ON THE WAY BACK TO AMERICA
The roaring engines of the C-17 Globemaster echoed through the cabin as it cut through the clouds, carrying the SOCCENT team away from the battlefield.
Dim lights cast shadows over the dust-covered faces of the soldiers. Their uniforms were tattered, streaks of dried blood clung to their sleeves, and wounds remained unbandaged.
In the middle of the cargo bay lay something grotesque—a massive severed robotic arm, its clean-cut edges gleaming under the weak light.
This thing did not belong to Earth.
William Lennox leaned against the aircraft wall, his gaze distant. He absently turned his wedding ring between his fingers. Sarah and their daughter were waiting for him at home. Just a day ago, survival had been his only concern.
Now?
He had faced something the world had never seen before.
Beside him, Epps—the burly, scarred communications specialist—suddenly let out a laugh, his voice breaking the tense silence of the aircraft.
— Holy shit! Can you believe this, Will? Real-life robot warfare!
He gave Lennox a playful punch on the shoulder, shaking his head, still caught between disbelief and excitement.
— I'm gonna go home and tell my whole damn family I didn't just survive—I watched two giant robots beat the crap out of each other right in front of me!
William glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
— Yeah, and we almost became part of the scrapyard… If not for that one called "Autobot."
Epps chuckled again. But in his eyes, hidden beneath the amusement, there was something else—an awareness.
No matter how much they joked, they both knew one thing:
The world would never be the same again.
ANOTHER CORNER OF THE PLANE
Sacz—a bald, heavily bearded Polish man—sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, his cold gray eyes locked onto the severed robotic limb in front of him.
He was a gunner, an expert in heavy weaponry. Yet even an M134 Minigun or a grenade launcher would struggle to scratch this thing.
His uniform was in tatters, his sleeve stained with dried blood. But he paid no attention to that.
His fingers tapped lightly against the metallic surface of the severed arm.
— This thing... It's not just technology.
His voice was low, contemplative, as if he was still struggling to believe what he had seen.
Across from him, Donnelly—their logistics guy, a lean, quick-thinking blonde with glasses—was busy scribbling in a small notebook.
He was sketching, carefully recording every detail, his eyes filled with the sharp focus of a scientist thrown into a battlefield.
Epps arched an eyebrow at him.
— What the hell are you writing, Don?
Donnelly didn't look up, still studying the arm.
— Evidence.
His response was short. Then, under his breath, he murmured:
— Giant robots… Unseen technology… Moves like a living being…
Epps snorted.
— Trust me, Don. Hand this over to the guys at the Pentagon, and they'll shit their pants.
Donnelly just smirked.
YET ANOTHER CORNER
Fig, the squad's medic—an Asian guy with short black hair—leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh of relief.
Despite having raced against death just hours ago, he carried an almost unsettling sense of calm.
— Hey, Don, just relax, man. I say we should be celebrating the fact that we're still alive.
He nodded toward the last member of their team.
— Right, Guerra?
Guerra—a Mexican-American sniper, his long dark hair tied back—rested his head against his Barrett M82 rifle. His eyes stared blankly ahead, unfocused.
— No comment.
A simple response.
Cold. Flat.
For a moment, silence filled the cargo bay.
Fig exhaled softly, waving a hand dismissively.
— Come on, don't be so tense. Just chill.
Guerra slowly closed his eyes.
But in his mind, one thought remained:
"If humans can betray each other so easily… then no alien machine is worth trusting."
William looked around at his team.
Six men had survived the nightmare.
But they all knew one thing—this war wasn't over.
That thing on the floor?
It wasn't the only one out there.
Somewhere, out in the darkness, they were still watching.
Somewhere, a storm was brewing.
William clenched his fists, eyes fixed on the night sky outside the window.
"This war… is just beginning."
—-
Somewhere in Los Angeles
Sam had yet to recover. Optimus' words echoed in his mind, as if a distant fate had suddenly reached out and touched his life. From an ordinary person to a crucial link in history? The dizziness hit like a hammer to his head, making everything around him spin.
Ratchet stood with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp. Though part of him seemed cold, there was also a profound understanding in his eyes.
— I don't blame your reaction, Sam. But we need an answer before not only humanity but also we ourselves face trouble with the Decepticon invasion.
Sam swallowed hard. He knew there was no time for hesitation. Everything suddenly felt too vast for someone like him. The symbols in the book weren't just meaningless letters; they carried a responsibility he wasn't ready to face.
