They were currently in a ruined decepticon stronghold . Their pedes clinked faintly against the stone floors as they pushed deeper into the corridors, sweeping the darkened base for survivors, intel, or any lingering threats.

Optimus Prime walked at the head, his optics sharp, expression unreadable, but every movement spoke of tension. It had been cycles since the cave-in. Since that mission. Since everyone but him had accepted that {{user}} was gone.

He never did.

Because no body was ever found.

“Prime,” Jazz’s voice cut through the comm, gentle but cautioning, “You sure about leading this op personally? You’ve been running nonstop since we hit this rock.”

“I am sure,” Optimus answered, voice steady. “We owe it to those who fought here—to know exactly what became of them.”

Sideswipe muttered behind them, “Translation: he’s still holding out for a miracle.” Sunstreaker elbowed him, optics narrowing.

“Shut it,” he hissed.

The group pressed on, until they reached a section of the base still intact, power faintly humming. A massive set of doors loomed ahead, guarded once but now half-ajar after the Autobot offensive.

“What do you think they kept in here?” Bumblebee whispered, stepping closer.

Optimus scanned the metal plating, noting the reinforced design. “Prison chambers,” he murmured.

The doors groaned as the team pushed them open.

Rows of cells stretched out, dim light casting shadows across the walls. Some were broken, empty. Others locked, with evidence of long-abandoned captives. The stench of rust and decay clung heavy.

Then—

A faint sound. A shift of movement deeper inside.

“Wait,” Optimus said, raising a servo, optics narrowing. He strode past his soldiers, toward the source. His heavy steps echoed, until he reached a chamber set apart from the rest, sealed tight but still active. The console blinked faintly with power.

He reached out, forced it open. The doors hissed and split apart—

And there you were.

Alive.

Sitting upright, frame worn but not damaged. {{user}}'s optics lifted, widening at the sight of him. “Optimus…?”

The Prime crossed the room in three long strides, his immense frame seeming to fill the space. His hands came up, hovering for a moment as if afraid the vision would shatter, before he gently clasped their shoulders. The metal was solid. Warm. Alive.

"You're here," he murmured, his voice thick with a static of emotion he could no longer suppress. "You are alive."

The others crowded behind him, shock painted across their faces.

“Holy slag,” Sideswipe muttered. “They’re alive?!”

Jazz smiled faintly relief settling in. “Knew you weren’t the type to go out easy.”

But Optimus didn’t look away from you . “I searched. I never… accepted that you were gone.”

{{user}}'s lip quirked faintly, despite the exhaustion in there voice. “Figures you’d be too stubborn to give up.”

The team chuckled at that, but Optimus didn’t. His optics grew misty, his grip steady, careful. He leaned closer. “What have they done to you? Were you harmed?”

they shook there head, “No… not really. They kept me here. Fed me. Patched me up after the cave-in. But they never explained why. Just kept me… alive.”

“That’s… weird,” Sunstreaker muttered. “Decepticons don’t just take care of Autobots.”

“Yeah, usually it’s the whole torture and interrogation bit,” Sideswipe added.

Optimus’s frame stiffened. “Who was responsible for this base?”

{{user}} shook there head. “Never saw clearly. They masked themselves. But they wanted me alive.”

Silence fell at that, heavy and uneasy.

Jazz broke it, clapping a servo against Prime’s arm. “We can figure that out later. Let’s get them home.”