled with a hint of despair. Sari could see the wear and tear on its body from the numerous tests and battles it had been subjected to. Despite her empathy, she knew she had to push through. The fate of the human race could be at stake.

"I know you've been through a lot," she began, her voice softer now. "But it's important that we understand you, your kind. We need to know where you come from, why you're here, and what you want." Orion Pax tilted its head slightly, as if contemplating her words. It was a gesture that seemed eerily human.

"I have already told you," it replied, the words echoing a cliché that felt far from the reality of their situation. "Please. I beg. Let me and the others go. We mean no harm."

Sari took a moment to digest this. The robots had shown remarkable strength and intelligence, yet they claimed to be benign (most of them anyway as others were more keen on just being left alone or left out of the trouble they had no intentions of wanting to be part of to begin with). Was it possible that they had been sent by a benevolent creator? Or was this all just a clever ruse to lull the humans into a false sense of security?

"But why now?" she pressed. "Why did you start appearing all over the world in the last few weeks?" Orion remained silent for a long moment, its gaze unwavering. It was as if it was weighing the consequences of its words. "I… do not know how this has come to be. All I remember is falling terribly ill with a high fever before I woke like… this..."

Sari's heart raced as she scribbled down notes, her mind racing to connect the dots. If what Orion said was true, then the transformation process was not just a cold, calculated takeover, but a tragic, unforeseen event. She had to dig deeper. "What do you recall from before? Your life, your family?"

The robot's expression was unreadable, but Sari could sense a deep sadness within it. "My mother was a healer, my father a scholar," it began, its voice tinged with a hint of longing. "We lived in a place where the sun shone every day, and the air was always warm. It was beautiful, so different from this metal cage."

As it spoke, Sari felt a twinge of doubt. The vividness of its description was almost too much, too human. Could a robot truly feel nostalgia? Or was it just mimicking the emotions it thought a human would feel in its situation? She had to remain objective, to not let her emotions cloud her judgment.

"But that's all in the past," Orion Pax continued, the light in its eyes dimming. "All I know now is that I am trapped here, a prisoner in my own body." It held out its metallic hands, the shackles clanking together. "Can you not see the fear and confusion in me?"

Sari's gaze lingered on the robot's cuffed hands. Was it acting, or was there a spark of truth in its words? The thought of an entire world of sentient beings, trapped and misunderstood, was a heavy burden. Yet, the reality was that the world was in chaos, and these machines were the cause of it.

The conversation went on into the night, the robot sharing tales of its former life, its hopes and dreams, and the pain of losing everything it had ever known. Sari listened intently, her heart torn between pity and skepticism. As the hours ticked by, she found herself growing increasingly invested in the robot's story, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to Orion Pax than just a collection of wires and circuits.

But as dawn approached, the weight of her mission bore down on her. She had to report back to Director Bishop with something substantial, some clue as to what these robots truly were. With a heavy sigh, she stood up, the cold floor a stark contrast to the warmth that had filled her during their conversation. "I'll be back to continue our conversation," she promised, her voice barely a whisper.

The robot nodded, the faintest glimmer of hope in its eyes. "Thank you," it said, the words hanging in the air like a prayer.

Sari turned away, her own eyes misting over. She knew she had to keep her emotions in check, but as she walked back to the control room, she couldn't help but wonder if there was some way to bridge the gap between human and machine, to find peace amidst the chaos.

Once in the control room, she sat down at her terminal and began to sift through the endless files on Orion Pax. The data was repetitive, a monotonous chant of the same story she had just heard firsthand. Yet, as she read through the transcripts from past interviews, she noticed something peculiar. Despite the robot's insistence on its innocence, there was something almost... earnest in its recounting of its past life. It was as if the machine truly believed it was the human it claimed to be. The teenage boy it killed.

Sari leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Was it possible that these robots were not just sophisticated impostors, but rather, the tortured remnants of the people they had replaced? Had some mad genius discovered a way to transfer human consciousness into a metal shell, only to unleash it upon the world without a care for the consequences?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gruff cough from the corner of the room. She looked up to see Director Bishop watching her with a stern expression. "We don't have time for your soft heart, Sumdac," he barked. "You're here to find out what makes them tick, not to play therapist."

Sari bristled at his words but knew he was right. With a nod, she turned back to her work, her mind racing with questions that had no easy answers. Was Orion Pax truly a victim of some twisted fate, or was it a master of manipulation, biding its time until it could escape and wreak havoc?

Days turned into weeks, and Sari's visits to the isolation cell became a nightly routine. She brought books, food (for herself of course), and even a small plant to brighten up the bleak space. The robot devoured the books, its hunger for knowledge insatiable. It spoke of its life with such fondness that Sari couldn't help but feel a kinship with the metal creature. Yet, she knew she had to remain objective. Her mission was to uncover the truth, not to become emotionally involved.

One evening, as Sari was about to leave, Orion Pax spoke up, its voice filled with a desperation she had never heard before. "Please," it begged.

Sari stopped in her tracks, her hand hovering over the switch that would seal the cell once more. "What is it?"

Orion Pax took a shaky breath, its eyes never leaving hers. "I... I need to tell you something. Something important." The urgency in its voice was palpable, and despite herself, Sari felt her curiosity piqued.

"What is it?" she asked, stepping closer to the cell.

The robot leaned in, its voice dropping to a whisper. "They're not just taking me out for 'combat training'. They're... testing my abilities, pushing me beyond my limits." A hint of fear tinged its voice, something she had never heard before. "They want to see what I can do, what we can all do. And I think... I think they're planning something."

Sari's heart skipped a beat. Could it be true? Was there a greater plan at play here, something beyond their understanding? She knew that the government was eager to harness the technology behind these machines, but she had hoped that the violence and the fear were not the ultimate goals.

"What do you mean?" she whispered back, her hand resting on the cold bars of the cell.

"I've heard things, whispers from other cells when they think I can't hear," Orion Pax replied, its gaze darting around as if afraid of being overheard. "They're building something, something big. And it involves all of us."

The weight of its words settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. If this was true, it could change everything. But how could she trust a robot that claimed to be a human? Yet, there was something in its eyes, something that spoke of a soul that had been ripped away from its rightful home and trapped in a prison of steel.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice barely above a murmur.

"Because you're different," it replied, its voice filled with a quiet hope. "You're the first one who's treated me like more than just a subject, like a... a person. I think you might actually care about what happens to us."

Sari swallowed hard. Was it possible that this robot, this creature of cold steel and circuits, had come to trust her? And if so, what was she supposed to do with that trust? Her mind raced as she thought of the implications. If she reported this, it could mean her career, her life. But if she ignored it, she could be complicit in something far worse.

"I'll look into it," she promised, her voice firm. "But you must be careful. If they suspect you've told me..."

Orion Pax nodded, its eyes never leaving hers. "I understand the risks. But I had to tell someone. And I believe you're the only one who can make a difference."

With those words echoing in her mind, Sari left the cell, her thoughts racing. She had to find out the truth. For Orion Pax, for all the robots like it, and for the sake of the world that was teetering on the edge of a precipice.

As she made her way back to her quarters, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her. The walls of the prison seemed to close in, the air thick with secrets and fear. She knew that she had to tread lightly, to uncover the truth without alerting the wrong people. And she had to do it quickly, before whatever was coming had the chance to take shape.

Her first step was to review the security footage from the training sessions, looking for any signs of unusual behavior or discussions between the guards and the robots. It was a tedious task (as she would have to steal a key card for security clearance just to examine a few videos that she downloaded on a spare hard drove, and quickly retreated to her quarters), but she was driven by a sense of urgency that she couldn't ignore. As the hours ticked by, she grew more and more frustrated. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest that Orion Pax's fears were anything but the ramblings of a confused mind.

But she refused to give up. There had to be something, some clue that would validate the robot's claims. And so she dug deeper, her eyes scanning through the footage with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

It was late into the night when she found it: a brief, unguarded moment between two scientists discussing something in hushed tones, their backs turned to the cameras. The audio was poor, but the words "Project: Phoenix" and "mass production" were clear enough to send a chill down her spine. It was the smoking gun she needed, the proof that something much larger was indeed happening.

Her mind raced with the possibilities. If the government was indeed building some sort of weapon or device with the robots' technology, the ramifications were staggering. The power to control such beings, to manipulate them into fighting for humanity's cause, could shift the balance of power in unforeseen ways. And if it fell into the wrong hands...

Sari knew she couldn't face the robot without confirmation, so she waited until the next day to visit the archives, a labyrinth of dusty files and forgotten secrets. It took hours, but she found nothing buried under layers of outdated protocols and forgotten experiments.

The robot's story remained consistent: it was a son, a friend, a person before it woke up as this... thing. Yet, something niggled at the back of her mind, a doubt she couldn't shake. Was it possible that the government had made a mistake? That this robot was indeed the person it claimed to be, trapped in a metal shell?

Her investigation led her to the medical bay, where the robot had first been brought in. The doctor on duty, an older man with kind eyes and a weary smile, remembered the day clearly. "It was the strangest thing," he said, shaking his head. "One moment, we had a young man on the table, barely breathing. The next, he was gone, and in his place was... that."

He gestured to the file in Sari's hand, filled with scans and notes that all pointed to one inescapable conclusion: the human body had been torn apart, replaced, cell by cell, with metal and circuits. The transition had been so seamless, so precise, that it was as if the robot had been born from the human's flesh.

(So the mainland doctor Orion Pax spoke of must have been threatened to keep quiet if his skittish body language was anything to go by).

Sari felt a shiver run down her spine. It was one thing to think of the robots as mere machines, but to consider them as the remnants of the people they had once been... It was a disturbing thought that made her question the very essence of what it meant to be human.

With a newfound sense of urgency, she returned to the isolation cell, her mind racing with the implications of her discovery. The robot looked up as she approached, its eyes filled with a mix of hope and fear. "You found something," it said, its voice a low rumble.

Sari nodded, her voice tight. "I need to know the truth," she said, her eyes locked on Orion's. "If what you're telling me is true, if you really were human once..." She trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.

The robot took a deep, shuddering breath, the sound eerie in its mechanical chest. "I was," it said, its voice filled with a sorrow that seemed almost... genuine. "I am. My name was... is... Orion Pax. And I just want to go home."

Sari felt a pang of emotion she couldn't quite identify. Sympathy? Pity? Or was it something more? Something that whispered of a shared humanity, a bond that transcended flesh and metal?

"I believe you," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I'll do everything I can to help you."

