Late at night, the sky stretched out like an endless black canvas, where stars twinkled like distant, cold eyes, silently watching over the planet. The neighborhood was immersed in stillness, to the point where the air seemed frozen, leaving only the sound of the gentle wind rustling through the leaves, producing faint, rustling noises, like whispers of the dark night. The pale yellow light from the street lamps filtered through a thin mist, reflecting on the wet road, creating blurred streaks of light, strange and elusive.
There was no mechanical noise, no human sound – just the dense and silent atmosphere, as if everything was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Everything seemed to pause for a moment, even time itself appeared to stop for a beat, making every passing second filled with anticipation.
After the unexpected events between Sam and Mikaela, a silence filled with unsaid emotions enveloped the room. No one spoke, but each person's presence offered a quiet comfort, as if waiting for a moment to break this stillness.
Sam's father suddenly spoke up, his voice calm and steady, trying to create a cozy atmosphere amidst thoughts that had yet to be fully formed. He talked about family, about old stories, simple but valuable memories, and moments they had shared. Even though his story was gentle, Mikaela could sense a tenderness she had never felt before, as if he was trying to forge a deeper connection at that very moment.
He smiled, a warm, sincere smile, as if trying to preserve the good things in life amid its challenges. Although he knew that things weren't always easy, the light in his eyes never dimmed, always carrying hope and steadfastness for the future.
—Mikaela, you might not know, but I used to be a writer, and also a small-time comedian. — He said with a cheerful smile, as if recalling something from the past.
—For a long time, I lived in a world of stories and laughter, but life isn't always just about funny stories. Then, there came a time when I had to choose, and family, especially my son, made me set everything aside.
Mikaela listened, gaining a clearer understanding of Sam through his father's words. She realized that if Sam's family had such a colorful past, it might have been what shaped his strong and decisive character.
—And Sam, since he was a little boy, was always a bit clumsy. — He continued, breaking into a fond smile, his eyes filled with pride.
—He wasn't unintelligent, but sometimes he did things in a very… special way. However, I always believed that my son would find his own path. You don't know, but back then, he spilled a whole bottle of milk on my newly bought sofa. — He chuckled lightly, but his voice carried a sense of understanding and unconditional love, as if looking back at those sweet memories.
Mikaela couldn't help but smile, but she also realized that those stories were not just the pride of a father. They were proof of the quiet sacrifices he had made for his family, for his son, and for those seemingly insignificant moments that formed an invisible bond between him and Sam.
—You know, my son is very special, but what I'm most proud of is his wills. Even when he makes mistakes, he always stands up and keeps moving forward. Sometimes, it might confuse me, but I believe Sam will find his own way. — He paused, his gaze quietly drifting toward the window, where the streetlights reflected on the trees, like old images slowly fading in memory.
A moment of silence passed, but it wasn't awkward. It was a silence of empathy, where the two could feel deep emotions without the need for words. Mikaela wasn't in a hurry; she gently placed her hand on the edge of the chair, feeling each beat of her heart. She realized, through his father's words, a part of Sam's being – a strong but also vulnerable person, someone who always faced challenges, even though he often felt tired inside.
She thought of Sam, of the times he appeared indifferent, but now, she understood that behind that resilience was a son gradually overcoming himself, even though sometimes he felt lonely and lost amid life's demands.
—I'm really worried about him, especially now, when he's facing big challenges. But I believe Sam can overcome everything, and he won't let the family down. — His eyes were filled with love and trust as he looked straight into Mikaela's eyes, unflinching, unhidden.
Mikaela nodded, no need to say more. In that moment, she understood that Sam was not only his father's pride, but also the result of enduring love, of tireless efforts to always be there and support, no matter how many difficulties they faced.
—Thank you for sharing more about Sam with me… — She said softly, her voice lower, as if each word carried both gratitude and emotion.
—It's nothing, my dear. — He smiled, his gaze softening. It was no longer the gaze of a worried father, but of someone who had loved with all his heart and now only wished for his son not to walk alone. — I just want you to know that Sam will always have family behind him, and no matter what happens, we will always be there for him.
The streetlights outside flickered briefly, like a silent pause between the flow of emotions.
Sam's father continued the story, but just then, Sam's mother walked out of the kitchen with a cup of tea in hand. Seeing the conversation happening between him and Mikaela, she smiled lightly, placed the tea on the table, and looked at her husband with a warm smile. When she sensed the atmosphere was slightly tense, she gently spoke up.
