The city burned quietly. Optimus Prime stood on the command spire balcony, watching smoke rise like prayers. Streets below were still—barricades crushed, weapons stacked, dissent reduced to “peace.”

Doors hissed open. He did not turn.

“Do not grieve,” he said softly. “Fear builds terrible futures. I have removed it.”

Evacuations. reeducation broadcasts. leaders quietly replaced. Necessary measures. He turned, optics warm.

“This world is saved from itself. I need voices—loyal ones.”

A hand extended.

“Stand with me. You will thank me for the order that follows.”