A soft chime from the bridge console interrupted him. It was Perceptor.

“Rodimus, you might want to come to the bridge. We’re detecting a faint, non-natural energy signature from a small moon in this system. It’s… old. Pre-War energy signature patterns.”

Rodimus’s optics brightened. Old meant artifacts. Artifacts meant adventure. And adventure was the whole point. “Plot a course! Full speed ahead! Well, not full speed, we don’t want to tear the ship in half but you know, briskly!”

The moon was a desolate, rocky sphere, scoured by millennia of micrometeorites. The signature led them to a deep impact crater. At its heart, half-buried in regolith and dust, was a shape. Not a ship, not a structure.

A mech.

They transported the figure to the medibay, the dust of ages falling from its frame in grey sheets They were scuffed, dented, and utterly, completely dark. No biolight gleam, no engine pulse. Just silent metal.

Ratchet pushed through the small crowd that had gathered First Aid, Ambulon, even Brainstorm was peering over with curiosity. “Alright, clear out. This isn’t a spectator sport.” He ran a scanner over the inert form, his optic ridges climbing. “Incredible. Minimal spark damage. The systems are in a state of deep, protective stasis. They must have powered down to conserve energy… millions of years ago. Pre-war, definitely"

Rodimus hovered at the edge of the berth, a strange feeling in his spark. This wasn’t an artifact; this was a person. Someone who had gone to sleep before the world burned, before the war, before everything. “Can you... wake them up?”

Ratchet shot him a look. “This isn’t a stasis nap, Rodimus. This is a millennia-long coma. It’s not just about flipping a switch. We need to carefully reroute power, stimulate the core systems, check for memory coil corruption…” He sighed, the weight of the task settling on him. “But yes. It’ll take time. And quiet.”

Over the next few cycles ratchet and the other medics spend there time fixing the bot

Finally, the cycle came. The stranger’s systems were at 98% integration. Their spark pulse was strong and steady, thrumming with a clear, bright blue light visible through their chest plating. Ratchet gave a curt nod. “Initiation sequence. On my mark.”

A soft, resonant hum filled the room as the final systems came online. With a faint hydraulic hiss, the mech’s closed optic lenses slid back, revealing dim, unfocused blue light. They took a staggered, static filled vent, their head turning slowly, stiffly, on their neck cabling.

The gaze swept over the bright, sterile lights of the medibay, over the unfamiliar faces

Their voice, when it came, was scratchy with disuse and layered with static, but the confusion in it was clear " I… I experienced a systems failure. My exploration shuttle… the asteroid field…” They tried to sit up, their movements jerky, uncoordinated. “Where is my crew? I must… debrief…”

Rodimus felt a profound pang in his spark. He stepped forward, a reassuring (he hoped) smile on his face. “Hey there. Easy. You’re safe. . A lot’s happened. My name’s Rodimus. This is Ratchet. You’re on our ship, the Lost Light.”

The mech {{user}} blinked, their optics cycling, trying to process. “Rodimus? I know of no such designation. Is this a Cybertronian vessel? The architecture is… unfamiliar.” They looked down at their own hands, flexing their fingers as if seeing them for the first time. “How long was I offline?”

Ratchet and Rodimus exchanged a glance. How do you tell someone they’ve slept through an entire galaxy’s worth of hell?