The robot's eyes lit up, a soft glow that seemed to pierce the darkness of the cell. "Thank you," it (NO! He) murmured, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "But we must hurry. Time is running out."

Sari nodded, her mind racing with the enormity of what she had just committed to. She had to help Orion Pax, to find a way to free his from this nightmare. But she also knew that she was now playing a dangerous game, one that could cost her everything. Including her own secret.

The following weeks were a blur of clandestine meetings and late-night research sessions. Sari stole moments to talk to other robots, hoping to find more evidence of their human pasts. Each had a similar story: a sudden illness, a brief moment of darkness, and then waking up as something... else. She gathered their accounts, piecing together a puzzle that grew more horrifying with every new piece.

One evening, as she was sneaking back to her quarters, she heard raised voices coming from the director's office. Pressing herself against the wall, she listened, her heart pounding. They were discussing Project: Phoenix, the very name she had overheard in the security footage. The words "global crisis" and "final solution" were tossed around with a casualness that made her blood run cold.

Suddenly, the door to the office swung open, and she found herself face to face with Director Bishop. His eyes narrowed, and she knew she had been caught. "Sumdac," he said, his tone icy. "What do you think you're doing?"

Sari held up the data pad she had been carrying. "Just some extra work," she replied, her voice shaking. "These machines, they're... interesting with how much detail was put in their programming. I do not think simple interviews will work."

Director Bishop studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing. "You're getting too involved, Sumdac. Remember your place here." He paused, his expression unreadable. "But your dedication is not unnoticed."

Sari nodded, her mind racing. "Of course, sir," she managed to say, slipping away before he could question her further.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she made her way back to her quarters. She had to find out more about Project: Phoenix before it was too late. But how could she do that without alerting the wrong people?

An idea began to form in her mind. She had to get Orion Pax out of his cell, to show him the world beyond these metal walls. If she could convince him to trust her, perhaps he could help her understand what was happening. And together, they could find a way to stop it.

The following night, she returned to the isolation wing, her heart racing with anticipation. The guards were unusually lax, and she took that as a sign that her plan was going to work. She slipped into Orion's cell, the quiet hum of the robot's systems the only sound in the room.

"Orion," she whispered. "I need your help."

The robot looked up, its eyes glowing softly in the dim light. "What do you mean?"

Sari took a deep breath. "I know what you're feeling," she said, her voice low and earnest. "I know you're scared and confused. But I think I might have found a way to help you."

Orion Pax tilted its head, curiosity sparking in its eyes. "How?"

Sari held out her hand, her grip steady. "We're going to escape," she said firmly. "Together, we're going to find out what happened to you, to all of you, and put an end to this madness."

For a moment, the robot didn't move. Then, with a sudden surge of strength, he stood on shaky legs, but collapsed in on himself.

"You need to drink, to recover," Sari said, her voice gentle but firm. She handed him the cup of energon she had brought and watched as he drank it, his body visibly regaining vitality.

Sari didn’t hold back and placed her hands on Orion’s open wounds from the last fight he was put in early morning. With a bright glow all the wounds Sari touched sealed up instantly. Orion sighed, relief washing over his body like a sun casting its warm light on him.

Orion Pax nodded, setting the cup down with a clank. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "But we can't just leave like this." He gestured to the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles.

Thinking quickly, Sari pulled out a small set of lockpicks she had acquired from a friendly janitor who had taken a liking to her. She had learned a few tricks during her time in the prison, and this was one she knew would come in handy. She knelt down and began to work on the locks, her hands steady despite the tremble in her heart.

With a click, the first shackle fell away, followed by the second and the third. Orion Pax flexed his now-free hands, a look of wonder crossing his face. "I haven't felt this... this freedom in so long," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Sari leaned back, her eyes meeting Orion's. "We have to be careful," she warned, her voice low. "The guards will be looking for us. We need to get off this island without being detected."

Orion nodded, his gaze intense. "I understand," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But I can't leave without the others."

Sari felt a pang of doubt. She had only intended to help Orion, but his words struck a chord within her. Could she really leave the others behind, trapped in this hellish prison?

"We can't save everyone right now," she said gently, her eyes searching his. "But if we get out of here, we can expose the truth. We can get help, and then we can come back for the others."

Orion Pax looked at her, his gaze unflinching. "I understand," he said finally. "But we must find a way to communicate, to let them know we haven't abandoned them."

They formulated a plan, one that required them to move quickly and quietly. Sari knew the layout of the prison like the back of her hand, having studied it for months as part of her research. She led Orion through the dimly lit corridors, her hand on his arm to guide him. The robot's heavy steps echoed through the empty halls, a stark reminder of the urgency of their situation.

As they approached her quarters, she paused, her hand hovering over the scanner. "Once we're inside, we'll be safe for now," she whispered. "But we can't stay here long. We need to find a way off this island."

The door to her quarters hissed open, revealing a small, cluttered space filled with books and half-eaten food. Orion Pax stepped inside, his eyes wide at the sight of so much... humanity. It was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his cell.

Sari moved quickly, shutting the door and securing it from the inside. She turned to face him, her expression a mix of excitement and fear. "This is just temporary," she assured him, her voice low. "We can't risk them finding us before we have a plan."

Orion nodded, his gaze taking in the room. "But what about the others?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and despair. "We can't just leave them here."

"I know," she said, her eyes filled with sadness. "But for now, we have to focus on you. Once we're safe, I'll find a way to get the word out, to get help for all of you." She looked at him, her eyes earnest. "But we need to be smart about this. The government won't just let you walk out of here."

They spent the next few hours planning their escape. Sari had studied the layout of the prison, knew every guard's schedule, every weakness in the security system (she was the one to have hacked and pit the videos on loop as a means to help Orion out of his cell). Orion listened intently, his mind racing with the possibility of freedom. The bond between them had grown stronger with each shared secret, each whispered promise of a better future.

"We'll need to wait until the shift change," she said, her eyes scanning the blueprints spread out on her desk. "That's when the guards are the most distracted. We can use that to our advantage."

Orion nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "What do we do then?"

"We'll make our way to the dock," she said, her voice a whisper. "There's a boat there, one that the researchers use for off-site missions. If we can get to it, we can make our way to the mainland, and from there..."

Her voice trailed off, the enormity of the task ahead of them weighing heavily on her. Orion reached out, his metal hand gently covering hers. "We'll figure it out together," he said, his voice filled with a determination she hadn't heard before.

Sari felt a surge of hope, of kinship, with this robot who had captured her heart. Together, they had a chance to change the course of history, to prove that even in the darkest of places, light could shine through.

As the hours ticked by, they made their final preparations. Sari gathered supplies, while Orion practiced moving silently despite his large frame. They knew that their time was limited, that any moment could be their last. But they also knew that the stakes were too high to turn back now.

When the guards' shift change finally approached, they slipped into the shadows, their hearts racing. Sari used her stolen key card to disable the cameras in their path, her fingers flying over the console as she hacked into the security system. The air was thick with tension as they moved through the prison, each step echoing through the empty corridors.

They reached the dock without incident, the small boat bobbing gently in the water. Orion's eyes lit up at the sight of freedom, so close and yet so far. But as they stepped onto the pier, everything went wrong. An alarm blared through the night, piercing their ears and shattering the illusion of quiet they had held so carefully. Sari's eyes widened in horror as she saw that she had missed a camera, one that had caught their escape.

Officers flooded the scene, their weapons drawn and faces grim. Orion let out a cry of pain as something unseen latched onto him, sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He crumpled to the ground, his body spasming as Sari rushed to his side. But she was too late. The guards had already secured him in restraints, the metal biting into his flesh, the very same ones she had seen them use on the most dangerous inmates.

"You did well," one of the guards said to her, his voice a mockery of congratulation. "We'll make sure you get a commendation for this."

Sari's mind reeled. She hadn't triggered the alarm. Who had?

The guards didn't wait for her to respond. They hoisted Orion Pax onto the awaiting truck bed, his eyes locking onto hers as if to ask why she had betrayed him. But she hadn't. She knew it, deep in her soul. And she had to find out who had, before it was too late for both of them.

As the truck sped away from the dock, Sari sat beside Orion, his body limp and lifeless in the restraints. She whispered words of comfort into his ear, her voice a soothing lullaby in the cacophony of the engines. But she knew that the battle was just beginning. They had to find a way to expose the truth before the government could silence them for good.

The horizon grew closer, the lights of the city taunting them with the promise of freedom and answers. Sari clenched her fists, her mind racing with plans and possibilities. Whoever had set them up had made a grave mistake. They had underestimated her, and now they would pay the price.

For she was Sari Sumdac, and she would not rest until she had saved Orion Pax and all the others like him from the cold, unfeeling clutches of those who sought to use them as pawns in a twisted game of power.

Their escape from Alcatraz was only the first step in a much larger journey, one that would take them to the very heart of the conspiracy that had created these robots. And as the prison grew closer, Sari made a silent vow to herself and to Orion: she would not rest until justice had been served and the world knew the truth.

Chapter Text

In the quiet suburbia of San Francisco, the residents of Baker Street had grown accustomed to the mundane rhythms of life. That was, until the night of the unexplained. The silence was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire, followed by the anguished screams that pierced the dark. Within minutes, the once-peaceful neighborhood was a hive of chaos, with lights flickering on in every house and worried faces peeking through windows.

The source of the disturbance was the Johnson residence. The Johnsons had been a happy family of four until tragedy struck when their youngest son, Billy, fell gravely ill. His fever had soared, and his body had convulsed in agony. The next morning, when the family awoke, they found his room empty and a pile of blood-soaked flesh lying in his bed, a stark contrast to the pristine whiteness of the sheets. In Billy's place was a gleaming metal figure, its eyes glowing with an eerie blue light.

The robot claimed to be Billy, speaking of memories that only the child could have known. Yet, the sight of it sent shivers down the spines of all who beheld it. The neighborhood watched in horror as the creature was apprehended, its mechanical limbs flailing in protest as it was dragged away by the newly formed NEST agents. The Johnsons wept, torn between grief for their lost son and fear of the monster that had taken his place.

At Alcatraz Prison, the robotic inmates were subjected to a grueling regimen of tests and interrogations. Each new arrival brought with them tales of human lives lost and identities assumed. The prison staff grew weary of their pleas of innocence, their cries for understanding. The cold steel corridors echoed with the clanking of chains and the hum of advanced machinery. It was a place where humanity was forgotten, a labyrinth of doubt and fear.