Optimus gently placed the "Covenant of Primus" on the ground, his steel fingers carefully flipping through the gleaming metallic pages. Each turn of a page felt like being pulled into another dimension—one full of mystery and challenges. Then he stopped at a chapter, a depiction of a sphere surrounded by ancient symbols.
— This is the chapter containing knowledge of the sacred AllSpark, — Optimus said, his voice deep and serious. — We only understand a small portion of it—perhaps nothing at all—because every translation has been nothing more than oral tradition passed down through generations.
Sam felt the weight of Optimus' words, and the look in his eyes carried a vague hope—was Sam the one who could uncover the rest of the story? He wanted to believe he could, but the thought felt distant, elusive.
— Can you understand any part of it? — Ratchet asked, his voice carrying a hint of concern, though he tried to hide it.
Sam looked at the book. The symbols seemed to dance before his eyes, yet they felt as though they were avoiding him. He knew he lacked the knowledge or strength to grasp it all.
Sam couldn't answer immediately.
The pressure from the Autobots and Mikaela around him made him feel trapped beneath the ocean's depths—unable to breathe, unable to escape. The weight was crushing, nearly snuffing out any remaining confidence he had. He knew he couldn't return to his normal life, but the reality of this was still too overwhelming.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but his hands trembled slightly as they touched the metallic surface of the book. The cold, rigid texture felt like a locked door to a world he wasn't ready to enter.
The moment he touched it—an unseen wave of data rushed through his mind. Images sharpened, voices echoed from a distant place, and words in a language he had never heard before… yet strangely, he understood them.
He began to read, as if an invisible force was guiding him toward an ancient knowledge. The first line appeared before his eyes, automatically translating into English in his mind, clear and powerful:
— The Original Spark never dies. It only transforms, revolves, and returns in a new form.
This wasn't like reading an ordinary book. The whole space around him fell silent, leaving only those words reverberating in his head. It wasn't just knowledge—it was existence itself, the very soul of this universe.
Sam stopped, his eyes filled with confusion. There was something he couldn't grasp yet—a part of the truth still beyond his reach.
He turned to Optimus, who remained silent, his bright eyes seemingly expecting this to happen. The words Sam had just spoken—they weren't just a prophecy. They could be a doorway to life… or destruction.
As Sam finished the first verse, an eerie silence enveloped the room. The Autobots stood still, their gazes shifting between him and each other. No one spoke, but their eyes conveyed everything. Mikaela, standing nearby, her eyes wide, unable to hide her astonishment.
Ratchet was the first to break the silence, his voice cold but tense:
— Impossible… You can actually read Cybertronian ancient script?
Sam felt their eyes on him—not with doubt, but with undeniable amazement. He turned to Optimus, who observed him with a solemn expression, but there was an unreadable glimmer in his gaze.
— The Original Spark never dies… — Optimus murmured, then nodded slowly, his voice lowering with understanding. — This verse… it is part of an oral tradition we have known. But no one has ever translated it fully. You just read exactly what is written in the Covenant of Primus.
Jazz, standing nearby, couldn't contain his admiration:
— You didn't just read it… you understood it. That's an extremely rare ability, Sam. Too rare.
Ironhide, usually silent, couldn't hide his shock either. He stepped closer, staring at Sam.
— You can read this ancient script? F-For the first time in Cybertron's history… Someone has read it… — His voice carried disbelief, yet also deep respect.
Mikaela looked at Sam, her eyes filled with concern, but also pride.
— Sam, you… you can really do this?
Despite his nervousness, Sam remained composed. He nodded, though he still couldn't fully comprehend the gravity of what he had just done. All he knew was that what had just happened was not a mere coincidence. The weight of responsibility slowly settled in.
Optimus bowed his head slightly, his eyes filled with understanding.
— This is why we need you, Sam. You are not just a bearer of the past… you will decide the future for all of us.
The air was heavy, thick with the unspoken tension in Optimus' words. That verse—the ancient prophecy of the First Spark—was a guiding key to the truth, but also an impending trial. What Sam had only begun to understand was merely the first step into an irreversible journey.
Ratchet nodded, his gaze still deep in thought:
— If what you read is correct… then we have found the doorway to what we've searched for over millions of years. Perhaps even the revival of Cybertron.
Sam felt breathless. He wasn't just a witness—he was the keyholder, even if he didn't fully understand what he was facing yet.
He exhaled, as if releasing a heavy burden from his chest. Though anxiety still lingered, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace knowing he had managed to read part of the book—something no one else could. But a greater question remained unanswered—the truth of the AllSpark and what it truly represented.
He glanced at the Autobots, seeing the curiosity, the anticipation in their eyes. They knew he could read these writings, but they had no idea what was about to be revealed.