— Actually, I remember the early days when Sam was little, always fiddling with strange toys, always wanting to explore and learn about everything. — She smiled, her eyes filled with nostalgia. — You know, Sam once broke my computer when he was a kid just because he wanted to try doing a "research project." — Judy laughed softly as she remembered.
Mikaela chuckled, looking at Sam's mother with a friendly gaze.
— Sam definitely has his own way of looking at things. He might not be the smartest, but he's very eager to learn, though sometimes he doesn't realize he might get himself into trouble. — Mikaela said, her voice gentle and full of understanding.
Sam's father looked at Mikaela with a proud expression, then turned back to his wife.
— To me, Sam is still a child to be proud of. He might be a bit clumsy, but that's the truth. He never gives up, always finds a way to solve problems. — He said, his voice soft but full of pride. — No matter how hard it gets, I believe he will overcome it.
Sam's mother nodded gently, her voice becoming more serious as she continued.
— Still, I worry. No matter how strong Sam may be, I always want to protect him. But sometimes, I feel like I can't. — She looked into Mikaela's eyes, as if wanting to share her concerns. — Because there will be things beyond our control. I just hope that you will always be there for Sam, supporting him. Because family isn't always strong enough to protect everything.
Mikaela looked at her, her eyes brightening a little, as if she understood what she meant. She gently replied:
— I understand. And I will always be here, helping Sam through any challenges. — She smiled, but her eyes still held deep determination.
Though neither fully understood all that Sam was facing, they both realized that no matter the situation, family would always be his greatest support. While there were still many things unclear, they both believed that Sam would overcome every obstacle with the help of his loved ones and friends, like Mikaela, who would always be by his side.
The conversation softly ended, but the three of them still felt a warmth and closeness. Though Sam was not there, the love of family still filled the space, like a promise that no matter how life changed, family would always be the strongest foundation.
From the bedroom, Sam had overheard part of the conversation through the window. He stood there, in the dark, partly because he didn't want to interrupt the conversation, but partly because he felt he really needed to think about what they had just said.
Silently watching the conversation downstairs. His father's familiar voice, his mother's softness, and Mikaela's voice—all seemed to blend into a gentle melody that he had once taken for granted… until now.
A feeling crept into Sam's heart, as though he was standing at the edge of something about to shatter. Perhaps it was gratitude. Maybe fear. Or both. He had grown used to facing everything head-on, dealing with situations that were larger than himself, but those words—from his father, from Mikaela—had reminded him of something he had always avoided: that he wasn't truly alone, and that was the scariest part. Because when someone stands behind you… you can't let them down.
A light breeze drifted through the window, gently lifting the curtain, revealing the tall, silent figure of Optimus Prime standing behind it. Without a sound, without introduction, his presence always carried an invisible weight.
Standing before him, Optimus Prime's massive form was cloaked in darkness, his gaze downward as if looking through walls and time. Not just looking at the house, but as if listening to every breath of the people inside. Sam turned his head, not surprised, as if he had known he was there all along.
— Optimus… — Sam quietly spoke, his voice choked, as though unable to find the right question for the moment.
After a moment, Optimus gently tilted his head, his voice deep and resonant, like it was echoing from a world farther away than the distance between stars:
— I have always been watching, Sam. Not because I doubt you… but because I trust you.
Sam swallowed, his eyes looking down. Perhaps that trust was heavier than any weapon he had ever held.
— I… I'm not sure I can continue… the way I used to. Everything is changing, and I… I feel like I'm no longer me.
Optimus was silent for a moment, then stepped closer, each step unusually light for someone of his size. His eyes now looked directly at Sam.
— You are no longer the same person you were before… that is inevitable. But sometimes, Sam, it is not strength that defines a person… but the choices they make, whether in darkness or in light.
The wind stilled. Below, the conversation had quieted. The space seemed to freeze, leaving just Sam and Optimus standing between two worlds—one of humans, one of distant stars.
After a long pause, Optimus spoke again, his voice slower now, almost as if it were a personal reflection:
— But… in all that chaos, you still possess something that many species I have encountered across the universe have lost: connection. Family. Compassion. And belief in goodness, even when the world turns its back on it.
Sam quietly swallowed. Those words reached him deeper than any words had before. In Optimus's eyes, there was no longer the gaze of a leader—but the soul of one who had witnessed too many losses… and still chose to hope.