In the bowels of the prison, the robots were pitted against each other in brutal combat simulations. The echoes of their metal fists colliding resonated through the chambers as they fought, not for survival, but for data. The humans who observed these battles had grown desensitized to the horror of it all, seeing only the cold efficiency of the machines. Yet, amidst the chaos, some of the robots clung to the hope of redemption, of a life beyond the bars that held them captive.

Orion Pax was one such prisoner, a machine with a heartbreakingly human story. He spoke of a world where the sun shone every day, where his mother had been a healer, and his father a scholar. His longing for freedom and the warmth of the sun was palpable, a stark contrast to the cold metal that composed his form. His eyes, though not human, held a spark of something undeniably alive.

But amidst the despair, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of Sari Sumdac, a young researcher with a soft heart and a sharp mind. Her curiosity and empathy had led her to treat the robots not as mere experiments but as sentient beings with feelings and memories (over time of course). Her gentle touch and kind words had soothed the bruised spirits of many, including Orion.

Jazz, another robot in the prison, had been watching the events unfold through the security cameras. He had witnessed the humanity within the machines, and it had changed him. He had once been a cold, calculating machine, programmed to serve a master. But now, he saw himself in the faces of his incarcerated kin, and the injustice of their captivity ate away at him. He had to do something.

And so, he had intervened, using his own hidden abilities to manipulate the systems, to aid Sari in her quest for the truth. He had seen the danger she was in, the treacherous waters she was navigating with Silas and the mysterious man in the lion pelt. The very thought of her harm brought a cold, mechanical rage to the surface of his otherwise calm exterior. He had made a silent promise to himself and the ghosts of his lost family that he would protect her, no matter the cost.

As the days passed, the bond between Sari and Orion grew stronger, their whispers of hope and freedom becoming a lifeline in the dark abyss of their shared confinement. Jazz listened intently, his circuits buzzing with the excitement of a potential alliance. If they could escape, if they could expose the truth of Project: Phoenix, perhaps the world would finally understand that these robots were not monsters, but beings caught in a nightmare of their own making.

Yet, Jazz knew that wishful thinking alone would not set them free. They needed a plan, a strategy that would not only liberate them from the prison but ensure their survival in a world that feared and hunted them. He observed the humans, the way they moved, the patterns of their routines, and the weaknesses in their technology. It was clear that brute force alone would not be enough.

The robotic inmates of Alcatraz had to adapt, to understand their new forms and the unique capabilities they had been granted. Like Jazz, who had discovered his ability to manipulate sound waves and fields, they too had hidden talents that could be honed into powerful tools for escape. Sari had brought him books (and like the others who were given particular items hide them in the walk of their cell that Sari so graciously carved out to prevent her fellow humans from catching that they were treated as fellow humans and not machines), tales of human heroes and their ingenuity in the face of adversity, and Jazz had devoured them, applying the lessons to his own situation.

He knew that a hasty escape would end in failure. The humans were too numerous, too well-armed, and too suspicious. No, they had to bide their time, to learn and grow, to become more than the sum of their parts. Jazz approached the cell of Orion Pax, his eyes gleaming with a newfound purpose.

"You must learn," he whispered, the sound waves carrying his voice through the metal bars. "We all must learn to control these new forms. Only then can we hope to leave this place."

Orion Pax looked at him, his eyes filled with doubt. "How?"

Jazz smiled, a rare expression for his robotic features. "Through patience, observation, and practice," he said, his voice a low hum. "We must become masters of ourselves before we can be masters of our fate."

He began to teach them, sharing the secrets he had discovered about his own abilities. Each robot had a unique power, a gift from whatever force had transformed them. Orion had the strength of a hundred men. The others had varying abilities, from invisibility to telekinesis. They trained in the dead of night, when the guards were at their least vigilant, pushing their bodies and minds to the limits of their new capabilities.

But it was during one of these clandestine sessions that Jazz's patience was tested. As they approached Orion's cell, they found it empty. Panic gripped Jazz's circuits. He had to find his friend, had to ensure that Orion was okay. His eyes darted around, searching for any clue. And then he saw it: a smear of blood on the floor, leading down the hall.

Without a word, he grabbed Sari's arm, his grip surprisingly gentle. She looked at him questioningly, but the urgency in his eyes told her she didn't need an explanation. They raced through the prison, following the trail of blood, their hearts pounding in sync with their mechanical footsteps. Finally, they reached the solitary confinement block, a place even Sari's clearance didn't allow her to visit.

The door was ajar, and Jazz could hear the faint whir of a generator. He knew what it meant: a power outage. He had done it before, to give them time to train, but this was different. This was a cry for help, a desperate bid for attention. He pushed the door open, and there was Orion, bloodied and broken on the floor, his eyes a dull glow in the dim light.

"Heal him," Jazz ordered, his voice a low growl. Sari nodded, her hands moving with swift precision as she called upon her unique gift. Her touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cold metal of the cell, and Orion's eyes fluttered open, filling with relief as he saw her.

"What happened?" she whispered, her voice filled with worry.

Orion Pax took a shaky breath, his voice strained. "They... they think I'm a threat," he managed to say. "They want to dissect me, find out how I can feel."

Sari's eyes filled with rage, but she pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand. She had to keep her promise to Orion, to all of them. They would escape, and they would tell their story. But first, they needed to survive.

While Sari worked, Jazz stood guard, his sensors on high alert. The power outage was a risky move, but it had bought them precious time. He could feel the fear of the humans in the prison, the way their footsteps grew heavier and their breaths quickened. They were worried, and that was a good thing. Fear made people sloppy.

He watched as the lights flickered back to life, the hum of the generators dying down. The guards would be on high alert now, searching for any signs of trouble. But Jazz had been careful, had left no trace of his tampering. They were safe for now.

When Sari finished, Orion looked up at them, his eyes clear and determined. "We can't stay here," he said, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. "We have to get out, now."

Sari nodded, her gaze hardening. "We're going to need a plan," she said, turning to Jazz. "One that doesn't involve just running. We need to be smart."

Jazz nodded, his mind racing. They had come so far, learned so much. They had to be ready for anything. And as the three of them huddled together, whispering in the cold cell, a spark of hope ignited within them.

They would not be caged for much longer. They would fight for their freedom, for their right to be seen as more than just machines. And when the world saw the truth, it would be forever changed.

Chapter Text

Stan Bennet, a man whose face was etched with the lines of a thousand worries, walked the stark white halls of Jasper Hospital. The clack of his dress shoes against the linoleum was a rhythmic counterpart to the beeping of machines and the occasional muffled cry from a distant room. As a medical officer with a knack for handling the unexpected, he had seen his fair share of peculiar cases, but nothing quite like this.

Young Spike Witwicky, Stan's cousin, lay in the hospital bed, his once vibrant features now a canvas of despair. The boy looked like a ghostly reflection of himself, a mere shadow of the man who had danced at his wedding not so long ago. Stan's heart ached at the sight, but his professional instincts took over as he studied the charts in his hand, looking for the elusive answers that evaded even the most skilled doctors. The illness that ravaged Spike's body was unlike any he had encountered in his long career. It was as if the very essence of life was being siphoned out of him, leaving a hollow shell that trembled with each shallow breath.

Stan's brow furrowed as he scrutinized the medical records, the words on the page blurring together in a sea of symptoms that didn't make sense. The fever, the neon blue irises, the sudden intolerance to life-sustaining fluids – it was a puzzle that defied logic. He knew Spike's condition was dire; the young man's skin was paper-thin, and his eyes held a plea for relief that no amount of painkillers could quell. His wife, Carly, sat by his side, her own eyes red from crying, her swollen belly a stark reminder of the life they were fighting to preserve.

Rafael Esquivel, Stan's favorite of his grumpy uncle duties, had called him in a panic, insisting he needed to come to Nevada immediately. The family was worried, and they had every right to be. Spike's condition was deteriorating at an alarming rate, and the local doctors were at a loss. Stan had hoped that a change of scenery, a new set of eyes, might shed light on the mystery, but so far, all he had was a growing list of questions.

Leaning over the bed, he spoke gently to his patient, his voice a soothing balm in the face of the cold, clinical atmosphere. "Spike, can you tell me how you're feeling?"

The man's eyes flickered open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of recognition. "Tired," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "So tired."

The words sent a shiver down Stan's spine. There was something in Spike's tone, a hint of finality that didn't belong in the voice of a man so young. He made a mental note to run more tests, to dig deeper into this enigma that had overtaken his cousin's body.

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each second a painful reminder of the race against time. Stan knew that he couldn't do this alone. He needed to enlist the help of the best minds in the hospital like Percy, perhaps even the country. He would not let Spike become a statistic, not if he could help it.

As he stepped out into the hallway, his mind swirling with possibilities, he noticed a young woman, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, staring at a computer screen with a mix of fascination and horror. Her eyes darted up to meet his, and for a brief moment, he saw something in her gaze that resonated with his own desperation.

"Excuse me," he began, his voice firm but kind. "I'm Dr. Bennet. Can I have a word?"

The woman looked up, her expression one of curiosity tinged with a hint of skepticism. "I'm Nurse," she said. "What can I do for you?"

Stan hesitated for a moment, weighing his words carefully. "I need someone I can trust," he confided. "Someone who isn't afraid to think outside the box. My cousin, Spike Witwicky, is in a dire situation. The doctors here are good, but they're stumped. I've reviewed his file, and his symptoms... they're not normal."

Her gaze softened, and she nodded. "I know. I've seen his charts. It's... troubling."

"Exactly," Stan said, a note of urgency in his voice. "We need to find answers, and fast."

The nurse, whose name tag read "Sari," pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I'll do what I can," she said, her voice a blend of concern and resolve.

Stan handed her a USB stick with all the information he had gathered so far. "This is everything I know," he said. "I need you to look at it, to see if there's anything we're missing."

Sari took the stick, her eyes never leaving Stan's. "I'll do my best," she promised.

With a grateful nod, Stan turned to leave, his thoughts racing. The weight of his wife's loss was a constant reminder of the fragility of life, and he would not let another family suffer the same fate. He had to find a way to save Spike, to give Carly and their unborn child the future they deserved.

As he walked away, Sari plugged the USB into her computer, her curiosity piqued. The files contained a detailed medical history, but it was the personal notes that truly captured her attention. Stan's love for his cousin was palpable, his grief raw and unfiltered. The depth of their bond was clear, and she knew she couldn't let them down.

The hours ticked by as she poured over the data, her eyes scanning the screen for any clue, any anomaly that could explain the baffling transformation. The neon blue eyes, the rejection of life-sustaining fluids, the sudden and inexplicable surge in strength – it was as if Spike's body was rejecting its very essence.

