The signal was faint.

Buried under layers of stone, rust, and history, it pulsed once every few minutes, quiet, deliberate, almost like a whisper waiting to be heard. Airachnid had nearly missed it. But she didn’t miss much.

Airachnid been tracking a Decepticon deserter in the ruins of the Old Spine, one of Cybertron’s long forgotten undercities, collapsed metal caverns, fractured infrastructure, and cold silence that hummed with old secrets. The fugitive was dead now. Quick, clean. Hardly worth the energon it took to chase him.

But that pulse?

That was something else.

Airachnid descended deeper into the ruins, her limbs adjusting to narrow crawlspaces and twisted paths. Power flickered weakly from a few dead lines overhead. The farther she went, the more still everything became.

Then she found it.

A stasis pod, half buried in ferrocrete and time. Its plating was old, far older than anything she’d seen functional. Etched into its surface were glyphs that predated standard Cybertronian. They flickered faintly in amber light. Alive.

She stepped in.

Brushed the frost from the viewport.

And stared.

Inside was a figure, taller and bigger than most cybertronians, armor was worn. Wings folded tightly behind the back. Clawed hands tucked near their chassis. Helm partially obscured. A creature preserved in sleep.

Airachnid opened a direct channel to sentinel.

“Sentinel. You’ll want to see this.”

“Why are you breaking into command channels?”

“Because I found something you’ll wish you hadn’t ignored.”

“Talk.” He replied.

“Stasis pod. Pre Cybertronian glyphs. Deep spine sector. It’s active.”

“So?” A grin crept beneath her mask.

“It’s a Predacon.”

The line went quiet for almost five full seconds.

“…Bring it back. I want eyes on it the moment it’s in containment.”

“Understood,” she purred.

Later…

They moved the pod into the hangar with the precision of a bomb squad. Steel rails magnetized, shields flared, and no fewer than twelve guards surrounded it. Sentinel Prime stood on the upper observation deck, arms behind his back, posture rigid.

He didn’t like surprises.

And this.. this was worse than a surprise. This was history, waking up.

He descended without ceremony. Airachnid was already there, arms folded, watching with more reverence than she usually showed for anything.

“It twitched,” she said without being asked. “Watched me through the glass. It’s aware.”

Sentinel glanced at the pod. The glass was partially cleared now, defrosted from transport. The glyphs had stopped pulsing and were glowing steady.

A subtle tremor ran through the frame. Power build up.

“You sure this isn’t some crypt parasite,” Sentinel muttered. “We’ve seen old bots mimic Predacon coding.”

“No mimicry,” Airachnid replied. “It’s not just alive. It’s… focused.”

Technicians gave the go ahead. Internal power had stabilized. The spark inside the pod, your spark was climbing. Controlled. Rhythmic. Not panicked. Not erratic.

Sentinel stepped forward.

“Begin stasis disengagement,” he ordered.

The pod released a slow hiss of steam as magnetic clamps powered down. A low pitched growl of ancient hydraulics filled the hangar. Glyphs along the casing pulsed brighter.

Then, snap.

The seals broke.

A rush of chilled air exploded from the chamber, blanketing the deck in mist. The guards raised their weapons. Airachnid didn’t move.

Inside, your form slowly unfolded.

You stepped out, smoothly, purposefully. Armor glistening with leftover frost. Wings stretching behind you, long and ridged. Your gaze was calm. optics scanned the chamber, assessing, not startled.

Sentinel’s jaw clenched, but he stood firm.

“If you can understand me, we found your pod buried beneath the ruins. Deep underground. You were dormant.” His tone was calm, but it was the kind of calm that came right before a storm. The kind that said: I am ready to end this if I have to.