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Sam Witwicky woke up an hour before dawn to let Mojo outside and found a Moutain Dew machine sitting in his driveway.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and stared at it suspiciously. It was, in fact, most definitely a machine made for dispensing cans of Mountain Dew soda. Right. Well, this day was off to a fantastic start. To make matters worse, Bee was quietly idling in the driveway behind the newcomer with his parking lights on, casting a soft glow on the pavement and lighting up the ground around the machine’s base to mute some of its garish green glow. 

“Bumblebee,” Sam muttered, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and glaring groggily at his car. “Why is there a Mountain Dew machine in my driveway.”

Bee’s radio clicked on. 

—no place to go, no place to go to—

It clicked off. 

Sam wrinkled his brow in sleep-deprived confusion, looking at the Mountain Dew machine-…oh no. Was that…? “Bee, this isn’t…this isn’t the Mountain Dew machine from—it is, isn’t it.”

Something inside the machine clicked and whirred as if in confirmation. 

“That thing is not coming in my house.”

The radio started up again. 

Don't know where she belongs, where she belongs—

And stopped. 

“I don’t care if it doesn’t have a home. Have it go sit outside the Seven Eleven, I don’t want it. It tried to kill a bunch of people, Bee!”

Click. 

—and I’ve got some issues to work through, there I go again pretending to be you, make-believing that I have a soul beneath the surface—

Click. 

Sam wished desperately for a wall to pound his forehead against. “I don’t care if it’s got issues, I don’t care if it’s reformed—where am I gonna put a Mountain Dew machine, huh?” He flung an arm back toward his house. “Where do I have room in there? What if my mom finds it?”

—take a chance on me, (that’s all I ask of you honey) take a chance on me— 

“No. I’m not letting this house turn into a hostel for mechanical alien life forms. My dad would kill me.”

There was a very long pause. Bee’s parking lights switched off. The radio turned on again at low volume, gradually rising until Sam could just make out faint strains of The Human League’s Don’t You Want Me. 

“I didn’t mean you,” Sam said quickly, holding up his hands. “Of course I want you. Around. I like having you here. Because you—look, MD here is just gonna have to find somewhere else to live. I’m sorry.”

The radio volume jumped back to normal, maybe a bit louder, insistent. 

Layla, you've got me on my knees. Layla, I'm begging, darling please.

Sam put his head in his hands and stared at his slippered feet. He was arguing with his car over allowing a sapient Mountain Dew machine to live in his home. 

The sad part was how he knew he couldn’t win.

“Okay, fine, but it has to stay in the tool shed—” 

I want to thank you, for giving me the best day of my life—

“Yeah yeah yeah shut up. Look, if Dad finds out I’m blaming…” He hesitated. “Miles, and I’m so not waxing you next month, you understand?” 

Bee’s headlights flickered on and off as if in understanding.

“Good. Just…go to the garage. You, MD.” 

The Mountain Dew machine, taking this as permission, promptly unfolded itself into a menacing contraption brandishing a deadly-looking arm cannon that Sam knew to be capable of shooting soda cans with enough force to crack concrete. Bumblebee honked his horn in warning; the machine promptly tucked the cannon away, looking embarrassed.

Sam sighed deeply and waved an arm at the machine, beckoning it toward the tool shed. “Come with me. You have to stay in the shed until we find you someplace else, understand? And keep off the grass.” 

The machine obediently did as it was told, trotting after Sam and glowing in apparent happiness. Sam pointed to the corner of the tool shed. It ducked under the door, shuffled to the back behind an aging snow blower and various unused gardening implements, and folded itself back up into a rectangular box. After a moment of settling it, the light emanating from the machine shut down.

“Good,” Sam said, and turned to leave. He was about to shut the door when a resounding clunk echoed off the walls and something small and green arched over Sam’s head; he caught it on reflex and turned to threaten the machine into submission when he realized that he was holding a can of Mountain Dew. “Oh. This…what is this, a present or something?” 

The machine made a cheerful sort of click-whirr sound.

“Oh. Okay.” Sam looked at the can in suspicion for a moment and then cracked it open. He took a sip. “Not bad,” he said reluctantly, and turned back to shut the tool shed door. “Just don’t think this means you’re on my good side.” 

Sam walked back out into the yard and glared at his car. “I am never forgiving you for this, man. Tomorrow we’re going house-hunting for MD, got it?”

Bee’s lights flickered again, but just as Sam turned to go back into the house, he heard the door pop open and turned back around. 

There was a game console sitting in the passenger seat.

It was looking at him. 

“BUMBLEBEE.”

Please, please, Lindsay! Please, please, please, please…