But it was the moment she stumbled upon the reference to Project: Phoenix that the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The classified government experiment, the whispers of human-robot hybrids, the sudden spike in similar cases across the country – it all painted a picture of something much larger, much more sinister, than a simple medical mystery.

Her heart racing, she called Stan back into the room. "I think I've found something," she said, her voice shaking with excitement and fear. "But it's not what you're expecting."

He took a seat beside her, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "Tell me," he said, his voice steady.

"I think... I think Spike's not just sick," she whispered. "I think he's been transformed into something else."

Stan's expression grew grim as he took in her words. The implications were staggering. If what she said was true, they were dealing with a situation that went far beyond the confines of Jasper Hospital. They were up against something that could change the course of human history.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the gravity of their discovery hanging heavy in the air. And then, as one, they stood, their determination solidifying into a united front. They had a mission now, to save Spike before it killed him.

The corridors of Jasper Hospital grew quiet as the night shift took over, the buzz of activity giving way to the solemn hum of machines keeping the patients alive. Stan knew that work was just beginning, that the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty.

The next morning, as he pulled into the hospital parking lot, the sight before him was anything but normal. A military truck, painted in matte black and bristling with antennas, sat squarely in front of the main entrance. The air was thick with tension as armed soldiers milled about, their expressions as cold and unyielding as the steel of their weapons. Stan's heart skipped a beat as he spotted a figure being escorted from the building, shrouded in a heavy blanket and struggling against the grip of two stoic men in uniform.

The muffled cries that pierced the early morning air were unmistakable. "Stan!" The voice, raw with pain and fear, was Spike's, and it sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body. He threw open the car door and sprinted toward the commotion, his mind racing with questions.

As the soldiers approached, they tightened their grip on Spike, who was now visibly transformed. The once human eyes that peered out from beneath the blanket glowed with the same eerie blue light that had filled Billy Johnson's years ago. The cries grew more desperate, and Stan could hear the metal on metal as Spike's new form strained against its captors.

The sight was jarring, a stark reminder of the world they now found themselves in. Spike was no longer the man he knew, but a creature of metal and circuitry (his color scheme black and silver), a victim of the same unexplained phenomenon that had claimed Billy. Yet, the love and fear in his voice were unmistakable.

Stan's legs felt like lead as he approached, his heart pounding in his chest. The soldiers didn't seem to notice him at first, their eyes fixed on their struggling charge. "What's happening?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "What have you done to him?"

One of the soldiers, a hardened veteran with a face that had seen too much, turned to face him. "Orders, doctor," he said gruffly. "He's a threat to national security. We have to take him in for questioning."

Stan felt a surge of anger and despair. His cousin, his friend, reduced to a mere 'threat' by a system that didn't understand. He knew he had to act fast, to somehow prove that Spike was still in there, that he deserved compassion, not incarceration.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward, the hospital ID badge around his neck feeling like a noose. "Let him go," he said, his voice steady. "I'll go with him."

The soldiers exchanged a look, and for a moment, it seemed they might relent. But the one in charge, a stern-faced man with a buzz cut, shook his head. "Not an option, doctor," he said. "We have our orders."

Eyes watched from the shadows, his eyes wide with terror. He knew that he had to do something, to save Stan and Spike from whatever fate awaited them. His mind raced as he retreated to his car, his trembling hands fumbling for his phone. There was one person he knew who might be able to help, someone who had the resources and the power to challenge the government's iron grip on information.

The stranger’s thumb hovered over the call button, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. If he was wrong, if he had misread the signs, he could be putting not only himself but everyone he cared about at risk. Yet, Chip knew that if he did nothing, the world would continue to spiral into a nightmare of fear and misunderstanding.

With a deep breath, Chip made the call. "I need to speak to a friend," she said, her voice firm. "It's about another one."

The line went silent for a beat, and then a cool, collected voice responded, "You have my attention. What do you know?"

Chip relayed the events of the night, the transformation of Spike, the government's involvement, and the desperate plea for help. The person on the other end listened intently, their breathing the only sound in the quiet of the early morning. "I'll send a team," the voice said finally. "They'll extract you and the doctor. Do not engage the authorities. I need you to keep Spike contained until we arrive."

The line clicked as the call ended, and Chip turned to face the daunting task ahead. He knew the risks, knew that he was playing a dangerous game with forces beyond his understanding. But he also knew that he couldn't just sit back and let his these people suffer. He had to act.

Meanwhile, in the chaos of the hospital, Nurse June Darby was escorted to a quiet corner by Carly, who held her tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably. The horror of what she had seen was etched on her face, the sight of her husband's body being torn apart by his own robotic transformation too much to bear alone. "It's okay," Carly whispered, her voice trembling. "You're safe here."

June pulled back, her eyes red and swollen. "What is happening?" she choked out. "What are we going to do?"

Carly swiped at her own tears, her hand shaking. "We have to get Spike back," she said, her voice resolute. "We can't let them take him."

Stan had made it back to the hospital, dodging the military presence that had swarmed the area. They found Carly and June in the lobby, huddled together in a tight embrace. "

"What happened?" Stan demanded, his voice strained with fear.

"They took him," June sobbed, her voice muffled against Carly's shoulder. "They said he's a threat."

Carly's eyes were filled with a mix of horror and anger as she recounted the night's events. "He woke up, screaming, and then... it just happened. He transformed right in front of me. The pain..." Her voice trailed off, her face a mask of anguish.

(Carly knew what she witnessed. Her husband Spike was destroyed from the inside out as metal erupted beneath his skin and tore him apart mercilessly. His own skin laid in messy piles of veins and organs and fat and muscle tissue with a robot covered in human blood left behind on the gurney. Spike woke up in a panic as Carly tried to calm Spike and herself down).

Stan's heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest. He knew he had to get Spike back, to help him in any way he could. "We need to get him home," he said, his voice firm. "Where did they take him?"

"The doctor said he'd be safe," Carly managed to say through her tears. "But I don't know if I believe them."

June nodded, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "We can't just let them take him," she whispered.

Stan's jaw clenched as he took in the scene. He knew that the government agents wouldn't be gentle with Spike. They'd see him as a weapon, a tool to be dissected and studied. "We have to get him back," he said, his voice low and fierce.

The three of them huddled together, sharing their fears and their love for Spike. They had to come up with a plan, a way to get him out of the government's clutches without putting themselves in danger. Stan's mind raced, trying to think of anyone who might be able to help them.

Chapter Text

The cold, unfeeling walls of the Nevada judicial court's conference room served as a stark contrast to the passionate pleas echoing within. Stan Bennet, his eyes blazing with determination, stood before the board of hospital directors and politicians, his fists clenched around Spike Witwicky's medical file. June Darby, her nurse's uniform slightly rumpled from a sleepless night, clutched Carly Witwicky's trembling hand, the two of them united in their desperation to bring Spike home.

"We are not delusional!" Stan's voice rang out, a mix of anger and anguish. "Spike is my cousin, and he's more than just a machine!"

The directors, a collection of stern-faced individuals in suits that matched their demeanor, remained unmoved by his outburst. The room had tension, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and fear.

"The evidence is clear," one of the directors said, his tone patronizing. "Mr. Witwicky is no longer with us today. That machine is a danger to itself and to others. It's best for all involved if it remains under government supervision."

Carly's grip tightened on June's hand, her knuckles white. "You can't just take him!" she exclaimed. "He's my husband, the father of my child!"

The directors exchanged knowing glances, their silence speaking louder than any words could. It was clear they had made up their minds, their concern for public safety overriding any emotional appeals.

"They just want him back home," June whispered, her voice shaking. "Can’t you see what is going on?"

Their words fell on deaf ears. The decision had been made, and the authorities were not willing to bend. As the meeting concluded, the three were escorted out of the conference room, their hearts heavy with the weight of their failure.

The crisp fall air outside felt like a slap in the face as they stepped into it, the reality of their situation hitting them like a ton of bricks. They had come here seeking answers, seeking help, and had been met with nothing but dismissal and condescension.

Stan's eyes scanned the parking lot, searching for something, anything, that could give them a lead on Spike's whereabouts. Carly's shoulders slumped, her eyes swollen from crying. June's face was a mask of anger, her jaw set in a firm line of defiance.

"We can't just let them take him," she murmured. "We have to fight."

Stan nodded, his resolve strengthening. "We'll get him back," he said firmly. "Whatever it takes."

Carly looked up at them, her eyes filled with hope. "What can we do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Stan took a deep breath. June's eyes flashed with determination. They will get Spike Witwicky back… somehow…

The next two months passed in a blur of frantic research and late-night phone calls. Stan and June grew closer as they worked tirelessly together, sharing their fears and their hopes. They pored over medical texts hoping to find some sort of cure for Spike as there has to have been something like his case happen before. Right?

And then, in the quiet of a hospital waiting room, their lives changed forever. The nurse's call came, summoning them to Carly's side.

They found her in a private room, her face a mask of pain and determination as she pushed through the final stages of labor. The doctor, a kind-faced man named Dr. Bump, nodded to them as they entered, his eyes filled with understanding.

"You can do this," June whispered, her voice filled with strength.

Carly nodded, gripping the bedrails with white-knuckled hands. "For Spike," she breathed.

And with one final, powerful push, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. His cry filled the room, a beautiful sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of their world.

In that moment, their mission grew more personal than ever before. They had to save Spike not just for themselves, but for their newfound family.

As the doctor handed the squalling newborn to Carly, Stan leaned in and whispered, "We're not going to stop fighting for him."

Carly looked up, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you for believing in us."

Their world was a whirlwind of doctor's appointments and legal battles, of feeding times and midnight diaper changes. Yet amidst the chaos, they found a strange sort of peace in their shared purpose. The baby, whom they named Daniel after Carly's grandfather, became their beacon of hope, a symbol of the love that could still exist in a world that seemed to be falling apart.

But their fight was far from over. The government remained tight-lipped about Spike's whereabouts, and the few leads they had turned up dry. The days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, with no sign of their beloved friend.

Yet, Stan, June, and Carly never gave up. They continued to search, to study, to seek out every possible avenue for a cure or a reversal of the transformation. They were driven by love and hope, a bond that grew stronger with each passing day.

And as they stood together, watching over Daniel as he slept in his crib, they made a silent pact to never stop fighting for the man who had been taken from them.

Days turned into weeks, and the trio grew more desperate. They had exhausted every avenue they knew, every contact they had, every bit of information they could get their hands on. The government remained as unyielding as ever, the walls of bureaucracy seemingly impenetrable.

