C158 Stolen

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Sam and his father Ron stepped out of the car, the hot California sun beating down on them as they stared at the rows of old, beat-up cars in the lot before them.

The excitement that had filled Sam's chest only moments ago had evaporated entirely, replaced by a deep sense of disappointment and frustration.

"This isn't fair, Dad," Sam grumbled as he followed his father across the gravel lot, his shoes kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. "You can afford a better car than this. Why do we have to be here?"

Ron sighed, his patience wearing thin as he listened to his son's complaints. "Sam, it's your first car. You don't need something fancy. You just need something that runs."

"But everyone else is getting new cars," Sam argued, his voice rising slightly as he tried to make his case. "I mean, come on, Dad, I'll be the laughingstock of the school if I show up in one of these old junkers."

Ron stopped walking and turned to face his son, his expression a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "Sam, do you even hear yourself? You're lucky I'm even buying you a car at all. When I was your age, I had to buy my first car myself, and it was a piece of junk. But you know what? I was grateful just to have something to drive."

Sam rolled his eyes, not really interested in hearing about his dad's experiences. "Yeah, but things are different now. Everyone expects you to have a nice car. It's how you make a good impression."

Ron shook his head, his irritation growing. "Making a good impression isn't about what you drive, Sam. It's about who you are as a person."

Sam muttered something under his breath, still sulking as they continued walking through the lot. He could see his father was getting annoyed with him, but that didn't stop the resentment from building up inside him. He knew his dad could afford to buy him something better, so why wasn't he?

As they reached the middle of the lot, a dirty mechanic-looking man in overalls emerged from behind one of the cars, wiping his hands on a rag.

He was tall and lanky, with a rough appearance that matched the rundown cars surrounding them. His face was smudged with grease, and his overalls were stained from years of hard work.

"Afternoon, folks," the man greeted them with a friendly grin, his voice rough but amiable. "Name's Bernie. I own this lot. Anything I can help you with?"

Ron smiled and shook the man's hand, grateful for the distraction from his son's incessant whining. "Yeah, we're here to get my son his first car."

Bernie's eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he nodded. "Well, you've come to the right place! We've got a lot of great options here. Might not look like much on the outside, but these cars have got heart where it counts."

Ron nodded, appreciating Bernie's honesty. "That's exactly what I'm looking for. Something reliable that'll get him from point A to point B without breaking the bank."

Sam trailed behind them, still sulking as Bernie began to show them around the lot. His eyes wandered over the various cars they passed, each one looking worse than the last in his opinion.

He couldn't believe this was happening—his dreams of cruising down the road in a sleek, expensive car were quickly slipping away, replaced by the grim reality of driving a beat-up old clunker.

Bernie led them to a row of cars that looked slightly better than the others, though they were still far from what Sam had in mind.

"This here's a great choice for a first car," Bernie said, patting the hood of a faded blue sedan. "It's got some years on it, but the engine's solid. I've fixed it up myself. Should last a good long while with proper care."

Ron nodded in approval, but Sam couldn't help but feel disappointed. "Can we at least look at something newer?" Sam asked, his tone almost pleading.

Bernie chuckled, shaking his head. "Newer isn't always better, kid. Sometimes these old cars have more life left in them than you'd think. Plus, it's a good way to learn a thing or two about car maintenance."

Ron shot Sam a look that clearly said, 'Listen to the man,' before turning back to Bernie. "This one looks perfect."

As Bernie continued to talk up the car, explaining its features and what he had done to get it running smoothly, Sam stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his expression sour. "…"

This wasn't how he had imagined his first car-buying experience would go. He had pictured himself driving off the lot in something sleek and stylish, not in a car that looked like it had seen better days decades ago.

…

As his dad continued to chat with the owner, Sam's frustration reached its boiling point. He couldn't take it anymore—the thought of being stuck with such a dull, old car was too much for him to bear. Without saying a word, he turned and walked off, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he made his way through the lot.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he wandered aimlessly, passing row after row of beat-up cars. Each one seemed worse than the last, their rusted exteriors and dented frames a far cry from the sleek, shiny car he had envisioned. He sighed heavily, his mood darkening with every step.

'This sucks,' Sam thought bitterly, kicking at a loose rock on the ground. 'I can't believe this is happening…'

He continued walking, his thoughts a mix of frustration and resentment. He knew his dad meant well, but that didn't make the situation any less disappointing.

All he wanted was a car that would make him stand out, something that would get him noticed. But it seemed like that dream was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

After wandering through the lot for a while, Sam eventually found himself at the back of the lot, where an old garage sat nestled among the trees. It was a small, rundown structure, the paint peeling from the wooden walls, and the roof sagging slightly from years of neglect.

