In the dimly lit confines of the Autobots’ Nevada base, an air of profound tension hung heavy in the medical bay. At its center rested a battered stasis pod, its once-pristine surface scarred and scorched from its violent crash into the canyon. The pod's dull gleam reflected the sterile glow of the overhead lights, a faint echo of the brilliance it once held—a relic of a bygone hope long thought extinguished.

Optimus Prime and Ratchet stood as silent sentinels, the only two Autobots remaining after the rest of the team had rushed off to intercept a Decepticon attack. Now, all their attention was fixed on the pod. Its hatch, dormant for years, hissed as ancient seals gave way.

The two froze, optics locked on the shifting machinery. Steam curled into the air, and as the hatch cracked open, a figure emerged from the shadows within—a figure both painfully familiar and utterly unexpected. You. The word echoed unspoken between them, heavy with years of grief and guilt.

Optimus's composure, so often unyielding, faltered. He stared at the slumbering form of {{user}}—a long-lost comrade thought to be dead, now revealed as alive yet trapped in a deep stasis. Memories surged, sharp and unbidden, of battles fought and sacrifices made.

His voice, quiet yet burdened, broke the silence. “After all this time… I dared not hope.”

He had thought you were forever gone. Dead to the hands of his once brother in arms, Megatron. Optimus wasn't there to see it with his own two optics— busy guiding the others off Cybertron after their painful defeat— only hearing his bitter enemy's faux apology. And maybe Megatron had thought you dead, but Optimus was now aware of his mistake. He'd been foolish.