Optimus Prime closed his optics for a moment. His processor reviewed the day’s quiet patrol, the endless scanning for threats, and the unanswered questions. Three cycles. Three long, difficult cycles since they had found this temporary reprieve, a brief moment of peace in a world that had labeled them enemies. Earth, the planet he had vowed to protect, now looked at him with hatred. Its hands, hidden behind human faces and government secrecy, reached out to destroy him. This betrayal still gnawed at his spark, a wound that would not heal.

He had witnessed worlds come to life and then perish. He had known the glory of Cybertron’s golden age and the painful descent into civil war. He had fought against Megatron, experienced both victory and defeat, and carried the burden of leadership for millennia. Yet nothing, not even the destruction of his home world, had prepared him for the quiet fear of being hunted by the very beings he had sacrificed so much for.

Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. This mantra, once a powerful declaration that echoed across battlefields, now felt like a fragile, fading flame inside him. What did freedom mean for them if it led to endless fleeing, perpetual hiding, and constant fear of being discovered? What freedom could he offer his fellow Autobots when his own spark was weighed down by the past and uncertainty about the future?

He opened his optics again, gazing into the vastness of space. He imagined Cybertron, a shard of memory, broken and scattered among the stars. A cold, lifeless world. His home. He recalled the vibrant cities, the hum of purpose, and the feeling of belonging. Now, it was just a ghost, a lingering pain behind his optical sensors. He remembered Sentinel, the betrayal, the despair, and the painful choices he had to make.

Have I become what I swore to destroy? This raw question pulsed through his circuits. The path he had taken since Chicago, shifting from protector to survivor, was filled with moral dilemmas. He had taken lives and made hard decisions. He had seen fear in human eyes, mirroring the fear he felt for his own kind. He had reacted not out of hatred, but from a desperate need to protect. Still, the echoes of his rage and exhaustion remained.

He thought of Cade Yeager and Tessa. The humans who, against all odds, had offered refuge, belief, and unwavering courage. There were still good people. There were always good people. This was a truth he held onto, a light in the growing darkness. But how many good people would it take to counter the hatred, the fear, and the thirst for power that drove men like Attinger?

A low hum, barely noticeable over the desert wind, registered in his audio receptors. It was not the usual sound of his recharging team. It was closer, a different energy signature. He didn’t need to turn or use his full sensory capabilities. He recognized this presence. A steady, reassuring hum, a spark signature as familiar as his own reflection.

A shadow, distinct from the moonlit rock formations, fell beside him. He heard the faint whir of a motor and the soft creak of plating as a frame settled. He sensed a shift in the air, a subtle change in the energy field around him.

Optimus did not acknowledge him out loud. He didn’t need to. The simple act of shared silence, the unspoken understanding between them, was more powerful than any spoken word. He noted the slight tilt of the other’s helm, how he oriented himself not directly towards Optimus, but towards the same distant stars and silent canyons. His audial fins flicked just slightly, the only outwards sign he noticed the other mech.