— I once thought that only we understood what sacrifice truly is. But now I understand… it is not the essence of a species. It is the choice of each heart.
A gentle breeze drifted through the window, carrying the scent of the garden and the sound of Sam's mother laughing softly below. In that moment, Optimus Prime—the leader of the Autobots, the bearer of the weight of an entire civilization—was no longer a steel warrior, but a person quietly appreciating the fragile beauty of life.
— There are things… no matter how fragile, that are worth protecting. — He said softly, as if reminding himself.
Sam did not respond. But in his eyes, there was a spark—no longer from the outside, but from within. For the first time, he understood that he wasn't just a random link in a chain… he was part of something bigger, more beautiful, and worth protecting with all he had.
Sam gently turned his head towards Optimus, his voice quiet, as if the question had just popped into his mind before it could pass through his defenses:
— Optimus... did you ever have a family? Back on Cybertron.
A silence stretched longer than usual. Optimus's deep blue eyes didn't look at Sam, but instead gazed out at the night sky beyond the window. The dim light of the moon illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp features of a warrior who had lived through countless millennia. Something heavy passed through his mind—an old memory that had slept for too long.
Finally, he spoke softly, slowly, as if conversing with the darkness outside:
— There was one... I'm not sure I can call him family in the human sense. But he was everything to me.
Optimus lowered his head, his voice softening, like a whisper reigning over the darkness:
— He was the first teacher, and also the father I had. It was he who shaped me, gave me ideals, beliefs... and the fire that I still carry with me today.
Sam remained silent, sensing the quiet sorrow in those words. He didn't speak, letting the silence fill the space. Finally, Optimus continued, his voice more contemplative:
— He left Cybertron on a journey to find the Allspark. Leaving home to find and protect it from those who would use its power. But he never returned.
Sam looked up, unable to suppress the feeling of sorrow. He didn't say anything, but his gaze held a deep empathy. Optimus continued:
— No one knows what happened. No signal. No trace. As if the universe itself swallowed him up.
Optimus's words cut through Sam like a sharp knife, making him feel a deep emptiness in his heart. That loss—the loss of someone without the chance to say goodbye—was a feeling Sam could understand.
— Do you think... he's still alive? — Sam asked softly, his voice full of concern.
Optimus looked up at the sky, his blue eyes sparkling as if reflecting the distant stars. No one knew what he was thinking in that moment, but his gaze seemed to carry a world of hope and regret.
— I don't know, Sam. Some hopes only exist to keep the fire within me from going out. And sometimes... I choose to believe. but even so, I still have a family to protect—my Autobots, those who have followed me and believed in me up to this very moment.
The moonlight illuminated Optimus's face, highlighting the weariness in his eyes. It seemed that every word he spoke carried a burden that only he understood. But within it was also a quiet resilience, a strength born of belief—a belief in something that still existed, even if it had been lost long ago.
Sam sat in silence, a deep appreciation rising within him. He knew that sometimes, even the greatest warriors needed trust and hope to survive, to keep fighting even when they didn't know what the outcome would be. And perhaps, it was these hopes that kept them strong, even in the darkest times.
The room fell silent once again.
And in that moment, it was not about man and machine, not about Prime and human—it was just two beings, sharing something that all the universe understands: loss. And hope.
—
Sam's father poured a little more tea into his cup, his eyes never leaving Mikaela – the girl who was trying to smile politely at the strange but heartfelt stories.
— You know, Mikaela... The Witwicky family isn't exactly one of great prestige, but... we do have an interesting lineage. My ancestors were explorers, and some even wrote books, gave speeches before congress... My great-grandfather was an astronomer, spent his life looking at the sky and believed that something... was looking back.
Mikaela tilted her head, curious. Sam's mother sat beside her, interjecting as if she'd heard this story a hundred times:
— Here we go with the "dream" story again...
Sam's father chuckled, not denying it:
— Yeah, that's right. For generations, there's been something strange in my family. Every previous generation dreamed... not normal dreams, mind you, but dreams of a planet made entirely of metal. A place with no humans—only gigantic mechanical creatures, living, breathing, and... fighting.
He paused for a moment, his voice growing more serious:
— This planet... it swirled in blue light, sometimes burning red like hell. But the strange thing is... the dream faded with each generation.
— My father dreamed of it every month. I dreamed of it every few years. But by Sam's generation... he's never dreamed of it at all.
