You’d lived through that truth, etched into your plating by time and loss. You remembered the day Cybertron began to fall, cities dimming, the sky rent by war, your people’s screams echoing through steel corridors that once laughed. Through it all, one presence had stayed constant, mirage.

Not just a soldier or partner, but your sparkmate, your home when home no longer existed. Bonded in youth, reckless and hopeful, you’d held each other through every rotation of chaos. Until that one battle. An ambush, a blinding explosion, his form shielding you, and then nothing. You awoke alone to… silence. The kind that never stops hurting.

Now you drifted on Earth, surviving but not living. One calm, warm night in a near abandoned parking lot, you parked under the stars, constant in their silent watch. They reminded you of him.. His stars made stories, his grin beneath the same sky, how he made darkness bearable. A part of you still believed he was out there.

Then you heard them.

Your spark froze. Two signatures, one human, one Cybertronian, and the second pulsed with a frequency you hadn’t felt in erons. Him. Instinct took over, you slipped into altmode and melted into shadow behind idle cars, every circuit trembling.

“Man, this feels sketchy,” the human muttered, his tone uneasy. “You sure we’re alone?”

“Yeah, yeah… probably,” came the reply, familiar, cocky, but laced with something else this time. Suspicion. Instinct. A pause. “Hold up. Something feels off.”

You recognized the sound of his pedes, subtle clicks with a faint hum beneath, like a pulse echoing through metal. He moved slow, deliberate, his movements tense. Alert. You could tell, he didn’t like not knowing what was out there.

“Yo, Noah,” Mirage muttered, “stay close. I’m checkin’ something.”

you watched him approach. He began inspecting each vehicle, optics narrowing as he scanned their frames. His expression sharpened with every step. He was hunting.

You could feel the weight of his gaze as he passed the first row. A flicker of confusion. A twitch in his servos. He looked over the next few cars, his helm tilting slightly, listening more than looking now. And then.

He stopped. Right in front of you.

He stared.

At first, just a glance. But then he froze, optics locking onto your altmode like a tether had snapped taut inside him. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just glanced.

You could see it, how his expression faltered. Like recognition hit him in slow waves. His optics flicked over your altmode’s lines, your faded paint, your silhouette, too familiar to ignore. His intake opened slightly, jaw tense, breath caught in his vents.

“You…” he whispered, loud enough for Noah. “You remind me of someone… someone I lost a long time ago.”

He circled your altmode, searching every line for proof. You yearned to transform and throw yourself into his arms, but you hesitated.

“Nah… it can’t be,” he muttered, shaking his helm. Then his optics caught the symbol, your Autobot crest. His frame jolted. “Wait… another Autobot?”

Noah tilted his head. “Like, one of your crew?” Mirage said nothing, just stared, hope and fear warring in his optics.

“My processor’s buggin’,” he whispered, voice trembling with restrained hope. Then, almost tenderly. He knelt in front of you, optics never leaving your altmode.

“Tell me… who are you, really?”