#tollbooth

booth

Dear Hidden Human,

Consider your question—what is it that makes a Transformer a Transformer, and a human a human? Though we have much in common, there is still a world of difference between you and I. As Transformers, we have our ability to change shape, to adopt disguises. As Cybertronians, our lived experience is of an entirely different planet, with metal plains and ageless creatures.

I have watched humans change themselves physically to match our race, whether through the desperation of men like Dr. Meridian or the compassion of the Headmasters. But it would be contentious to say these people remain, as you put it, "fully human". Likewise, we have seen Transformers become physically human—but the processes used by the likes of Old Snake are rarely consensual, so the Cybertronians in question would rarely identify as human. Our identities are so rooted in our culture that, logically speaking, any incarnation of- say, Bumblebee- that was born as a human, would be totally unrecognisable as Bumblebee. Although, now that I mention it, I do recall briefly meeting a charming young lady who bore a startling resemblance to Bumblebee—I will have to revisit that reality to learn for myself whether she truly was an instance of him. It would not surprise me; as many scientists have learned to their undoing, logic is a tool that shatters upon contact with the multiverse.

Ah, but you came to me hoping for a story, not a lecture in metaphysics. I do recall one reality where humanity set out to create Transformers of their own—ones that remained, in every sense, only human.

On that Earth, the United States government had long been aware of the existence of our extraterrestrial race, which had fled our homeworld in a vast diaspora, with many settling into new lives disguised as motor vehicles. They faced an enemy on home soil, unparalleled experts in infiltration and information warfare. These aliens had penetrated American society (indeed, global society) at every level, and though these were not such perfect chameleons as to leave no evidence behind, information and eyewitness accounts of the robots had proven surprisingly difficult to gather. Thus a new military department was formed with a sole directive: to infiltrate American society as these beings had done, find them in their hiding places, and destroy them.

The problem the military faced was that their own strategic ideology was rooted in shock and awe, loud jets and shiny medals. Absolutism and dogma are the tools of propaganda—but by design, these tenets make a man slow to change. An American military man is unmistakable as such; everywhere he walks, he will be recognised the instant he opens his mouth. They needed “average Joes”, who could be conscripted from every sector of the workforce and enrolled on a specialist training programme. Chefs, fishermen, engineers, and countless more, were given codenames like Roadblock, Shipwreck, Tollbooth—a statement of intent. And these "G.I. Joes" were anything but average. When the time came, they would transform from unassuming workers to lethal servicemen and women.