Sam's mother sighed, patting Mikaela's shoulder:
— I think that's for the best. Otherwise, your father would probably have had Sam building a spaceship by now.
They all laughed, but Mikaela's laughter was different, because she knew it wasn't a dream, but something that had really happened.
The voices from downstairs echoed softly. Sam's father, mother, and Mikaela. Ordinary stories—yet there was something about them that made Sam's heart slow.
---
— "For generations, my family has dreamed of a metal planet..."
Sam turned toward the window. He didn't speak, but his eyes seemed to ask a thousand questions: "You hear it too... right?
The light from the room fell on the face of the machine, aged by time. His voice lowered, more of a lament than an answer:
— It's no coincidence... that you understand the Cybertronian language, Sam.
He looked up, gazing far into the starry night.
A pause passed. Sam swallowed, his voice thick:
— So... you mean... my family, I... I'm not just an ordinary person?
Optimus looked directly into his eyes, his gaze not that of a warrior, but like a father speaking to a worried child:
— Sam... there are invisible threads woven from millions of years ago, stretching through time, crossing stars... They don't appear because of power or strength... but because of choices. You don't need to become anything other than yourself. But the truth is... you carry a piece of Cybertron in your blood—not in the physical sense, but in something deeper. A memory passed down, or perhaps... a calling from fate.
Sam sat silently, his hand gripping the old notebook.
—-
At that very moment, Ironhide noticed something unusual on Bumblebee's back. His voice was sharp, carrying an unmistakable warning:
— Bumblebee, don't move. Not an inch.
His words were like a thunderous command, making not just Bumblebee but also Jazz and Ratchet freeze in place, a chill running down their spines. Bumblebee obeyed, though his spark pounded with anxiety.
Ironhide cautiously stepped closer, his eyes sharp as blades, fixating on a small device attached to Bumblebee's back.
With absolute precision, he reached for it, carefully gripping the object before crushing it in his hand. A sharp "snap" echoed in the quiet night—the sound of something being destroyed, a testament to the gravity of the situation. He didn't need to say a word, but the entire team knew that this was serious.
— Punk ass Decepticon… — Ironhide muttered grimly, his eyes narrowing as he examined the ruined device in his palm.
Immediately, Ratchet, his expression severe, stepped closer.
— What's going on, Ironhide? — Jazz asked, his gaze fixed on the broken device.
Ironhide turned to them, his face tense.
— There was a spy device on Bumblebee. They may have heard everything we just said.
Bumblebee, standing nearby, felt the weight of the revelation sink in. If what Ironhide said was true, then he might have just compromised the Autobots in ways he couldn't yet grasp. He took a step back, overwhelmed with guilt. This wasn't just about him or the book Sam had found—this was a direct threat to the entire team.
— We can't let them keep tracking us. — Ratchet said, his voice filled with urgency. — If they know what we've uncovered about the Allspark, they'll stop at nothing to get their hands on it.
The three quickly prepared themselves, knowing that an attack could come at any moment. The battle was no longer just about protecting the knowledge of the Allspark—it was about survival.
---
Sam still sat quietly on the bed, his mind racing with the words Optimus had just spoken. The faint glow of the nightlight illuminated the old notebook, while outside the window, the darkness enveloped everything.
But when Sam looked up, through the window, Optimus stood there, his gaze no longer as it had been—now, there was something more urgent, sharper. The words he had just spoken hadn't yet faded when the sound of Autobots near the vicinity came through his comms.
Jazz:
"Optimus, something's wrong. We're being watched."
Ironhide:
"I detected a surveillance device on Bumblebee. Decepticons might be nearby."
Ratchet:
"Be careful, Optimus. They could be very close. These surveillance devices weren't installed by us."
Optimus heard it and immediately turned around. His eyes were stern, showing the tension he couldn't hide. His shadow in the night seemed to engulf the room, but now, his presence not only brought a sense of safety but also an unspoken warning.
Optimus Prime:
"Thank you all for staying alert. Please be patient and await further instructions from me."
The Autobot team quickly divided tasks, ready and alert. Sam stood alone in the room, feeling the weight of the situation. A million questions flooded his mind, but the only thing he could do now was trust Optimus and those outside.
Sam sighed softly and then looked back at Optimus, his voice a bit anxious but still holding onto his determination:
— So, what do we do next? If the enemy really is here… do we have to go outside?
