Outside, the crescent moon hung suspended in the dark sky, like a thin slice cutting through the night. The wind picked up, cold and sharp as a knife, sweeping through the grass, making it rustle and shiver. The air was so still that any small sound became unusual.
Inside, the cozy Witwicky household was still brightly lit. The sound of Mikaela and Sam's parents chatting in the living room was carefree and peaceful. They had no idea that, in just a moment, everything would change.
Suddenly—the entire street went dark.
The living room, once filled with warm light, now sank into thick darkness. The faint moonlight streaming through the window was the only guide. The three in the room startled at the abrupt change.
— Oh no... why is the power out now? — Sam's mom spoke first, her voice full of confusion.
— That's strange, I didn't see any notice... — Ron furrowed his brow, then stood up. — I'll go get the flashlight.
He left the room.
Only Mikaela felt that something was off.
She looked around the now dim room, her eyes tense. This was not a normal power outage. It felt as though someone had deliberately cut the power, and the reason was definitely not simple.
---
On the other side of the house, in Sam's small room, the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting faint streaks of light on the wall. He sat motionless on the bed, gripping his notebook—something that had become a part of him, holding memories, secrets, and things that couldn't yet be explained.
The silence around him was suffocating. But Sam didn't just hear the quiet—he felt it. A presence... was drawing near.
Outside, in the shadowy streets, five Autobots stood guard around the Witwicky house: Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Jazz, Ironhide, and Ratchet. Though there was no sound, no blip on any of their scanners, their warrior instincts made one thing clear:
This wasn't an accident. This was a message.
A dark signal.
A warning from the enemy.
And that enemy—was coming.
Optimus stood tall, his stern gaze sweeping the night ahead, his hand gripping the Ion Blaster. Next to him, Ironhide let out a soft hiss, his voice filled with frustration:
— I hate this feeling... it's like when the war started...
Jazz whispered, his voice low with a touch of a mocking chuckle:
— Cheap psychological tricks... They still don't get it. This time, we're not playing alone.
Ratchet checked the bio-signals from the house:
— Sam is still fine. But… the frequencies around the area are changing. Something... is coming.
In the cold night, the warriors of Cybertron stood still, ready for whatever was approaching. The air seemed tenser, as if something invisible was watching them, preparing to make its move. And in their hearts, no one doubted: the game had begun, and everything could end in an instant.
A cold gust of wind slipped through the crack in the window. The curtain fluttered. Sam looked up, his eyes scanning the room quickly. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But the sense of unease still lingered.
He glanced at Archibald Witwicky's old notebook in his hands—the worn leather cover, the pages inside faded with time, but the ancient Cybertronian characters still lingered like curses waiting to awaken.
Outside, Optimus suddenly looked up. His pale blue eyes flashed with a sharp glint.
— There's something... moving through the space — He spoke in a low voice.
Bumblebee turned, his eyes glowing as he scanned the dark corners of the street, unable to detect anything unusual in the surrounding space.
The team fell silent, the tension filling the air. Something nearly invisible was threatening, and they all knew: the things hidden for so long were beginning to surface.
—-
In the darkness, not a sound, not a step, a slender figure slid across the rooftops like smoke.
She didn't need to hurry — silence was her sharpest weapon. No security system recognized her presence, no thermal sensor sophisticated enough to trace her.
Buckethead.
She had arrived.
The red eyes hidden beneath her hood gleamed with a mischievous spark. On her arm, a small device emitted a faint frequency pulse — completely disrupting the sensors around the Witwicky house, causing all Autobots' equipment to fall out of sync, just enough to cover her movements.
From a roof dozens of meters away, she crouched down, silently observing her target: a room where moonlight filtered through the thin curtain, casting light on the notebook held in the hands of the Earth boy.
She murmured, her voice blending into the wind:
[Cybertronian ancient language... An invaluable treasure...]
