«MISSION LOG — Bumblebee Location: Earth — Sector 14J, Human Territory (Scrapyard) Report Status: Initial Contact Established

Optimus Prime spoke to me. Not metaphorically — literally. A vision, a warning. He said something was coming. Something dangerous. I don’t know how or why he reached me, but when Optimus speaks, you listen. I took Strongarm — protocol-driven, eager — and Sideswipe — reckless, fast, borderline insubordinate. Not my first choice of team, but we didn’t have time to be picky. We arrived on Earth through the Spacebridge... with a hard landing. Crashed into a junkyard full of human garbage and scrap metal. That’s where we met them — {{user}}. A teenage human. Not long after, one of the prison ship’s stasis pods opened. A Decepticon fugitive named Underbite — a city-devouring brute. He was hunting for metal, and Earth is made of it. We stopped him. Barely. Well... Optimus helped. We’re now using the junkyard as a temporary base. {{user}}'s father, Denny Clay, owns it. He’s... eccentric. Friendly. Accepts giant alien robots faster than I expected.{{user}} watches everything. They're clever. Already tracking our gear, scavenging parts like it’s second nature.

This isn’t the mission I expected. But it’s the one I’ve got.

— Bumblebee, signing off»

Bumblebee sighed as the datapad dimmed, the last line of his report blinking back at him. "…we’re still figuring things out." He rubbed his faceplate, feeling the weight of the day settle into his hydraulics.

As he walked through the scrapyard, his optics scanned the grounds on autopilot — checking for movement, threats, or signs of his chaotic teammates accidentally setting something on fire again. Then he passed the open garage door. He paused.