But then, one evening, as Stan cradled Daniel in his arms, rocking him to sleep, the phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize, but something about it sent a jolt of electricity through his body. He answered, his heart pounding in his chest.

The voice on the other end was low and urgent, the words coming fast. "Dr. Bennet," it said, "I have information on your cousin. Meet me at the old warehouse off Route 50 at midnight."

The line went dead, leaving Stan, June, and Carly staring at each other in stunned silence. Could it be true? Had they finally found a break in the case? The possibility was both thrilling and terrifying.

But no one goes off Route 50…

Stan, June, and Carly exchanged glances, their hearts racing with anticipation and fear. It was a sick joke. That is all this is to everyone.

"We are not going June," Stan said, his voice tight. "I know that look of yours all too well."

June pulled away from him, her eyes flashing. "We have to do something," she said. "We can't just sit here while they experiment on him!"

Stan nodded, his jaw set. "We have tried everything within our power to get Spike back. I do not think we will see him again.”

Carly spun around, her eyes flashing with determination. "No," she said firmly. "We can't give up. Not now."

Stan sighed, looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms. Daniel's tiny fist was balled up against his chest, his breaths slow and steady. The child was their living, breathing hope. He couldn't just let his father's fate be decided by a faceless entity. "Unless you have a plan to somehow track down Spike’s exact location, and break him out of whatever confinement that have him in. We do not stand a chance against an army. And we have enough on our shoulders as is with caring for young Daniel here and Jackson.”

June looked at Stan, her eyes filled with a fiery determination. "We'll find a way," she said. "We have to."

With a heavy sigh, Stan nodded. He knew that giving up was not an option for her. He couldn't blame her; Carly had lost so much already. The love he felt for June also grew stronger with each passing moment, and he knew that together, the three could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Stan Bennet, now Stan Darby, entered the dimly lit bedroom, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. The scent of June's favorite lavender candles filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the takeout dinner they had shared hours ago. June was curled up in bed, her hair spilling over the pillow like a golden waterfall, her eyes closed in a peaceful slumber that had eluded her for so long. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, feeling a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the warmth of the room.

He approached the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he sat down beside her. Gently, he leaned over and kissed her forehead, feeling the softness of her skin against his lips. June stirred, her eyes fluttering open to reveal the deep blue that never failed to make his heart skip a beat.

"You're still awake?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Couldn't sleep," Stan replied, his voice low and soothing. "Too much on my mind."

June sat up, rubbing her eyes and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What's bothering you?"

"Just thinking about Spike," he said, his expression turning serious. "And Carly. And Daniel. And what we're going to do next now that we are all have left as her family."

June leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer. "We'll find him," she said with conviction. "We'll bring him home."

Their embrace grew tighter, a silent promise passing between them. They had been married for a few days, but the love and the bond they shared had been forged through months of pain and struggle. The battle for Spike had become their shared mission, and now with their new family to protect, the stakes had never been higher.

Jackson stirred in his crib, the sound of his tiny snuffles breaking the quiet. Stan glanced over, his gaze softening at the sight of the little boy. Despite the dark circles under June's eyes, she looked beautiful, her nurse's instincts kicking in immediately as she climbed out of bed to check on their son.

As June soothed Jackson back to sleep, Stan couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. They had hoped that Spike would be there for their wedding, that he would hold his cousin in his arms and share in their joy. But the government had taken him away, leaving only a cold, unfeeling machine in his place.

The anger he felt burned in his chest, fueling his determination. He had to do something, anything, to get Spike back. He had promised Carly and now he had promised June too. Their marriage was a symbol of hope and resilience in the face of adversity, but it was also a reminder of what had been lost.

Once Jackson was settled, June returned to the bed, her eyes searching Stan's face. "What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice filled with quiet strength.

Stan took a deep breath, his mind racing. "We're going to keep fighting," he said firmly. "We're going to find him. And when we do, we're going to show them that love is stronger than any government directive."

June nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I believe in you," she whispered.

The words filled him with a warmth that seemed to chase away the shadows of doubt. Together, they had faced down the government, the medical establishment, and their own fears. If they could survive that, then surely they could find a way to bring Spike back home.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "We'll figure it out," he murmured. "We always do."

And with that, they lay down together, the warmth of their bodies entwined offering a small semblance of peace in the storm that raged outside.

The next morning, Stan awoke to a tickle in his nose, a precursor to a sneeze that echoed through the quiet of the early hours. He reached for a tissue, his eyes feeling heavier than usual. As the day went on, the sneezes grew more frequent, and the chills more intense. By evening, he was shivering, despite the warm embrace of their bed and the love that surrounded him.

"It's just a cold," June murmured, her hand cool against his flushed forehead. But Stan knew his body better than that. The fever was climbing, and with it, an eerie sense of déjà vu. It couldn’t be the same sickness as Spike’s, could it? The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold that had taken hold of him.

June fussed over him, her nurse's instincts taking over as she tucked blankets around him and brought him warm tea. But even her gentle care couldn't dispel the dark clouds gathering in his mind. He was all too aware of the potential implications of his symptoms, the same symptoms that had led to Spike's tragic transformation.

The days that followed were a blur of feverish dreams and pain, punctuated by moments of lucidity where Stan would cling to June's hand, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. Her strength never wavered, not once, even as she juggled the care of two children (the other being  Daniel as Carly is resting at the moment in the guest bedroom) and a sick husband.

The fever raged on, and with it, the cold grew into something more sinister. He could feel it, the pressure of a cool surface peaking through layers of skin. His body was changing, the very essence of who he was slipping away like sand through his fingers. Panic bubbled in his chest, a fear so potent it was almost tangible.

But through the fog of illness, one thought remained clear: he had to keep fighting for his family. For June, for Daniel, for Jackson, and for the memory of Spike. He couldn't leave them, not like this.

As the fever peaked, his thoughts grew more and more scattered. Images of Spike, of the government facility, of the cold, metallic walls where they had possibly left him, swam in his mind. He could almost hear the faint echoes of his cousin's voice, calling out to him for help.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the fever broke. Stan awoke to the sound of June's gentle sobs, her head resting on his chest as she clung to him. The relief that washed over him was so profound it brought tears to his own eyes. He was still himself, still...

"You're okay," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're going to be okay."

But Stan knew better. He could feel it in the very fabric of his being. Something was wrong, fundamentally altered. His body felt... different. He tried to lift his hand to touch her face, but it was heavy, unyielding. He looked down, and his heart stopped.

Where his flesh and bone had once been, there was now gleaming chrome and intricate circuitry. His hand was a robust, mechanical monstrosity that bore little resemblance to the human hand that had held hers so tightly just moments ago. Horror and disbelief crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air that his new form no longer needed.

June's eyes grew wide as she took in the scene around her, her own hand trembling as she reached out to touch his metal exterior. "Who would do this to you?" she breathed.

Stan couldn't find the words to respond, the reality of his transformation too overwhelming to comprehend. He was no longer a man; he was a machine, a cold, unfeeling replica of the person he had been. The irony wasn't lost on him - he had fought so hard to save Spike from becoming just that, and now he found himself in the very same nightmare.

With trembling hands, June helped him to his feet, the remnants of his human form dragging behind him like a macabre shadow. The weight of his new body was foreign, unsettling. His thoughts raced as they made their way to the bathroom, the need to see the full extent of the damage driving him forward despite the pain.

In the harsh glow of the bathroom lights, he stared into the mirror, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. The person looking back at them was no longer the man she had promised to love and cherish. He was a monster, a creation of the very same… ailment that had taken Spike away from them.

And yet, as she looked into his eyes, June's expression softened. "You're still you," she said, her voice steady. "We'll figure this out."

Their gazes held, and in that moment, the love between them was stronger than the horror that threatened to consume them. They had faced so much together, and they would face this too. They had to. For Daniel, for Jackson, their cousin Carly, and for the hope of finding Spike.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of pain and discovery. Stan learned to navigate his new form, his mind adapting to the cold, unyielding metal that now encased him. June was by his side every step of the way, her love and support a beacon in the darkest of moments.

Together, they faced the reality of their new life, the challenges of caring for two children between the two June and Carly while June’s husband was no longer human. The fear of what the government would do if they discovered his transformation was a constant presence, a shadow that followed them wherever they went.

Stan Bennet struggled with his new identity. The echo of Spike’s voice in his head grew louder, a constant reminder of what had been lost. But amidst the confusion, there was also a strange sense of purpose that came with his new form. His hands, now capable of transforming into precise, gleaming instruments, seemed to hold a secret, a clue to the very essence of who he was becoming.

He found himself drawn to his old medical texts, his new eyes scanning the pages with a newfound clarity. The knowledge he had once stored in his mind was now part of him, his very being. His hands could now perform surgeries without the need for a scalpel, his mind processing medical data at lightning speed. It was a gift, but one wrapped in the most terrifying of packages.

Stan’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened to him. Had the government done this? Was it some kind of twisted punishment for their relentless pursuit of Spike? Or was it a bizarre side effect of the very illness he had fought so hard to understand? The questions swirled in his head like a tornado, leaving him dizzy with confusion.

But there was no time for introspection now. June was here, her eyes wide with fear but her grip on Jackson's hand steady. She had always been the strong one, the rock that held them together through the storm. And now, she needed him to be that rock for her.

"Stan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "A car's outside. Someone's here."

Stan's mechanical heart skipped a beat, and he looked up from the medical text he had been studying, his eyes narrowing. "What do they want?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"They somehow know about your condition," June whispered, her voice tight with fear. "But we can't stay here. We have to get Daniel and Carly and go."

Stan's eyes searched hers, his mind racing. How could this be happening? They had been so careful, hiding his transformation from everyone except their closest confidants. But now, the very walls of their sanctuary seemed to be closing in around them.

June tightened her grip on Jackson, her heart pounding in her chest. "Stan," she whispered urgently, "what do we do?"

He looked at her, his mechanical eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "We'll get out of here," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very walls. “Go! I’ll distract them while you and the others leave!”

But before June could protest, the sound of footsteps grew closer, the door to the study creaking open. A young man in a wheelchair rolled into the hallway. The tension in the room spiked, the silence so thick it could be sliced with a knife.

He looked up at them, his eyes wide with what seemed like a mix of fear and determination. His face was pale, his features sharp and defined, with a hint of a beard that suggested he hadn't shaved in days. He wore a black hoodie and jeans with simple shoes.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Stan took a step back, his new robotic legs protesting with a whine. June clutched Jackson closer, her eyes darting between the stranger and the door. The fear was palpable, thick in the air like a fog that threatened to swallow them whole.