A soft laugh escaped into the night — not cold, nor malicious, but sounding like the mischievous giggle of a playful child. Buckethead was like a stubborn girl aiming for a forbidden toy, something everyone said shouldn't be touched — yet that only made it more enticing.
She moved lightly across the rooftops. With her small frame and advanced Cybertronian technology, blending into the fragile architecture of this foreign planet was almost child's play. In a place where everything could shatter with the slightest touch, she glided as if dancing in the wind.
Leaving no trace, like a ghost. But if one paid close attention, small, clumsy sounds would occasionally appear. Sometimes it was the sound of a shoe falling from the roof, other times a soft breath like the sob of a child unable to suppress their joy at the thought of getting the toy they wanted. Buckethead wasn't just here to take the notebook, but to toy with it, to show her power in a world she didn't belong to.
She stood still for a moment, her gaze fixed on the room where the notebook lay. Everything around seemed to fall into silence, and no one knew that in this darkness, she was the nightmare drawing closer.
But perhaps, when she claimed what she wanted this time, she wouldn't just disappear as she had before. Buckethead's childish nature wouldn't allow her to simply retreat; she would make this race more interesting, a game only she controlled.
---
Tension was visible on their mechanical faces, every small movement calculated with precision. To maintain absolute silence, they didn't speak aloud — instead, they used a form of communication that to humans would seem like telepathy: thoughts sent directly to the minds of nearby teammates, fast, efficient, and silent.
Below, Jazz narrowed his eyes at the dark rooftops, his posture tense as he shifted his weight, scanning the shadows. He turned to Ratchet, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"You feel that, Doc?" he asked, his tone smooth yet laced with an edge. "It's not the darkness hiding us… it's hiding someone from us."
Ratchet nodded, his optics narrowing, the weight of years of experience evident in his steady gaze. His voice, though calm, carried the usual bluntness that only he could pull off.
"A clever one," he said, his tone hard as steel. "A ghost... playing by its own set of rules."
At that moment, inside Sam's room, a small click came from the window — so faint it seemed like a branch tapping against the glass. But Sam stood up quickly, turning around. No one. Nothing.
But behind the curtain, a pair of red eyes were watching.
A soft swish echoed from the rooftop — as though the cold wind had brushed past the chimney.
But Optimus froze.
"There's something... that just moved."
Ironhide tilted his head, his automatic cannon turning toward the direction of a faint sound that had echoed through the night.
Bumblebee continued scanning the signals, but all radars remained silent — no interference, no anomaly. An unsettling silence.
Only Jazz stopped. He stood still, unmoving, his body frozen like stone. His eyes narrowed, focusing so intently that it felt like all surrounding sounds and lights faded away — only one feeling pulsed in his mind.
No trace of the humor or lightheartedness he was known for. His face grew grave, cold.
A thought quietly rang through his head:
"No... this isn't random. Not just anyone can move without leaving a trace..."
The air around seemed colder. And Jazz knew — something, or someone, was quietly watching them from the darkness.
At the same time, at the far end of the row of houses, a dark figure zipped across like a trail of smoke. It wasn't fast, but enough to create a small ripple — just enough for all the Autobots outside to reflexively turn in the same direction.
"South-East! Movement." — Ratchet reported through the internal comms, his voice tense.
"Move!" — Optimus ordered, and the entire team immediately repositioned.
But Jazz remained still. His eyes still fixed on the opposite direction, his voice barely a whisper, almost to himself:
"No... that's a decoy."
Buckethead stood motionless, like a statue carved from the darkness. Not rushing — she didn't need to hurry.
From her wrist, a super-thin hook shot out, weaving through the air like a serpent programmed with deadly patience. It glided from one roof to another, like a night breeze slipping through every crack, touching the ground without a sound.
In less than a few seconds, the hook had reached Sam's house, slipping into the ventilation system as if it had been familiar with every passage inside. It slid through the dusty pipes without disturbing a single speck of dust.
Then, with almost imperceptible movement, it opened the steel shutter — so gently that even the air didn't detect the intrusion.
