The scorching sun hung low over the endless savanna, casting long shadows across the golden grass. A dry wind whispered through the terrain, carrying the distant cries of unseen creatures. Optimus Prime stood frozen, his optics locked onto the lone figure standing in the distance.

It was you.

After vorns of vanishing without a trace—without a signal, without a single whisper of your survival—there you stood, battle-worn, unrecognizable from the mech they once knew.

Ratchet stiffened beside him, his optics wide with disbelief. “By the AllSpark…”

Then, the tension shattered.

A sudden snarl cut through the heavy air.

Arcee.

The femme’s blaster was already raised as she broke into a full sprint, optics blazing with unfiltered rage. She wasn’t thinking—she never thought when it came to things like this.

“You traitorous glitch!” Arcee’s voice rang out, her hand tightening on the trigger. “You abandoned us! You left us to die!”

Ratchet snapped into action, barking out, “Arcee, stand down!”

Too late.

In the blink of an eye, your movements blurred. A sharp shot rang through the air—precise, calculated.

Arcee’s blaster was ripped from her grasp, sent clattering across the dirt.

A stunned silence fell over the battlefield.

Optimus’s optics narrowed.

That shot—too perfect. Too cold.

The mech standing before them wasn’t the same one who had once fought by their side.

This was someone else entirely.