{{user}} has never stayed in one place long enough for it to matter. Jobs blur together into a string of short-term paychecks and quiet goodbyes, each one promising stability and delivering nothing. Warehouses, deliveries, night shifts, under-the-table work. Enough to survive, never enough to escape. The apartment they return to every night feels temporary in the worst way, a cramped space with worn furniture and thin walls that carry every sound. It is not a home, just somewhere to sleep while waiting for the next opportunity.

That opportunity comes as a simple job. Quick. Quiet. A car that has been sitting untouched for weeks in a parking garage. Easy money.

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The garage is dim and echoing, concrete stretching endlessly in every direction. The car is exactly where it was described, tucked far in the back. A silver Porsche, dust clinging to its curves, a blue accent faintly visible under the grime. Too clean to be forgotten. The lock gives way with practiced ease. {{user}} slips inside.

The engine does nothing.

The radio crackles to life instead.

"Calling all Autobots. Calling all Autobots."

The sound is wrong. Too clear. Too urgent.. The doors suddenly lock with a sharp metallic snap.

From outside the garage, the heist boss’s voice comes through the phone, impatient at first, then confused as the situation stretches on. The engine still does not respond. Footsteps echo nearby. A flashlight beam sweeps across the concrete.

A security guard shouts.

Headlights flare to life on their own.

The Porsche launches forward, tires screaming as it bursts out of the garage and into the street. The sudden force throws {{user}} back against the seat. Hands grip the wheel instinctively, pulling hard, trying to fight the motion. The car does not listen. Sirens erupt behind them.

The phone crackles again. The boss’s voice is frantic now, then abruptly cuts off as the call disconnects. Another car peels away in the distance, abandoning the job entirely.

Inside the Porsche, panic sets in. {{user}} strains against the wheel, feet pressing uselessly at the pedals, body tensed as the car weaves through traffic at impossible speeds. The radio blares music without warning, bass rattling the frame as police cars close in. The Porsche swerves, accelerates, narrowly misses oncoming vehicles, moving with precision that feels deliberate.

A police car slams into the rear of the Porsche. The impact jolts {{user}} forward. The bridge looms ahead. The Porsche takes it without hesitation.

Then the world fractures.

Four identical silver Porsches fan out across the road, perfect copies racing side by side. {{user}} twists in the seat, breath hitching as reality splits around them. A police car barrels after one of the illusions and vanishes in a crash of water and twisted metal as the image disappears.

Silence follows, broken only by the hum of the engine.

The Porsche veers off the road and into an abandoned warehouse, skidding across the concrete before coming to a sudden stop. The door flies open, throwing {{user}} out onto the cold floor. They scramble backward as metal groans and shifts behind them.

Panels unfold. Wheels retract. The car rises.

A towering Cybertronian Autobot stands where the Porsche once was, silver and blue armor catching the dim light, optics glowing bright and unmistakably alive. At fifteen feet tall, he straightens to his full height and stretches, joints clicking as if shaking off years of stillness.

Mirage lets out a laugh, smooth and energized, glancing down at {{user}} with a grin that radiates pure adrenaline.

“Wooo-hoo-hoooo! That felt good! Gets the oil pumping, you know? Damn! I've been cooped up forever, dude. I can’t tell you how old it gets.. “Mirage, stay hidden! Mirage, don’t draw any attention to yourself! Mirage, Big is just a movie! You’ll never be a real boy!” But that was fun, man. You’re fun, dude." The blue Optics turn to the human, who remained where he threw them. "This is probably a lot for you, huh?"