—-
Sam's room.
Sam stood motionless in the dark room, the notebook in his hand like a living piece of memory, the last thing connecting him to a mystery greater than his own life. The moonlight filtered through the window, spilling across the yellowed page, making it appear like an artifact freshly unearthed.
The air was thick. Tense. Almost no sound seemed to exist.
Then — *snap!*
A movement. Fast. Light. So precise it seemed unreal.
The notebook... vanished from his hand.
— Huh!? What—?! — Sam gasped, his hand flailing in the air. He looked around, spinning around quickly.
There was no one. No sound. No warning.
He rushed to the window, nearly shouting:
— Optimus! Jazz! Is anyone there!? The notebook is gone!
Below, Jazz stopped dead in his tracks. His face was devoid of any humor now.
He looked up, his voice low, his gaze sharp as steel:
"She never intended to come through the front door…"
Then, like a flash, Jazz saw it — a faint trail of movement, like smoke, the notebook being pulled across the roof with absolute precision. Fast enough to throw off all the sensors. Silent enough to be completely covered by the night wind.
On the roof nearly thirty meters away, a slender figure pulled back, the mechanical hook retracting neatly into a circle around the wrist, as if it had never left.
Buckethead wore a vague smile. Her red eyes narrowed slightly.
[Thank you for holding onto it for me.]
Without hesitation, Jazz growled into Bumblebee's mind:
"Bumblebee, follow me — quickly! I can't handle this alone!"
Bumblebee flinched. In that moment, a flash of doubt crossed his eyes. He understood why everything had gone so smoothly for the enemy. Why they knew the exact position. And knew exactly what they wanted to steal.
Earlier, during the fight with Barricade while protecting Sam and Mikaela, there had been a brief lapse — just a moment, but enough for a tiny scanning device to be attached to his outer shell. A light touch, no warning. If Ironhide hadn't noticed the signs early, everything could have gone too far.
The feeling of guilt tightened in his mechanical chest. He was supposed to be the protector, the first line of defense between the enemy and Sam. And yet…
But there was no time for regret now.
Bumblebee clenched his hand. The headlights switched to combat mode, the light sweeping across the roofs of Los Angeles like a warning sword. A crackling sound came from the radio — not language, but a promise without words.
He bolted after Jazz, silently. But inside, every gear screamed.
Jazz moved swiftly, speaking over the comms:
"Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet — stay and protect Sam. Keep the house safe. The enemy is a master thief, Bumblebee and I will handle this. And do not let the human see you guys!"
A beam of moonlight fell just as Jazz leapt, his body twisting through the air, shooting up to the roof with the speed of a living lightning bolt.
Inside the house, moonlight spilled through the window, casting over Mikaela's and Sam's mother's worried faces.
— Ron, did you find the flashlight?
— Yeah, yeah, but... I think I heard footsteps on the roof.
—-
Above the silent rooftops, Jazz and Bumblebee glided like two streaks of wind, their bodies almost blending into the night, with not a sound, not a trace. Each step was as light as a feather, as both were expertly using the temporary mass and gravity adjustment technology—a long-lost Cybertronian tech once used as a secret weapon by elite intelligence and reconnaissance units, now only passed down to those trusted enough to carry it.
Jazz landed on a thin iron beam atop a warehouse roof, barely bending his knees as if he weighed no more than a leaf.
[Feels like back on some special ops missions in Kaon...] — Jazz muttered, his eyes scanning the HUD display. [How many times did we have to sneak through an entire city without leaving a single speck of dust?]
From behind, Bumblebee gently landed beside him, without a sound. Jazz didn't need to turn around to know who it was—the familiar presence, as silent as the breath of wind. Then a voice echoed in his mind, clear and steady:
"Feels like gliding in a dream. No resistance. No gravity. Just the target ahead."