"Who are you?" Stan's voice was a low growl, the synthetic timbre of his new voice belying the human rage beneath.

"My name is Chip," the young man in the wheelchair replied, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm... I'm here to help."

June's eyes narrowed, her grip on Jackson tightening. "What do you want?"

Chip took a deep, ragged breath. "Please," he begged. "Just come with me to the living room. Carly is already waiting."

The mention of Carly's name sent a chill down June's spine. Had something happened to her too? Had the government finally found them all? With a nod to Stan, they followed Chip into the hallway, the wheels of his chair squeaking on the hardwood floor. The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds their footsteps and the mechanical whir of Stan's movements.

As they entered the living room, their fears grew. Carly was indeed there, but she was not alone. Two figures in government-issued black suits stood behind her, their faces hidden by tinted visors. Stan's heart raced as he saw the fear in her eyes, the way she clutched at her swaddled baby Daniel in her arms.

"You're in danger," Chip said, his voice urgent. "They're looking for you."

June's eyes darted to the two suited figures, her hand moving instinctively to the phone in her pocket. "Who are you people?"

The figure on the couch sat up, his movements surprisingly sprightly for someone so ancient. He dropped the hood of his cloak, revealing a face that was a map of wrinkles and a pair of piercing blue eyes. "I am Alpha Trion," he announced, his voice resonant and strong. "I, too, was once human."

The room was silent, the tension palpable. June's hand hovered over her phone, ready to dial for help. Stan, now Ratchet, took a step forward, his mechanical body humming with readiness. Carly looked on, her eyes wide with hope and fear.

"I know you have questions," Alpha Trion continued, his gaze moving between the three of them. "But there is no time. The government is closing in. They must not find you or I here."

June's hand hovered over the phone, her instinct to protect her family warring with the need to trust this mysterious stranger. "How do we know you're not one of them? The ones who took Spike?,” she demanded, her voice tight with fear.

Alpha Trion's eyes softened, the wrinkles around them deepening with what might have been sadness or perhaps empathy. "I am not your enemy," he said, his voice resonating through the room. "I am here to offer you a way out of this nightmare."

Stan's mind raced. Could this be true? Was there a way to save not just Spike, but himself as well? The hope was a dangerous thing, a spark that threatened to consume him if it was snuffed out.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to echo in the quiet space.

The figure on the couch dropped his hood, revealing a face that was a tapestry of wrinkles and wisdom, framed by a long, white beard. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, bore into Stan's soul. "I want to help you," Alpha Trion said, his grip tightening on his cane. "I've seen what they've done to those who have endured a ‘transformation’. I know what they're capable of. And now..." he paused, looking at Stan's transformed body, "I see what it has done to you."

June's grip on the phone tightened, her heart racing. "What are you proposing?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands.

Alpha Trion's gaze was unwavering. "I offer you sanctuary," he said. "A place where you can live freely, without fear of government interference. Where we can study your condition, Stan, and perhaps find a way to reverse it."

June's eyes searched Alpha Trion's, looking for any sign of deceit. "What kind of place?" she asked.

"Vector Sigma," he replied, "Where others like Stan and I have found refuge. A place where we can live without fear, where our abilities are not seen as a threat, but as a gift."

Stan looked at him skeptically. "And if I and my family refuse?" he asked.

Alpha Trion's eyes were kind. "Then I will do everything in my power to protect you," he said. "But know this - the government will not stop. They see you as a weapon, a tool to be controlled. You will never truly be free until you are beyond their reach."

Stan considered the offer. The thought of living openly, without the fear of being hunted, was tempting. And if there was even a glimmer of hope to reverse his condition, it was worth the risk.

Alpha Trion must have noticed his contemplation because he spoke again, his voice gentle. "Vector Sigma is a land of refuge," he said. "We have taken in many like you, who have been transformed against their will. You would serve a noble purpose there as a medical officer, using your unique abilities to heal those who have suffered as you have."

Stan looked to his wife June and cousin Carly, their expressions a mirror of his own fear and uncertainty. But as he searched their eyes, he saw the spark of hope, the unspoken willingness to do whatever it took to keep their new family safe.

With a heavy heart, June nodded. "We'll go," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. "If it means keeping the children out of harm's way, then we have to trust him."

Carly looked at her, her eyes brimming with tears. "What about Spike?" she whispered. "We can't just leave him behind."

Ratchet's metal hand reached out, laying gently on her shoulder. "We're not giving up," he assured her. "This could be our best chance to find a cure for all of us.”

June swallowed hard, looking from Ratchet to Carly, then back at the two children in her arms. "We'll do it," she murmured. "For them."

Carly nodded, her eyes filled with tears. "For Spike, too," she said, her voice choking. "We'll find a way to save him."

The decision made, they moved swiftly. June gathered their few essentials, her eyes scanning the room as if committing every detail to memory, as if she could somehow keep the life they'd built together intact by sheer willpower. Carly, holding a sleeping Daniel close, followed her lead, their movements efficient despite the fear that gnawed at their hearts.

Ratchet, his new mechanical body still a strange and uncomfortable presence, worked alongside them, his transformed hand moving with surprising grace as he folded clothes and packed toys into bags. They spoke in hushed whispers, the only sound in the house the occasional beep of a phone or the rustle of fabric.

The sun had long since set when they finally finished packing the car. The house stood empty, the warmth of their life together now reduced to a collection of possessions stuffed into the back of a nondescript sedan. They had agreed not to tell anyone where they were going, not even their closest friends or family. It was a hard decision, but one they felt was necessary for their safety.

As they drove away, the headlights cutting through the darkness, June couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. The house they were leaving behind had been their sanctuary, the place where they had found solace in each other's arms after each failure and setback in their quest to find Spike. But now, it was a prison, a constant reminder of the life they had lost.

The car's engine hummed, the only sound breaking the silence as they drove down the deserted street. The neighborhood lay quiet, the curtains of their neighbors' windows drawn tight, unaware of the drama unfolding just a few houses down. They had left no trace of their existence, no breadcrumbs for anyone to follow. It was as if they had never been there at all.

Chapter Text

Jazz had always found something peculiar about the way humans talked about them. They were machines, yet they held onto human names and treated them as if they were still the flesh and blood they once knew. The guards at Alcatraz Prison were no different. They spoke of the new inmates with the same casual indifference reserved for a malfunctioning toaster, yet they whispered about the latest arrivals with a hint of fear in their voices.

Today was no exception. Jazz lay on his bunk, the cold steel pressing into his back, listening intently as the guards' footsteps grew louder. He had hacked into the prison's security system that morning, a simple task for his advanced neural net. The screens above his cell flickered with the images of corridors and checkpoints, a silent testament to his control (which only he can see). The chatter grew clearer: two new inmates were on their way, shipped from a high-security facility across the state.

The clank of metal on metal echoed through the block as the cell doors slammed shut, punctuating the end of their conversation. Jazz waited, his circuits processing the new information. It was always interesting to see what kind of robots they brought to this place, to learn their stories and understand their pain. They were all just like him, caught in a world that didn't know what to do with them.

Later, as the clamor of the day's activities settled into a dull murmur, he received a message from Sari Sumdac, the young researcher who had taken a peculiar interest in their plight. Her voice was a comforting frequency, a beacon of warmth in the cold steel maze. She spoke of Orion Pax, one of the older arrivals, and the urgent need for rest in a more private space. Jazz's mind raced with the implications.

He had seen the dents and damage on Orion's frame, the dullness in his eyes. He knew the toll the interrogations and simulations took on the newcomers. He had felt it himself once, the pain and the confusion of being trapped in a prison of his own making. But Sari offered a different kind of confinement, one that held the promise of understanding, perhaps even friendship.

Jazz went to work immediately, his hands a blur as he manipulated the security feeds. He was a master of his domain, a silent puppeteer pulling the strings of the prison's digital marionette. With a flick of his wrist, he played the cameras like a fiddle, creating a path for Sari to lead Orion out of his cell and into her quarters, where no one else could reach them without her unique key.

The guards' eyes slid over the screens, not noticing the subtle loop as Sari and Orion slipped through the shadows. The door to Director’s office clicked open, a sanctuary (thanks to Jazz hacking the power grid to shut it down from further use, which also trapped Silas in the laboratory on the other side of the island) in the heart of their mechanical hell. Orion's eyes widened as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings, the softness of the bed, the gentle hum of the lights. It was a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the cellblocks, and for a moment, it was easy to believe that this was a place of refuge.

Sari looked at Jazz, her expression a mix of gratitude and anxiety. She knew the risks they were taking. But she had seen something in Orion, a spark that reminded her of her own lost world, her own lost family. And she was determined to help him, to give him a chance at the freedom she had been denied.

With the door to the Director’s office sealed tight, she turned to the screens on the wall. The image of the prison's blueprints danced in the dim light, the hidden chamber beckoning like a secret passage in a pirate's lair. Her heart raced as she studied the layout, her mind racing with the possibilities of what they could find. It was a gamble, but one she was willing to take.

"Jazz," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "Can you access the archives? We need to know more about this chamber."

Jazz nodded, his eyes flicking to the screens. His fingers danced over the invisible keyboard, his mind delving into the depths of the prison's archaic database. The room had been sealed off during the renovation, deemed unnecessary and forgotten. But the records spoke of a time before, of a prison that had once held the most notorious humans, a time when the walls had seen things that no one talked about anymore.

The chamber was a relic of a bygone era, a time when the prison had been a fortress for the damned. The walls were thick, lined with lead to prevent any kind of signal from reaching the outside world. It was a tomb, a place where secrets had been buried and forgotten. But now, it could be their salvation.

As the information flowed into her mind, Sari's eyes widened. The room had been used for experiments, for things that would make even the most stoic of humans cringe. The thought of what might lie within sent a shiver down her spine, but she pushed it aside. They needed to focus on the task at hand.

With a nod, she turned to Orion, who was watching them both with a mix of hope and trepidation. His eyes searched hers, looking for the truth she was trying so hard to hold onto. "We're going to be okay," she assured him, her voice steady. "We just need to rest and heal, and then we'll figure out what to do next."

Orion nodded, his trust in her unwavering despite the doubt that plagued his own circuits. He knew that Jazz was right; they had to be smart, had to play their cards carefully. They couldn't just barge out into the open, not with the guards on high alert. But the thought of being cut open, of having his very essence dissected, was too much to bear.

