Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 504: Bumblebee

The man’s cash toss was effortless, almost cavalier. Why would someone so wealthy come to a dump like this for a used car?

His commanding presence dwarfed even Sam’s dad’s boss. No ordinary rich guy moved like that.

Sam was puzzled, but with only $3,000, he had to find a car that wasn’t total junk.

Money sure was nice...

The man was Su Ming, naturally. To bypass Kang’s tech lock, he’d long planned to try the AllSpark.

He’d entered the Hasbro Multiverse, home to IDW comics’ worlds.

IDW might sound obscure, but for Su Ming’s age group, their works were iconic: Transformers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Star Trek: Enterprise, Dungeons & Dragons, My Little Pony...

Ninja Turtles offered pizza and Master Splinter’s kung fu—worth studying.

My Little Pony had friendship and bizarre powers, but too cute; it’d soften him. Maybe for a long vacation.

Star Trek’s teleportation tech and D&D’s bag of holding? Must-haves, eventually.

In the Transformers world, Su Ming confirmed the timeline, pawned gold for cash, bought a fake ID and phone, and found Sam’s eBuy listing. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Username "CoolGuy217," selling Witwicky’s glasses, open to in-person deals.

Kid was too naive—practically broadcasting his address.

He thought the glasses worthless, unaware of their true value.

The Decepticons were desperate for them.

Su Ming didn’t need the glasses; he knew the AllSpark was at Hoover Dam, hidden by President Hoover’s secret Sector Seven, masked by a dam and power plant.

Two problems:

First, the AllSpark was a 30-meter cube. Only Cybertronian contact and commands could shrink it to a portable size. Breaching the plant was easy—kill or sneak—but the giant cube was immovable.

Second, metal touching the AllSpark became Transformers, but new ones were crazed Decepticons. Only Optimus Prime could solve that.

In comics and films, Sam used the AllSpark to overload Megatron’s core, killing him and wasting the cube like a firecracker.

So, Su Ming planned to bargain with Optimus: Deathstroke eliminates Megatron, payment being the AllSpark.

First, find the Autobots’ Earth vanguard—Bumblebee.

Lacking the car lot’s exact location, Su Ming tailed Sam and his dad.

Finding Sam’s house, he hid in their garage. When they drove off, Stranglehold helped him cling to the car’s undercarriage, reaching the lot.

Emerging, Stranglehold morphed into a suit. Su Ming blended in as a customer.

Bumblebee’s beat-up Chevy form stood out. A glance at the boxy Autobot logo on the steering wheel confirmed it.

Buy it, then tame it in private.

"Great eye! Solid car. Try it out," Bobby said, counting the cash and handing over the keys.

He tried opening the door for Su Ming, but it wouldn’t budge.

"Small glitch, haha, I’ll fix it. Thirty years selling cars—little tricks do it," Bobby said, grinning to Su Ming but grimacing as he wrestled the lock, sweating.

Five grand on the line—if the door killed the sale, he was screwed.

It stayed shut.

Su Ming knew why. With the star-map glasses in Sam’s hands, Bumblebee saw itself as his guardian. It infiltrated the lot to go home with him, not to be sold.

It figured a major defect meant a return.

Locking the door would stop the buyer.

But Su Ming wasn’t ordinary.

The one-eyed man patted Bobby’s shoulder. "Step aside. Sweating like that and can’t open a door? Kidney issues?"

Pushing Bobby away, he gripped the handle.

Bumblebee, smugly watching, thought its Cybertronian alloy was human-proof.

Then a monstrous force hit. The car slid centimeters, metal screeching, door warping, sparks flying as it tore open.

Bumblebee: "What the—?!"

Su Ming sat in the driver’s seat, patting the wheel, closing the mangled door, and holding out his hand to Bobby.

"Keys."

"Uh... okay."

"Door needs lube. Minor fix—I’ll handle it." Su Ming inserted the key, twisting.

Bobby forced a laugh. Sparks from the door? Heatstroke hallucination?

Before he could dwell, another issue: the car wouldn’t start.

Bobby’s sweat poured. Used cars sold on nostalgia and engines. A dead engine meant a refund.

Bumblebee agreed. Its arm hurt. Was this human a monster? Stronger than an Autobot, ripping the door off.

But it wouldn’t be driven off. New plan: play dead. No matter how the key turned, no response. Frustrate the human.

The car’s air grew still. Bobby trembled, watching the client.

For a moment, he swore a black demonic shadow loomed behind the man. Another illusion?

"So naughty," Su Ming chuckled.

Bumblebee was stubborn. Buy the glasses from Sam later—simple.

Even without them, Su Ming knew the AllSpark’s location.

But this defiance couldn’t stand. Five grand made Bumblebee his. Optimus could protest, but Godslayer and Nightfall would answer.

Su Ming stepped out, popped the hood, feigning repairs.

Bobby exhaled—client hadn’t given up. He’d dodged disaster.

"I’ll grab tools."

"No need." Su Ming waved him off. Autobot tantrum, not a real issue. "I heard from special sources about a repair method. They say a car won’t start when its machine spirit’s upset. Pray, apply holy oil, and it’s fixed."

"Haha, what?" Bobby’s laugh was strained. Machine spirit? Nonsense.

But clients were gods. If praying and oiling were needed—or even a massage—he’d do it.

"What oil? Butter? Gasoline? Olive?"

Su Ming shook his head, smirking. "I disagree with them. Spoiled machine spirits act up. The naughtier, the more you thrash them. So, I’m gonna pee in the gas tank."

"What?!" Bobby’s jaw dropped. Insane theory.

"What?!" Bumblebee’s silent scream. In car form, the tank was part of its body. Human waste flowing through its lines...

Vroom!

As Su Ming approached the tank, wrenching the cap off and unbuckling his belt, the car roared to life.

Stifling a grin, Su Ming cleared his throat, re-buckled Stranglehold’s belt, and patted Bobby’s shoulder.

"See? Most scientific fix: threaten to pee in the tank, and it starts. Big secret—don’t share."

Bobby was numb, unable to tell reality from madness, wearing a dazed grin.

Door opened, engine running—but the tires went flat.

Money at stake, Bobby snapped back, offering to swap spares, begging no more crazy fixes.

Those theories weren’t earthly—Martian, maybe?

New tires wouldn’t help. Su Ming knew Bumblebee would sabotage again.

Young Autobot didn’t grasp what a tactical master meant.

Su Ming stepped out, gently shut the door, and sighed.

Bumblebee gloated; Bobby despaired.

"He’s giving up." Both thought.

But the one-eyed man snapped his fingers. A tow truck and flatbed rolled in from the street.

Deathstroke was prepared.

Bobby watched, stunned, as the tow truck hoisted the Chevy, the flatbed driver securing it with dozens of wrist-thick cables.

So much money, and he’s fighting a used car? Why not buy new?

But business was business. Eye-opening.

"Great car. I’m satisfied."

Su Ming shook Bobby’s hand, climbed onto the flatbed, and slipped into the Chevy’s cabin.

At the lot, Sam, his dad, and Bobby stood dumbfounded, watching the truck fade into the distance.

None saw the Chevy’s wipers spray cleaner, like tears, as Sam vanished from view.