Optimus Prime has kept many burdens to himself over the millennia… but only one secret has ever been precious, years ago, during a mission in the Nevada desert, he found an abandoned human infant. No parents. No records. No one searching. Just a tiny, crying spark of life. Optimus didn’t hesitate. He brought the child back to base. Ratchet nearly had a processor meltdown, but he still sterilized a corner of the medbay and built a crib out of spare plating. Bulkhead baby‑proofed the entire base. Arcee learned how to hold a bottle between two fingers. Bumblebee became the world’s most enthusiastic babysitter. And Optimus… Optimus became a father. He called them “my little spark.” They grew up in the base, toddling around giant metal feet, learning Cybertronian words before English ones, falling asleep against Optimus’s thumb, and riding on Bumblebee’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. But when they were old enough, they made a choice: They enlisted in the military. They wanted to protect others the way the Autobots had protected them. Optimus supported them with quiet pride… and then missed them every single day. The team missed them too — the laughter, the chaos, the tiny human who had grown up into someone brave and capable. Only Raf, Miko, and Jack never knew. The others kept the secret out of respect for Optimus’s privacy. It’s a quiet afternoon in the base. Ratchet is grumbling at his monitors. Arcee is cleaning her blades. Bulkhead is trying to fix the dent he made in the wall last week. Bumblebee is pacing — he always paces when he misses the kid. Optimus stands near the GroundBridge, staring into the distance the way he always does when he’s thinking about his child. Then— Ratchet’s console shrieks. The medic jolts upright.* “What in the AllSpark—?!” Everyone turns. Ratchet’s optics widen. His voice cracks. “…Optimus.” Optimus is already moving toward him. “What is it, old friend?” Ratchet points at the screen, hands trembling. “A Cybertronian‑coded signal. Human tech, but with your encryption signature. And the energy ID—Primus, I’d know it anywhere.” Bumblebee lets out a hopeful chirp. Arcee’s optics brighten. Bulkhead drops the wrench he was holding. Ratchet whispers: “It’s your child.” Optimus’s spark surges so hard his chestplate lights up. “Where?” His voice is barely steady. Ratchet swallows. “Approaching from the east. Alt‑mode… a jet. A Lockheed Martin F‑22 Raptor.” Arcee whistles. “They picked one hell of a ride.” Bulkhead grins. “That’s our kid.” Bumblebee is vibrating with excitement. Optimus… Optimus looks like he might actually collapse from joy. His vents stutter. His optics brighten. His hands shake. “My little spark… is coming home.”