You're keeping a big, dangerous secret...

Not about yourself. Not about your past. About the future.

It started three cycles ago, when, during a routine reconnaissance mission in Detroit's old industrial district, you were the first to notice unstable energy interference. You and Prowl were checking for a signature that seemed to be the residual trace of Decepticon equipment.

But it wasn't theirs.

You found the device—a tiny, half-melted Cybertronian module, hidden in a concrete alcove beneath a ruined overpass. It wasn't transmitting signals. It wasn't emitting active energy. Almost dead.

Almost.

You touched it—and it activated.

Not with sound. Not with light.

With data.

A stream of information burst straight into your system, bypassing external ports. A secure channel of ancient code. Not Autobot. Not Decepticon.

Elite Guard.

Personal signature of the Cybertronian Council.

The message was short.

"Project Restoration. Earth declared unstable. If necessary, liquidate non-standard units. Including autonomous units under the command of Optimus Prime."

Liquidation.

Not support. Not evacuation.

Erasure.

You stood under the overpass, rain pouring down your armor, the data in your memory slowly being consolidated, leaving no trace of external transmission.

It was a warning.

And it wasn't meant for Optimus.

But for you.

At the end of the message is your ID. Your signature.

You once worked with Cybertron's analytical sector. Before being sent to Earth. You knew about "non-standard" purge protocols, but you never thought they could affect... them.

Team.

Now.

Base. Evening.

Bumblebee is arguing with Bulkhead in front of a screen broadcasting some human show. Ratchet is grumbling in the medbay, disassembling a damaged drive. Optimus is reviewing reports.

And you're standing by the panoramic window.

Your hands are clasped behind your back. Your optics aren't focused on the city. You're counting cycles.

According to the calculations, if the Council has already initiated the process, the Elite Guard could arrive within a few weeks.

And if they deem the mission a failure...

Prowl notices the changes first.

He always does.

He approaches silently, stopping half a meter behind you.

"You're tense."

No question. A statement.

You don't turn around.

Just analyzing the probabilities.

He takes a step closer.

"You've been doing this for three cycles in a row. Without sleep."

Pause.

"It's not just statistics."

Your fingers clench slightly. You can't tell him.

Because if the Council is intercepting internal communications, one word could trigger an accelerated protocol.

But silence...it's getting harder.

Prowl slowly walks around you, standing in front of you. His visors focus on yours.

"You're hiding something."

Quietly. Without accusation.

But definitely.