Optimus turned back, his gaze resolute like a guide for lost followers.
— You and the others here will be safe, Sam. However, to protect all of us, you need to stay by my side and remain in a safe place. Remember, no matter what happens, you must keep that book. It is not only a guide, but it is also the key to our survival.
With Optimus's firm and powerful words, Sam felt a bit calmer. But outside, the situation had become more tense than ever.
Jazz and Bumblebee quickly left the backyard, disappearing into the shadows of the vast garden. Ironhide and Ratchet stood guard at the doorway, their eyes never relaxing, their bodies always ready to fight if needed.
—-
In the dim darkness of the neighborhood, the weak light from the street lamps only created faint streaks of light on the ground, reflecting the shadow of a strange creature. A small yellow excavator, covered in mud, stood motionless by the side of the road, its tracks rigid and silent. But suddenly, in the stillness of the night, an odd movement began to take place.
With a small sound like a breeze passing by, the shape of the machine began to change. The parts of the frame folded and rotated, the mechanics creaking as they shifted smoothly, like a living body undergoing transformation. Each component reassembled, mechanical details connected to form a new structure. Finally, when the process was complete, the figure of a slender, graceful Cybertronian stood quietly in the darkness.
Buckethead, from a small excavator, had skillfully transformed. The mechanical details of the excavator began to bend and change shape, turning into a more delicate Cybertronian. Her head, with a hood made from part of the shovel, gently draped over, partially obscuring the mechanical face beneath. Under the faint light of the night, Buckethead's glowing red eyes shone like two stars burning brightly in the silent space. The Decepticon symbol appeared faintly on her right cheek, as if she viewed choosing a side as merely a trivial matter.
Her body was slender, delicate, but extremely agile and mobile. The armor was not bulky like other warriors, but soft and form-fitting, flowing with the curves of her body, making her dangerously alluring. Each movement of Buckethead, whether a spin or a light step, radiated grace and speed, like a cat stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment.
She stood in the darkness, her eyes twinkling with mischief, a provocative smile on her face. She glanced over at the Autobots, who were busy preparing, and a mischievous light sparkled in her eyes. She knew they couldn't detect her – at least not right now.
Then, her gaze settled on Jazz, someone she had crossed paths with several times in previous encounters. Each time, she had cleverly escaped, once again leaving Jazz to shake his head in frustration. Buckethead couldn't hide her amused smile. She knew she was always one step ahead, and Jazz was always behind, struggling to catch up.
She shrugged innocently, then gently brushed her hand across her armor, as if preparing for a child's game. She subtly activated the hidden mechanism within her body, checking her gear to ensure everything was in place. Her steel hand gently lowered her hood, revealing a face with sharp eyes like blades. She chuckled sweetly, yet full of cunning, her mouth obscured by the armor like a mask.
She slightly tilted her head, looking at the Autobots, then glanced back at Jazz, her gaze teasing as if saying, "This time, I've won again."
Before beginning her work, Buckethead did something unexpected – a pointless shrug like a child preparing to do something mischievous. She gently bent down and patted her armor contentedly. To her, everything was like a game, but this time, it was a game she was in complete control of.
Buckethead moved closer to the electrical panel that powered the whole neighborhood. She bent down, her hand gently brushing over the hidden tools in her armor, preparing for the next phase of her game. A soft giggle escaped her throat as her nimble fingers made contact with the protective cover of the panel. Each movement was precise and swift, as if she were playing a game with rules known only to herself. She carefully removed the cover without leaving a trace, without a sound.
In the quiet space, only the sound of her movements and the dim light from the street lamps flickering out remained. A wave of faint energy reflected in her eyes, flashing a red light. With a light touch, the power would stop, and the whole neighborhood would be plunged into darkness. She had prepared everything, but before acting, her gaze once again turned toward the Autobots, especially Jazz.
She giggled, her eyes twinkling like stars in the dark. "Not yet, Jazz... You're still not fast enough to catch me," she thought to herself, as if she were playing a game with him – and this time, she was in the lead.
With a mischievous shrug, she gently pressed the power switch off. The final light from the street lamps flickered out, covering the neighborhood in thick darkness. Buckethead was ready for a new game. She lifted her head, her lips curling into a challenging smile, and stepped into the darkness, leaving behind only faint traces, as if she had never been here.
Once again, Buckethead made everything seem simple. But she wasn't in a hurry – for her, this game had just begun.
---
End of chapter 10