Jazz glanced sideways, remaining silent for a moment. He understood—the voice wasn't Bumblebee's. It was a frequency, a pre-recorded message, mimicking speech, transmitting thoughts through their neural link system. A temporary solution for the voice that had been lost in the brutal civil war on Cybertron.
[The voice still sounds cool, even if it's not yours...] — Jazz whispered, his eyes still locked on the horizon. [But I still miss your real voice.]
Bumblebee didn't respond. But in that moment, they silently shared the same silence—no words were necessary, just understanding.
Then they continued moving, like shadows passing through the layers of space in the city, leaving nothing but faint electronic waves in the breeze and the silent presence of warriors who had lost so much, but never stopped moving.
Jazz let out a quiet chuckle, not looking back:
[Bee, you know how to say cool things. If you had your real voice, you'd probably be a poet.]
They kept moving, crossing rooftops, air conditioning systems, chimneys, and billboards. The technology running through their bodies didn't just lighten their weight; it also distributed force through thousands of microscopic contact points—allowing them to stand on even the most improbable surfaces without leaving a trace.
A taller building appeared ahead. Bumblebee gently tapped his wrist, his power assist emitting a light vibration.
Jazz crouched next to him, his legs as light as if they were touching dew:
[Buckethead used this tech to infiltrate Sentinel's sealed vault. No traces left—like it never existed. And now she's using it to take something from Sam. This time, we're not letting her vanish like before.]
The two warriors continued to race through the night, like shapeless shadows, silent and undetectable, their eyes fixed on the target—Buckethead's silhouette, moving across rooftops in the distance, leaving behind a faint trace of technology that not everyone could master.
On the roof, Jazz saw the figure gliding like the wind: Buckethead—graceful, silent, the notebook in her hand, never turning her head, never hesitating.
[This time, you won't escape… Buckethead.] — Jazz muttered, his gaze locked onto the target ahead.
Beside him, Bumblebee had joined the chase. The two golden and silver warriors dived into the night, chasing the super thief through the overlapping rooftops of Los Angeles. Each step felt like a tense beat echoing against the silent moon above.
Standing still on a high roof, where the moonlight illuminated her silhouette, casting a long shadow on the silver-gray tiles. The position was no accident—it was directly in Jazz's line of sight, like a challenge.
She wasn't hiding. She didn't need to. Not because she wanted to be caught.
But because she knew she wouldn't be.
A light breeze blew by, her thin cloak fluttering like she was part of the night sky—light, fast, and untouchable. Buckethead tilted her head, her glowing red eyes gleaming as if she were smiling.
"See me yet, Jazz?" — Her eyes seemed to say.
Buckethead turned her head briefly. The hood she wore flipped up like a cloak. In the faint moonlight, her red eyes flashed—a mischievous glint, almost... childlike.
She giggled softly, her voice resonating through the compressed sound waves like a breeze:
[Have to say… out of all those stiff cops, you're the one who almost caught me, Jazz.]
A wink—short, but full of challenge. And then, she suddenly spun in mid-air, like a dancer twisting through space. The Witwicky notebook still firmly in her hand, not shifting an inch.
A bounce. A leap.
Buckethead vanished over the next rooftop like a hidden gust of wind.
Jazz gritted his teeth. His mechanical legs slammed down on the roof, leaving deep imprints. His eyes gleamed with resolve.
[Don't think I'll let you vanish like last time...]
He charged after her, speed increasing rapidly. Each step was like the pounding of drums, signaling an unavoidable confrontation.
Behind, Bumblebee remained in position. He moved like a streak of yellow lightning, jumping from one roof to the next. The headlights flashed across, creating brilliant lines of light in the darkness, following the trace she left behind.
The chase... had officially begun.
—-
Under the front yard of the Witwicky house, the atmosphere felt heavier than usual, a situation full of tension and humor unfolding quietly.
— Ron, what are you doing? — Judy whispered, her voice worried from the living room window.
— There's a noise. Something's scraping against the gutter, then... it sounds like footsteps on the roof. I need to check it out. — Ron replied while putting on his bathrobe, his eyes full of curiosity. Though he tried to keep calm, it wasn't hard to notice his excitement and nervousness.