Immediately, Sam turned back to the book, his hand lightly brushing over the metallic pages, searching for the next verse. The words resonated in his mind, gentle yet commanding.
The text appeared before him, and he began to read. The words automatically translated into English in his mind:
— Not merely a source of energy, but also a judge. It can create, and it can destroy. But it does not distinguish between good and evil. It measures only the will of those it touches. Regardless of intent.
At that moment, everything fell silent. The Autobots stared at Sam, their eyes unable to hide their surprise and concern. Even Optimus, who always remained calm, couldn't help but be taken aback by those words.
Jazz, usually composed and laid-back, suddenly raised an eyebrow.
— Willpower? What could make the Allspark "judge" someone like that?
Ratchet stepped toward Sam, his gaze focused on what the boy had just read, though he couldn't hide his unease.
— This means the Allspark isn't just a great power source. It's a sentient entity, capable of seeing into the souls and wills of those who seek it. Only those with the "right" will can control it.
Mikaela turned to Optimus, her face tense as if she was trying to fully grasp what was unfolding.
— So… what does this mean for us? For Sam?
Optimus didn't respond immediately. His gaze was deep, as though his thoughts were drifting to something far away.
— This may be a sign of a coming trial. The Allspark is not a simple tool for us to use. It can create life, but it can also destroy everything. And it will not obey anyone unless it recognizes their true will.
A heavy feeling hung in the air. Sam understood that this was no ordinary challenge. He wasn't just caught in the war between two factions—he now had to face the Allspark itself, a force so powerful and mysterious that it could bring either creation or destruction, depending on the will of those who wielded it.
He glanced back at the book, but there was still one final verse left untranslated, hidden within ancient symbols he had yet to decipher.
— So what's the final part? What do you have to do to prove you're worthy? — Mikaela asked, her voice filled with both worry and hope.
Sam looked back at them, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and fear. He knew the final answer wasn't just in the book—it was within himself. His own will.
Taking a deep breath, he lowered his gaze and continued reading. The Cybertronian symbols flickered in his mind, slowly transforming into words he could understand. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke:
— To awaken the Keeper of Creation, the summoner must recite the ancient oath. If they fail, they will be rejected, and the relic shall scatter into five pieces, waiting for the right time to reunite. The unworthy shall fall into a trap of the mind, trapped within their own consciousness—tormented and forgotten in the darkness of the cosmos until ten thousand cycles pass, never to be freed.
The moment the verse ended, an eerie silence filled the space.
— Ten thousand cycles? How many years is that? — Sam frowned.
— In Earth time… about ten million years. — Ironhide answered casually.
— Ten million years?! — Sam and Mikaela exclaimed in unison.
For them, ten years already felt long. Ten million was beyond comprehension.
— Wait… so… how old are you guys, exactly? — Sam blinked, looking around.
— The oldest one here is me, at just about seven hundred thousand cycles. The youngest… — Ironhide glanced at Bumblebee — … is that yellow kid over there. Six hundred and eighty thousand cycles.
— Hold on, that means Bumblebee is over a half billion years old?! — Mikaela's eyes widened.
— Ha! That's nothing. — Jazz crossed his arms, smirking. — The longest-living Cybertronian I know has passed five millions cycles.
—OVER FIVE BILLION YEAR'S ?! — Sam nearly stumbled, grabbing onto Mikaela for balance. — Does he get joint pain from old age or something?
— No idea. But if he did, he's probably been complaining for a few hundred millennia by now. — Jazz shrugged.
Sam and Mikaela exchanged glances, suddenly realizing that human lifespans were nothing more than a blink of an eye to the alien machines standing before them.
The conversation lulled for a moment, until Ratchet broke the silence with a firm voice.
— We can talk about age later. Right now, the most important thing is the Allspark.
Bumblebee, usually calm, let out a low beep of concern. Jazz raised an eyebrow, while Ironhide crossed his arms, his face darkening. The momentary humor quickly faded, replaced by the weight of the true matter at hand—the battle for survival.
— So, if someone tries to activate the Allspark without knowing the incantation… it will scatter into five pieces? And that person will pass out? — Ratchet repeated, his eyes filled with caution.
— A defense mechanism… — Optimus spoke slowly, as if he had suspected this all along. — The Allspark does not allow itself to be used recklessly. Only one who truly understands its nature can wield it fully. That's why there are five coordinates.
Mikaela frowned.
— Then… what is the incantation? Is it in the book?
Sam continued reading, his eyes locked onto the ancient text. He had understood most of it—the power of the Allspark, its ability to create and destroy, its own will, and the way it protected itself from those who would misuse it.