"?" Curious, Sam walked over, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space as he approached the garage.

As he stepped inside, the smell of oil and dust filled his nostrils, a scent that was oddly comforting in its familiarity. The dim light filtering through the dusty windows cast long shadows across the floor, and as Sam's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed something hidden beneath a large, weathered tarp in the center of the room.

The shape of the object was unmistakably that of a car, and for the first time since he arrived at the lot, Sam felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth his attention under that tarp.

'The shape looks good…' He thought.

With growing curiosity, he approached the covered car, his heart beating a little faster. He reached out and grasped the edge of the tarp, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric. The anticipation built as he imagined what could be underneath—something cool, something that might actually make this whole ordeal worth it.

Taking a deep breath, Sam yanked the tarp off in one swift motion, sending a cloud of dust flying into the air.

*Cough… Cough…*

He immediately regretted it as the dust filled his lungs, causing him to cough and choke. He dropped the tarp, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the dust as he continued to cough.

"Damn it…!" he muttered between coughs, his eyes watering as he tried to catch his breath.

Eventually, the dust began to settle, and Sam blinked rapidly, his vision slowly clearing. As the last of the dust drifted to the ground, he finally got a good look at the car that had been hidden beneath the tarp.

It was an old, beat-up yellow Camaro—a 1977 model, judging by the design, though he didn't know that. The paint was chipped and faded, and there were dents and scratches all along the body.

[Insert picture of Bumblebee(Car Version) here]

The car had clearly seen better days, but despite its rough exterior, there was something undeniably cool about it. The sleek lines, the aggressive front grille—it looked like a car with a history, a car that had once been something special.

Sam's initial disappointment began to fade as he took in the sight of the Camaro. Sure, it was in rough shape, but it was still a Camaro. A muscle car. It had potential, something that none of the other cars in the lot seemed to have. And maybe, just maybe, he could make it work.

As he walked around the car, inspecting it from every angle, he began to imagine what it would be like to drive it to school, to have Mikaela and the others see him behind the wheel of something that actually looked cool. It wasn't the brand-new sports car he had dreamed of, but at least it was a car with some character.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Sam's lips as he ran his hand along the hood of the Camaro, feeling the rough texture of the paint beneath his fingertips. It wasn't perfect, but it was something he could work with. Maybe, just maybe, this was the car that would change everything.

"Okay," Sam said to himself, his voice quiet in the empty garage. "Maybe this could work…"

…

As Sam continued to inspect the old yellow Camaro, oblivious to anything else around him, Peter stood across the lot, watching the scene unfold with keen interest. He had been keeping a close eye on Sam ever since he arrived, and the moment Sam pulled the tarp off the Camaro, Peter's suspicions were confirmed.

It was Bumblebee.

The familiar yellow paint, the unmistakable design—even in its beaten-up state, Peter could recognize the Autobot anywhere. He felt a surge of excitement mixed with urgency. This was the moment he had been waiting for, but he knew he had to act fast before Sam unwittingly made the purchase himself.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Peter quickly made his way across the lot, his eyes locked on the owner of the dealership, who was still standing by the blue sedan from earlier.

With Sam having wandered off, his father, Ron, had gone after him, leaving the owner alone, clearly waiting for them to return so he could finalize the sale.

Peter approached the owner with a confident stride, his expression calm but determined. "Excuse me," Peter called out, getting the man's attention. "You're the owner of this place, right? I saw that old yellow Camaro in the garage out back. I'm interested in buying it. Is it for sale?"

Bernie looked up in surprise, not expecting anyone to inquire about that particular car. "The Camaro?" He repeated, a bit of reluctance in his voice. "I didn't think anyone would be interested in that one. I've been trying to get it fixed up for myself, but it hasn't exactly cooperated. It doesn't even run…"

Peter nodded, understanding the situation. "Yeah, I noticed it looks like it's seen better days," he said, playing along. "But I don't mind that it doesn't run. I was planning on fixing it up myself anyway."

Bernie looked at Peter, sizing him up. There was something about the way Peter spoke, the confidence in his tone, that made Bernie reconsider his reluctance. "…"

But still, the Camaro had been a project of his, and parting with it wasn't easy. "I gotta tell you," Bernie began, scratching his head, "I've put a lot of work into that car, trying to get it back on the road. But it just… won't cooperate. It's almost like it has a mind of its own."

Peter suppressed a knowing smile. 'You have no idea,' he thought to himself. "I can imagine. Old cars like that tend to have a lot of personality." He leaned in slightly, his tone more serious. "But I'm willing to take it off your hands. Name your price."