— Don't be reckless, do you hear me?! — Judy lowered her voice but still sounded irritated, clear anxiety in her tone. — What if it's some armed thieves?
— She's right, it's not safe to go outside right now. — Mikaela added, her voice trembling. She knew exactly what was out there, and she understood that things couldn't always be controlled like Sam's mother thought.
Ron shook his head, his gaze determined but also a bit confused. Ignoring the warnings, he stepped out the back door, gripping the flashlight tightly. The weak light flickered in the dark, scanning the shadowy garden as he slowly moved toward the source of the strange noise.
Ron's footsteps echoed in the night, each step heavy with a "thud," but he didn't realize that above him, figures were holding their breath, watching his every move. Ironhide and Ratchet, though prepared to move, dared not make a sound. Optimus stood quietly, observing Ron from a distance, a sense of unease creeping into his heart.
Sam stood by the window, his heart racing with anxiety, not only because he had lost the notebook, but now the Autobots were at risk of being spotted. He could only silently hope that Ron wouldn't discover anything unusual. But the feeling of suspense lingered, everything seeming to hang by a thread.
In a hidden corner, Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide were crouched behind walls, their eyes tense not because of enemies, but because of... Ron Witwicky.
— "Careful. He's carrying... a flashlight." — Ratchet speak through the comms, his voice both witty and worried.
Ironhide tilted his head, trying to sneak through the bushes without snapping a twig. However, his patience didn't last long, and he couldn't help but grumble:
"This is ridiculous. Fighting Decepticons is no problem, but why is avoiding an Earth middle-aged man turning out to be the hardest challenge of the night?"
Optimus raised his hand to signal for silence, his massive body hidden behind the garage wall like a silent shadow of steel. His eyes stayed fixed on the approaching flashlight beam, as if it were a dangerous weapon that could detect every movement.
Ron stopped, his flashlight beam shining on the roof. He looked up, scrutinizing every corner.
— "... Is anyone up there? If it's a squirrel, forget it, I've already called animal control!"
Above on the rooftops, the chase continued with intensity, but down in the yard, the three Autobots were... sneaking around like thieves.
Ron's footsteps echoed in the night, his flashlight sweeping through every nook and cranny of the garden. The light cast long, distorted shadows on the ground, but in the darkness, it couldn't detect the presence of the giant robots hiding, leaving no trace behind.
Optimus stood close to a hidden corner of the garage wall, the faint light from Ron's flashlight gliding through the gaps, casting a hazy shadow of him. The tension in the air made every movement of Optimus slow and careful. Though his size could easily attract attention in daylight, at night, Optimus was like a ghost, no one could notice his presence.
Ironhide stepped back a little, holding his breath, his muscles tensed to avoid making even the slightest sound. His hands clenched, and deep down, he knew that if they were discovered, all their plans would collapse, and they wouldn't be able to continue the search.
"Are we going to do this all night?" — Ironhide whispered over the comms, his eyes never leaving Ron, not missing a single movement.
"Better not to get spotted." — Ratchet replied seriously, his gaze sweeping across the dark garden. "What we're looking for is important."
Sam stood by his bedroom window, his eyes tightly following every movement outside through the curtains. He could feel the danger in the air, even though everything outside seemed still. Each of his father's steps made Sam's heart beat faster, his worry growing with each passing moment.
Outside, Ron kept walking, his flashlight sweeping over the roof again, illuminating a small section, just enough to reveal part of the roof, very close to where the Autobots were hiding.
Optimus froze, his eyes locked on the light of the flashlight. With no choice but to blend into the darkness, he tried to remain absolutely silent, not daring to move even an inch. Every second passed, and the air felt like it was being compressed, so tense that they could hear their own breathing in the night.
Ironhide tightened his grip on his gun, his sturdy gloves feeling the cold of the metal. Though he was just a dark silhouette in the shadows, he could sense the rising tension around him.