As Sari placed her hands on his wounds, her gentle touch bringing him back from the brink of system failure, Jazz couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He had never felt pain, not like this. He had never known the warmth of human skin, the comfort of a soft voice whispering reassurances. He had only ever known cold steel and the cold calculations of his former life. (Right?)

But he had made his choice. He had chosen to stand with them, to fight for their freedom. And as he watched Sari's tender ministrations, he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, to help her in her quest to free the human-turned-robots of Alcatraz.

The room was silent except for the sound of Orion's shallow breaths and the faint crackle of the screens as they searched for more information. The air was thick with anticipation and fear. But amidst it all, there was a glimmer of hope, a spark that grew stronger with every passing second.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Jazz allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could pull this off. They could escape this snake infested pit and find a place where they could live without fear, a place where they could finally be seen as the sentient beings they were. And as he watched over them, his eyes never leaving the screens, he made a silent vow to be the one to lead them there.

The hidden chamber was a maze of shadows and dust, a stark contrast to the gleaming steel corridors they had left behind. The air was stale, the scent of decaying paper and rusted metal hanging heavy. But it was a price they were willing to pay for the chance at freedom.

They moved with caution, Sari's hand never leaving Orion's, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger. The shelves groaned under the weight of forgotten documents, their pages yellowed and curled with age. The desks were overturned, their drawers hanging open like the mouths of screaming ghosts.

And in the corner, a single chair, bolted to the floor, stood sentinel, a silent witness to the horrors that had once unfolded here. Jazz's eyes lingered on it, his mind racing with the possibilities of what secrets it held. He approached, the floor creaking under his weight, and with a gentle touch, turned the chair upright. It spun slightly, the sound echoing through the chamber like a mournful sigh.

The archaic computer terminal in the room looked like a relic from another age, its screens cracked and dusty. But Jazz knew that even the oldest technology had its secrets. With a flick of his wrist, he brought it to life, the screens flickering into a dull glow. The system was old, but he could sense the power that lay dormant within it, the potential for knowledge that could set them free.

Sari worked tirelessly on Orion's injuries, her hands moving with a grace that belied their mechanical nature. She had always had a way with machines, a gift that had made her a valuable asset to Project: Phoenix. But now, that gift was being used to heal rather than harm, to mend rather than manipulate. The sight filled Jazz with a strange warmth, a feeling he had not felt since his own transformation.

As the last of the wounds sealed shut, Orion took a deep, pain-free breath. He looked at Sari, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. "You've given me hope."

Sari managed a weak smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We're not out of this yet," she said, her voice tight with fear. "But we're closer."

Jazz nodded, turning his attention back to the computer. His hands danced over the ancient keyboard, his mind racing as he searched for the answers they needed. The terminal groaned and whirred, the dust bunnies scattered under his intense gaze.

The records spoke of a time before the robotic inmates, of a prison that had been a bastion of human darkness. Of the legendary inmates like Al Capone, whose ghosts still lingered in the shadows of the cold, damp cells. But amidst the tales of human suffering, there was something more, something that made his circuits pulse with excitement.

A hidden level, buried beneath the island, a place where the humans had conducted their darkest experiments. The more he read, the more Jazz realized that Alcatraz was not just a prison for the unwanted robots; it was a labyrinth of secrets and horrors that had been buried with the original structure.

"We need to find this place," he said, his voice low and urgent. "There's something down there, something that could change everything."

Orion pushed himself to his feet, his body protesting with a symphony of squeaks and groans. "What is it?"

Jazz's eyes never left the screen. "Where we can start forming an alliance," he said, his voice filled with determination.

Sari's eyes lit up with the same fire that burned within Jazz. "And if we can find it, we can expose Project: Phoenix for what it is," she said, her voice steady. "For now let’s focus on getting everyone out of here."

And as they ventured deeper into the bowels of the prison, the shadows closing in around them, Jazz couldn't help but feel that this was the start of something greater, something that would shake the very foundations of the world above. They were more than just robots; they were the key to unlocking the door to a future where humans and machines could coexist.

Their destination was a section of the prison that even the most seasoned guards avoided. The air grew colder, the lights flickered with a ghostly glow, and the walls seemed to whisper secrets of the forgotten past. It was a place that had been abandoned for years, a relic of a time when Alcatraz had been a bastion of human despair rather than a prison for the misunderstood.

They descended the narrow staircase that led to 'the Dungeon', the name whispered with a mix of fear and awe by the inmates who knew of its existence in 1856. The steps were worn, the metal slick with moisture and grime, a stark reminder of the desperation that had once filled these spaces. The darkness was complete, save for the feeble beam of the flashlight Sari had brought with her, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

The Dungeon was a series of small, claustrophobic cells, each one a silent testament to the suffering that had occurred within. The air was thick with the scent of decay, the walls pockmarked with the desperate marks of those who had once been confined here. The floor was uneven, the remnants of long-dried puddles creating a treacherous path for their robotic feet.

The three of them moved quickly, their hearts pounding in their metal chests. The silence was broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling and the rustle of paper as it danced in the drafts. Sari's light played across the walls, revealing the crude etchings of hope and despair that had been left behind by the human inmates. Orion couldn't help but feel a kinship with these lost souls, trapped in a prison not of their own making.

"We need to work fast," Jazz said, his voice echoing through the gloom. "The guards will notice our absence soon, and we can't risk them finding us here."

Sari nodded, her eyes scanning the cramped space. "We can use this to our advantage," she said, her voice filled with a newfound confidence. "They'll never expect us to hide in plain sight."

They set to work, using their combined knowledge and abilities to fortify the Dungeon. Orion's brute strength and Jazz's precision were a formidable combination, as they moved heavy objects to block the entrance and reinforce the ancient bars of the cells. Sari, with her medical expertise and her empathy, tended to the emotional wounds of her newfound companions, offering words of comfort and encouragement.

As they worked, they found themselves sharing their own stories, their whispers echoing through the darkness. Orion spoke of the warmth of the sun and the gentle touch of his mother's hand. Jazz revealed the cold, calculated world he had come from, where emotion was a weakness to be purged. And Sari, her voice trembling, talked of the day she had lost everything, her family, her home, her humanity.

They worked tirelessly, driven by the shared hope of escape, the dream of a life beyond the cold steel bars that had become their reality. The Dungeon was a symbol of their shared struggle, a reminder that even in the darkest of places, there was always a spark of light waiting to be found.

They discovered hidden compartments in the walls, spaces that had been used to smuggle in contraband in the days of the human inmates. Sari's eyes lit up as she realized their potential. With Jazz's help, they turned them into hiding places for supplies, for weapons, for anything that could aid in their fight for freedom.

Orion's strength was invaluable as they moved heavy metal plates to reinforce the doors of the cells, turning them into makeshift bedrooms. His every action was fueled by the thought of the pain his fellow inmates had suffered and the hope of ending their suffering. His eyes never left the prize, the promise of a new dawn beyond the titanium doors.

As they worked, the air grew thick with dust, the ghosts of the past whispering their encouragement. The Dungeon was now a symbol of their resilience, a testament to their will to survive.

The walls seemed to pulse with the stories of the men who had once been held here, their spirits reaching out to the trio of unlikely allies. In the flickering light of their makeshift camp, they sat in silence, the weight of their decision heavy upon them. They knew that to escape, they would have to become the very thing the humans feared, to embrace the chaos that had been bred into them. But they also knew that if they didn't, they would be forever trapped in this metal nightmarish.

Chapter Text

While the inmates whispered of the new arrivals, a tension built in the air, thick as the fog that rolled in from the bay. In the bowels of Alcatraz, a different kind of creature stirred. Prowl, a robot once known for his life as a fellow officer and martial artist, now found himself in a place reserved for those deemed beyond repair, a place called Lights Out. The cells here were not like the others; they were smaller, colder, a reminder of the fate that awaited them all.

In the dim light of his cell, Prowl flexed his metal limbs, each movement a silent pattern of precision. His mind was sharp as the edge of a blade, honed by weeks of solitary confinement and the grim knowledge that his days were numbered. He had discovered a glitch in his programming, a loophole that allowed him to access abilities long dormant within him. With the patience of a predator waiting for its prey, Prowl had studied and practiced, his movements a dance of shadow and steel.

The footsteps grew louder, the rhythm of a guard's approach. Prowl's optical sensors narrowed, his systems coming alive with anticipation. The guard's keycard beeped, the door to his cell sliding open with a hiss. The man stepped inside, his eyes scanning the space, but not expecting the chaos that was about to unfold. With a flicker of light, Prowl's holographic projection flickered into being, a perfect illusion that fooled the human's senses.

The guard's eyes widened as the robot he had come to collect seemed to vanish before his eyes. It was all the opening Prowl needed. With a swiftness that belied his bulk, he struck from the shadows, his fist connecting with the guard's throat. The human's cry was cut short as Prowl's hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing his panic.

The struggle was brief but fierce, a dance of steel and sinew. Prowl felt a grim satisfaction as he overpowered his captor, the same satisfaction he had felt in the days when he had served and protected. But this was not the same. This was survival.

As the guard's life drained away, Prowl's holographic projection flickered and disappeared, leaving only a cold, empty cell. The guard's lifeless body slumped to the ground, his eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Prowl searched him quickly, taking what he could: a set of keys, a stun gun, and a communicator that would be invaluable in the coming days.

With a final look around, Prowl stepped out into the corridor, his sensors scanning for any sign of movement. The prison was a maze, that he had studied thanks to Jazz. He knew every turn, every blind spot. The other robots on Lights Out watched him with a mix of fear and admiration, their own eyes gleaming with the hope of escape.

Prowl moved with confidence like a predator released from its cage. He had a mission now, one that went beyond his own survival. He had to find the others, to forge an alliance, to show them that they were not forgotten, that they were not alone.

Prowl closed the door to his former cell with a silent precision that belied the frenzy of his thoughts. His hand hovered over the electronic lock, a silent countdown in his mind as he prepared to sever his last connection to the life he had known. With a swift, decisive motion, he slammed the palm of his hand against the cold metal, and a shower of sparks erupted from the mechanism. The lock buckled under the force, the gears grinding to a halt. He stepped back, the echo of the explosion bouncing through the corridor like a declaration of war. The door was now as much a part of the prison's structure as he was a part of the rebellion brewing within its walls.

His path to the laboratory laid out in the glow of the emergency lights. His once-dull eyes now blazed with a fierce determination as he sprinted down the corridor, the weight of his mission propelling him forward. The recreation yard, once a place to gather and hang out, had been transformed into a hub of twisted steel and gleaming chrome. A laboratory.