Bernie hesitated, still a bit torn. The Camaro had been with him for a while now, and he had grown attached to it despite its refusal to run. But at the same time, the idea of finally letting it go and putting the money towards something more reliable was tempting.

After a moment's thought, Bernie decided to take a shot in the dark. "Seven thousand," he said, almost expecting Peter to back out. It was well above what the car was worth, especially in its current condition, but Bernie wasn't quite ready to let it go so easily.

To his surprise, Peter didn't even blink. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills, handing them over. "That's ten thousand," Peter said smoothly. "Expedite the paperwork and help me get a tow truck to move it out of here, and you can keep the extra three thousand as a bonus."

Bernie stared at the money in disbelief, his mind reeling. This wasn't just a sale—this was a windfall. His reluctance vanished in an instant, replaced by the excitement of making such an easy profit.

"Well, I'll be damned…" Bernie muttered, quickly taking the money and tucking it into his pocket. "You've got yourself a deal, mister."

Peter smiled, pleased with how smoothly things were going. "Great," he said. "Let's get that paperwork sorted out."

Bernie nodded eagerly, his demeanor shifting to that of a man ready to cater to a VIP customer. "Right this way," he said, motioning for Peter to follow him. "I'll have everything ready in no time."

As they headed toward the office in the front of the lot, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Bumblebee was now within his grasp, and he had managed to secure the deal without Sam or his father even realizing what had happened.

Peter felt a twinge of guilt as he thought, 'Sorry, Sam, but it looks like you'll have to settle for being an ordinary guy in this universe.'

The remorse was fleeting, though. After all, everything he'd seen from Sam today had been a letdown. Rather than a heroic protagonist, Sam seemed more like a spoiled brat.

Maybe, just maybe, Peter was doing the world a favor by claiming Bumblebee for himself.

…

By the time Peter and the owner stepped out of the office, the deal was done. Peter was now the proud owner of Bumblebee, one of the most iconic Transformers.

There was a sense of satisfaction in knowing that he had secured the Autobot without drawing any unnecessary attention. All that was left was to wait for the tow truck to arrive so he could get the Camaro out of there and back to his ship.

As they stepped outside, ready to wait for the tow truck, Peter noticed Sam and his father returning from the far end of the lot.

Ron was the first to speak as they approached, directing his words to Bernie. "Hey, my son found a car he's interested in. We were hoping to discuss it with you."

Bernie smiled politely, "Of course," he replied. Then he turned to Peter, adding, "Excuse me for a moment."

Peter nodded, understanding the situation. "No problem. I'll wait by the car," he said, gesturing toward the. Ack of the lot. "Just have the tow truck meet me there."

Bernie nodded in agreement. "I'll bring the truck over myself. It won't be long."

With that, Peter walked off, heading toward the garage where Bumblebee was waiting. He didn't want to stick around for what was sure to be an awkward conversation between Bernie and the Witwickys.

As Peter left them to take business, Bernie turned his full attention to Ron and Sam. "So," Bernie began, his tone professional, "which car caught your eye?"

Sam, eager to finally get something decent, spoke up quickly. "There's an old yellow Camaro in the back. It's a bit beat up, but it's got a cool look to it. I think it might be the one."

Hearing this, Bernie's smile faltered, and he let out a sigh. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news, son," he said gently. "That Camaro was just sold."

Sam's face fell in an instant, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. "What?!" he exclaimed, the frustration and disappointment clear in his voice. "Who bought it?"

Bernie motioned toward the direction Peter had walked off, pointing him out in the distance. "That gentleman over there," Bernie explained. "He spotted it earlier and made a very generous offer."

Sam stared in disbelief at the figure of Peter in the distance, his heart sinking as he realized the car he had just gotten excited about was now out of reach. This was just another disappointment in a day full of them. He could hardly believe his luck—or lack thereof.

Ron placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, son," he said softly. "I know you liked that car, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

Sam, however, wasn't consoled by his father's words. His gaze remained locked on Peter, frustration bubbling up inside him. All he could think about was how close he had come to finally getting something he wanted, only to have it snatched away at the last second.

"Who is that guy, anyway?" Sam muttered under his breath, his voice laced with irritation.

Ron shook his head, just as bewildered as his son. "I don't know, but it looks like you're going to have to pick something else."

Sam sighed heavily, the weight of disappointment settling on his shoulders as he reluctantly turned his attention back to the rest of the lot, though nothing else seemed appealing anymore. The yellow Camaro had been his last hope for something decent, and now it was gone.

A/N: 3034 words :)

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