Here's the first two pages.

  The past few months have been utterly insane with giant aliens, burning houses, and about my entire life savings worth of repairs. I should probably slow down and catch you up on how it all started.

  It was another lazy day like any other; we only had a few cars come in, and with nothing more than a few flats, I decided to be the one to close the shop for the day.

  Right as everyone left, this super sleeper semi came in with peeled and muddied paint, no one inside it, just driving in and parking itself. The shop’s computer flagged it for minor cosmetic work, but calling it 'minor' was a joke. The thing was covered in rust and dents; its paint was peeling and muddied to the point that I couldn't tell what color this thing was supposed to be, and the mud flaps were so caked in dirt I could barely see the wheels.

  But the strangest part was the fact that whoever owned a self-driving semi, who I would have expected to weasel his way out of whatever expenses he could, didn't even wait for us to bill him, apparently paying us over a million freaking dollars up front at least, going by the email and tracked transaction on the computer.

  Ok, a self-driving big rig is weird enough. Usually self-driving cars are expensive luxury sports cars or suburbans, and their owners usually love to keep them in proper order, you know, clean, free of dents. Looking like it just came off the lot, but not this one; this one has been used and abused, even if this thing was brand new. I couldn't even see an impulsive rich kid spending this much on his first car, at least not without negotiation.

  Suffice to say, whoever wanted these repairs was rich, insane, or stupid, and probably wanted it done quickly. And apparently was a little too shy to sign with a proper name since looking at the email and transaction, the only name on it was ‘Soundwave 84.’ Saying they wanted it in a tardis blue and silver with some black and burnt orange detailings.

  I was lucky enough to get commissions with the shop, so I decided not to question it, thinking, Ah, weird rich guys, what are you going to do? Not take their money?

  I spent like 6 hours with rust remover, a dent puller, and about 4 buckets of paint. Weirdly enough, I couldn’t find any of the sensors that a self-driving car should have.

  Then the darndest thing happened: the sound wave guy sent another email to us saying telling us to cut out a little piece from the chassis, even sent a photo too with this weird symbol found on The front bumper

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  started cutting a little box around it, but it was the strangest thing. I don't get much experience cutting metal, but something was off; it was just too hard, harder than the frames of most cars, nonetheless a bumper. “What the hell is this thing made of?” I thought to myself as I turned up the power on the saw. Took me about an hour

  Then I heard the darndest thing. Could have sworn I heard some kind of scream from inside the engine block; figured it might have been some bit of tubing breaking or something, so I opened up the hood, and it looked completely normal, so I rummaged around in there for 30 minutes looking for any sort of problem but couldn't find anything.

  Finish the job, replace the section of bumper they had me cut out, and then look the piece over right under the symbol with some electronics I hadn’t noticed before.

  Then right when I thought I was done for the day, everything went wrong.

  All of the doors locked themselves, and the big rig started moving but not in ways that made sense. Massive sections of the frame just went flying as I watched them twist themselves. A hand, arms, legs—was that a face? Before I knew it, it turned into a giant freakin robot.

  saying, "Sorry about that, Command didn't want ya running off. Since these got an offer for ya, ya see hacking computers and being big giant monsters to yall. We can only really get a little bit done round here, so we need a smaller set of hands like yer’s. So what do ya say? Wanna join the Decepticons?"

  The thing looked at me with glowing yellow eyes and spoke with a gruff voice, sounding only a little jovial. As I stood there frozen, repeating to myself, "This can't be real, nope, no, nope, no, or nope."

  As I tried fruitlessly to open the door, the thing then looked at me with a slight frown. "Come on, don't be like that. I handpicked cha after all. Maybe we got off slightly on the wrong foot, or however it is humans say it. OK, let's start over. Ma names Breakdown. It's nice to meet cha and I want yer help. With some simple things that can't be done by hacking a computer or by being 20 feet tall, We'll even pay ya."

  The thing Breakdown called itself offered an interesting deal even if I didn't believe for a second any of this could possibly be happening, so I said, "OK, so why did they have me cut this out of you?"

  I said, holding up the piece of his front bumper with the symbol on it, He looked at me with a bit of surprise. "Oh right, kinda forgot about that. Not pleasant to have that cut out of me, but that'll be yer badge so ya can walk into our base without, ya know, getting shot."