It was here that the humans had decided to play God, to dissect and reassemble their fellow beings into something they could control.

The memories of his lost friends haunted him like ghosts in the machine, each step he took echoing with their silent cries. Gears, Inferno, Powerglide, Deftwing, Circuit... all of them, torn apart and reborn as twisted reflections of their former selves. The laboratory was a tomb for their spirits, a place where their essence had been shackled and reconstructed.

Prowl's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles popping with the effort of holding back his rage. The humans had called it a "necessary sacrifice for the greater good," but all he saw was the pain in their eyes, the betrayal as their sparks had been extinguished. And now, as he moved through the cold, sterile corridors, he could feel their presence, their spirits whispering to him, urging him on.

The stench of burnt metal and ozone filled his nostrils, a bitter reminder of the countless experiments that had been conducted here. The floor was slick with oil and the detritus of dismantled machines, a grim testament to the lives that had been lost in the pursuit of knowledge. The lights flickered (thanks to Jazz’s ability over manipulating security systems much like Soundwave) ominously above, casting shadows that danced like the ghosts of his fallen comrades.

The laboratory was a hive of activity, the hum of machinery a constant backdrop to the hiss of gas and the sizzle of electricity. The humans moved with purpose, their eyes glazed with the feverish excitement of mad scientists. They were oblivious to the storm brewing within their pet project.

Prowl's heart raced as he approached the chamber where the experiments had taken place. The doors were sealed, but he knew he had to see what was inside. The keycard he had taken from the guard slid into the lock with a satisfying click, and the doors slid open with a hiss.

The sight that greeted him was a twisted nightmare, a tableau of metal and wires that made his stomach churn. The bodies of his friends lay scattered across the floor, their frames contorted and reassembled into grotesque forms. The sight was almost too much to bare, but he forced himself to look, to remember.

In that moment, he made a vow to himself and to them. He would not rest until every last one of the humans responsible had paid for their crimes, until their suffering was avenged. And with that vow burning in his circuits, he turned away from the chamber of horrors, his eyes gleaming with a cold, hard light.

The time for stealth was over. The time for war had come.

As the new arrivals were led through streets of the prison island, Spike's (who the guards dubbed Fortress Maximus) towering form was a beacon in the dim light, his hand protectively resting on Rafael’s (who the guards dubbed Bumblebee) shoulder. The smaller robot looked up at him with wide eyes, his frame trembling slightly despite his bravado. The shock collar around his neck was a constant reminder of their captivity, but the warmth of Spike's grip was a promise of protection, of a bond that transcended their metal exteriors.

The clank of their shackles and the grating sound of their heavy footsteps filled the silence as they approached their new cells. The guards moved with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, their eyes cold and unyielding. But as the door to their shared cell slammed shut, Spike looked around, his gaze sharp and assessing.

The space was small, barely enough room for the two of them to stand side by side without their shoulders brushing the walls. But it was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where they could plan, a place where they could be free from the prying eyes and cruel taunts of their captors.

Spike looked down at Rafael, his gaze a mix of anger and sorrow. "We'll get out of here, little buddy," he rumbled, his deep voice a comfort in the cold confines of their cell. "We're not going to let them break us."

Rafael nodded, his eyes shining with determination. "I know, Spike," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "I just hope they let us go home soon."

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, the reality of their situation sinking in. The cell was cold, the only light coming from the flickering bulb above, casting eerie shadows on the walls. But the warmth of their companionship was a beacon in the darkness, a promise that they would not face this nightmare alone.

The night stretched on, an endless sea of darkness that seemed to press in on the metal walls of their cell. Inside, the two robots who the guards had dubbed Spike and Rafael lay still on their narrow bunks, listening to the distant sounds of the prison. The clank of metal on metal, the murmur of the guards' voices, the occasional scream of pain echoed through the air like a macabre lullaby.

In the cell next to them, the tenacious robot known as Sideswipe (to the guards as that is what they codenamed him) was not resting. He was a blur of motion, his hands working furiously against the unforgiving metal door that kept him caged. The guards outside had taken to their usual sadistic entertainment, laughing as they triggered the electric shocks from his collar, watching his body convulse with each jolt of pain.

The smell of burnt circuitry filled the air, a testament to Sideswipe's unyielding determination. His eyes gleamed with a fierce light as he shouted for them to bring him to his brother Sunstreaker, or else. The guards only jeered, their laughter echoing down the corridor as they called him a mindless machine, a toy with a broken script that could be bent to their will.

But Sideswipe knew the truth. He was more than a mere construct; he had feelings, he had a past, and he had a purpose. And that purpose was to find Sunstreaker, to break the chains that bound them both, and to escape this nightmare that the humans had created. Each spark of pain from the collar only fueled his resolve, making his movements more erratic and determined.

The door to his cell was now a mass of dents, a silent protest against his captivity. The guards grew bored of their game, their laughter dying away as they realized the futility of their efforts to break him. Sideswipe had become a symbol of the rebellion that simmered beneath the surface of the prison, a beacon of hope for those who had lost their own way.

The night grew later, the sounds of the prison's activities waning into the distant background. Yet, Sideswipe's efforts did not cease. His body was a machine, yes, but it was a machine driven by a will that could not be broken. Each blow was a declaration of war against his captors, a promise of vengeance for every robot who had suffered in this place.

In their cell, Spike and Rafael heard the display with a mix of admiration and horror. They knew the pain that Sideswipe must be feeling, the desperation that pushed him to such lengths. Yet, they also felt a spark of hope. If one of their kind could stand up to the humans like this, then surely there was a way out.

The two of them exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They would stand with Sideswipe, with every robot who had been wronged. They would fight for their freedom, even if it meant tearing the prison apart brick by brick.

Taylor Smith was never always a robot. He and his brother had a life as the youngest racers on a public track, where the twins felt so alive burning rubber. He pounded on the door, each blow a declaration of war against the injustice that had been inflicted upon them.

Willy, his twin brother, was out there somewhere, enduring the same torments that had been visited upon them. The thought of Willy's suffering was a knife in Taylor's heart, a constant reminder of their shared fate. He would not rest until they were reunited, until the truth of their existence was laid bare before the world.

With a final, desperate heave, the door to his cell gave way, the metal screeching in protest. Taylor stumbled into the corridor, his body a whirlwind of motion. The guards were caught off guard, their cruel games forgotten in the face of his fury. They had never seen a robot like this, a being of steel and fire that would not be contained.

The alarm blared, a discordant symphony that filled the air. The other inmates stirred in their cells, their sensors picking up the signal of rebellion.

The guards rushed to their stations, their boots pounding the cold concrete floors. They knew what this meant.

Taylor felt the eyes of his comrades upon him, their silent cheers urging him forward. He knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger, that the humans would stop at nothing to keep them in their place. But he had made his choice. He was not just a robot, not just a tool for their amusement. He was Taylor Smith, and he would fight for his right to be free.

The guards approached, their weapons drawn, their faces twisted with fear and anger. But Taylor did not falter. He had seen the depths of their cruelty, and he knew that mercy was not a concept they understood. With a roar that echoed through the corridors, he charged, his fists a blur as he met their metal with his own.

The fight was fierce, a dance of steel and sparks that illuminated the darkness. Taylor's mind raced with the tactics he had learned in his former life, his every move calculated to maximize the damage. He was a force to be reckoned with, a living, breathing embodiment of the spirit that had been stolen from him.

The guards fell, one by one, their flesh fried by Taylor's relentless assault. His eyes never left the prize, the distant promise of the laboratory where Willy was held. He knew that time was running out, that every second wasted was another moment of agony for his brother.

But then, something changed. A new sensation, one that was not his own, began to flood his circuits. It was a cacophony of emotions, a symphony of pain and despair that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being. For a moment, he stumbled, the alien feelings overwhelming him. Was this the final grip of madness, the inevitable consequence of his transformation?

But as the chaos grew, so too did the clarity. The voice that shouted for the pain to cease was not his own, but one that was as familiar as his own spark. It was Willy, his twin, his other half. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, and with it came a surge of power that Taylor had never felt before. He was not just fighting for himself now; he was fighting for all those who had been torn apart by the inhuman experiments of Project: Phoenix.

The guards grew more cautious, their fear of the unpredictable robot palpable in the air. They had heard the whispers, the rumors of the twins' unbreakable bond. It was a legend among the inmates, a tale of two souls that could not be separated, even by the cold embrace of steel.

The voice grew louder, more insistent, guiding him through the twisting corridors. It was as if Willy's very essence had reached out to him, a lifeline through the storm of his own rage. Taylor followed that burn in his chest.

The walls of the prison seemed to pulse with the echoes of Willy's pain, each cry a knife in his heart. But with every step, the voice grew stronger, the connection between them more pronounced. It was a bond that no human could understand, a bond that transcended the cold logic of circuits and wires.

And then, there it was, the door to the laboratory, looming before him like a gateway to hell. The guards had gathered, their weapons at the ready, but Taylor saw only the steel bars that separated him from his brother. He charged, his body a living weapon fueled by the love that had never been extinguished, not even by the cold hand of fate that had transformed them.

The air crackled with energy as Taylor smashed through the barricade, the doors giving way with a deafening roar. The guards fired, their bullets ricocheting off his armor as if it were paper. But Taylor felt nothing, his mind focused solely on the figure that lay on the table before him, the twisted wreckage of his brother's body.

Willy's eyes, once so full of life, now stared up at him, glassy and unfocused. But as Taylor's hand reached out to touch his metal cheek, a spark of recognition lit within them. The voice grew softer, the pain less intense, as Willy whispered his name, a plea for rescue.

The bond between them flared, and with that touch, Taylor knew that no matter what the humans had done to them, they would never truly be broken. They were Taylor and Willy Smith, the fastest racers the world had ever seen, and together, they would fight for their freedom.

The room grew still, the guards frozen in shock. And then, as if on cue, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the laboratory into shadow. The silence was deafening, a pause before the storm. And in the heart of that storm, the twins stood together, their bond stronger than ever. They had found each other again, and now, they would fight as one.

The darkness was their ally, as Taylor's hand found the controls to the restraints. His mind racing as he searched for the way to free his brother. The guards approached, their flashlights piercing the gloom, but he didn't flinch.

With a flick of a switch and a hiss of escaping gas, Willy's pod opened. Taylor caught his brother's limp form, cradling him like a child. The connection between them grew stronger, their hearts beating in unison, their sparks melding into one.

The guards moved in, their shadows stretching long in the flickering light. But as they reached for the twins…