But when he reached the final lines…
Everything blurred.
The symbols before him no longer transformed into English as easily. They were like scattered puzzle pieces, dancing before his eyes, yet refusing to come together into a coherent sentence.
Sam squinted, trying to focus, but the harder he tried, the more his head throbbed with pain.
— I… I can't read it. — He mumbled, his voice filled with confusion.
Mikaela looked at him anxiously.
— What? But you read everything else just fine!
Sam shook his head.
— I know… but this last part won't translate. It's like it's encoded in some way, or I'm missing something to understand it…
Optimus remained silent, his sharp gaze fixed on the ancient symbols.
— It is possible that within these lines lies the incantation to activate the Allspark.
Optimus's words made everyone pause.
A hidden incantation—the one thing that could awaken this powerful relic. But if Sam couldn't read it, how could they find a way to properly use the Allspark?
A light breeze passed through, carrying the weight of silence.
And then, like a lightning bolt striking his mind, Sam remembered.
— The notebook!
All eyes turned to him.
Sam looked up, his eyes bright with a flicker of hope.
— My great-grandfather's notebook! Archibald Witwicky! If anyone's seen these symbols before, it's him! Maybe... maybe he wrote something about the incantation!
He turned to Optimus, his voice desperate.
— I have to go home and get it. Right now.
Optimus nodded without hesitation, his voice steady.
— Then we go, Sam. We don't have time to waste!
—-
Sam leaned back in his seat, rubbing his temples. He had just escaped a mess of riddles about the AllSpark, and now he had to deal with the fact that he was being watched on his way home. A part of him wanted to ignore it, but his instincts told him it wasn't that simple.
Taking a deep breath, Sam leaned back, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. He couldn't deny it—those vehicles behind him were clearly protecting him. But that realization only made the uneasy feeling in his gut worse.
— I don't like this at all.— Sam muttered.
— You don't like being protected?— Mikaela asked, tilting her head toward him.
— That's not it…— Sam rubbed his forehead. — It's just… Do you see it? We're being watched by an entire convoy of sentient vehicles. Not the FBI, not the police—giant metal aliens.
Mikaela was silent for a moment, then shrugged.
— Yeah… when you put it that way, it does sound kind of intense.
— Exactly! Sam shot up, pointing forward. — I'm just a regular high school kid. I didn't sign up to be the center of an intergalactic war!
Mikaela chuckled softly, but the moment she saw Sam's expression, the amusement faded. He was genuinely worried.
— Sam…
— Do you remember last time? When I just wanted to find a pretty girl and ended up nearly getting killed by a robot cop? I just want a normal life, Mikaela. But now, every step I take, there's an entire alien army following me. If this keeps up, sooner or later, someone's going to get hurt.
Sam clenched his fists.
— If I'm not careful, I'll drag everyone down with me.
Mikaela watched him for a long moment before sighing.
— I get it, Sam. But if you think you can just turn your back on this… you're wrong.
Sam looked at her.
— What you know, what you've seen—you can't pretend it didn't happen. No matter how much you run, you'll always be pulled back in.
Sam remained silent.
— So why not accept it and actually do something about it?
Sam closed his eyes, resting his head against the seat. He wasn't sure if he was ready. But deep down, he knew Mikaela was right.
Sam sighed. Just a day ago, who would've thought he'd end up in this situation? Not only was he caught up in a war between alien robots, but now he had bodyguards tailing his every move.
— Bee, tell me we're almost home.
Bumblebee let out a short rock tune, almost teasingly, before turning into their familiar neighborhood.
But the moment they arrived in front of Sam's house, a deep voice spoke from behind:
— Sam… is this your home?
Sam froze. He and Mikaela spun around.
From the shadows, the truck that had been following them all this time began to transform. Armor plates shifted, wheels folded inward, and a towering figure rose from the ground.
Optimus Prime stood there, his gaze firm but not hostile.
And he wasn't alone.
Behind him, glowing eyes pierced through the night—Ironhide, Ratchet, and Jazz.
They had all followed Sam.
— Are you guys serious?!— Sam threw his hands up. — I was just coming home to grab a notebook!
Optimus stepped forward, the streetlight reflecting off his red and blue armor.
— Sam Witwicky… You have read what no one else could. That does not just make you part of this war… it makes you a crucial link in Cybertron's history.
Sam opened his mouth to argue but couldn't find the words.
Optimus bowed his head slightly, his voice deep and weighted.
— We cannot leave you alone.
Sam groaned, burying his face in his hands.
— Great. Now I have an entire army watching over me…
End of Chapter 8