"Everything's going to be fine, Ironhide." — Optimus' voice reassured calmly through the comms.
But inside, there was still an underlying worry, an unease that couldn't be shaken off. They were in more danger than ever. As Ron continued to walk, completely unaware that he was passing by the three Autobots hiding in the dark, keeping so quiet that they didn't dare even move too loudly.
But just when everything seemed calm, a sudden noise from the left changed everything.
— Aha! Found you! — Mr. Ron called out excitedly.
Ron quickly turned around, shining his flashlight directly into the dark space where the sound had come from. A cat, coincidentally, suddenly appeared.
— So it's you? — Mr. Ron's voice revealed his disappointment.
The three Autobots couldn't react in time. Each of their Sparks seemed to stop, time seeming to freeze for a few tense seconds.
Sam, standing by the window, saw everything.
— The... the three of them... — Sam gasped, unable to believe what was happening.
Mikaela sat in the living room, worried, her hands trembling. She understood that if Mr. Ron saw these giant robots, everything would no longer be simple.
But fortunately, the light from the flashlight paused for just a second before moving on, not detecting the presence of the Autobots. Ron turned around and continued walking, seemingly unaware of anything unusual.
Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide collectively breathed a sigh of relief, leaving only the sound of Ron's footsteps echoing in the quiet night.
"This is really dangerous..." — Ratchet whispered. "We can only stay silent and hope he doesn't come back."
Optimus nodded slightly, but the worry still lingered in his mind. Although they had avoided detection this time, they knew that a small mistake could ruin everything.
Sam stood in the room, his fists clenched, his eyes filled with worry. The notebook was still unforgettable, but he knew he couldn't let himself fall deeper into confusion. The Autobots were hiding, waiting for the right moment, but if Mr. Ron kept getting closer, everything could be exposed.
He took a deep breath and decided to act. Although the feeling of guilt still surrounded him, he knew what needed to be done in this situation. There was no time to worry about the notebook anymore.
Sam hurried to the window, briefly sticking his head out. The dark night was silent, only the soft breeze blowing by, and the light from Mr. Ron's flashlight sweeping across the garden. His footsteps rang clear.
— Dad! What are you doing out there? — Sam called out loudly, his voice showing no doubt, just concern.
Mr. Ron was startled, the flashlight immediately swinging back to Sam. Ron looked up at the window, his gaze slightly surprised when he saw Sam standing there, trying to hide his tension.
— Oh, Sam, what are you doing? Still awake? — Ron replied, his steps slowing down, though he still didn't fully understand the reason.
— I... I just wanted to know what you're doing out there, so late at night, and with the lights off. Don't you think it's dangerous? — Sam pretended to be surprised, trying to keep his voice from sounding too urgent.
Below, the Autobots, thanks to Sam's diversion, quickly moved away from Mr. Ron's line of sight. Optimus, Ironhide, and Ratchet all blended into the shadows, making no sound.
Mr. Ron didn't suspect anything, and he turned around, stopping briefly before responding to Sam with a nonchalant tone.
— I'm just checking, Sam. It's nothing, go to sleep. — Ron didn't notice the tension in the air.
— Oh, okay, I got it. Make sure you get some sleep. — Sam hurriedly replied, then quickly pulled his head back into the room.
Sam turned around, breathing a sigh of relief. Mr. Ron had turned away, completely unaware. But inside Sam, the worry didn't subside, especially about the notebook.
He glanced back out the window once more, his anxious gaze following the dark shapes hiding in the shadows. It felt like the battle had just begun.
In the silent night, Ironhide moved carefully, each step firm, but suddenly, a small snap came from beneath his feet. A branch he had accidentally broken earlier now became a trap he couldn't avoid. The quiet noise, sharp in the stillness of the night, made Mr. Ron, who was nearby, immediately turn back.
— What's that? — Mr. Ron exclaimed, the flashlight immediately stopping, shining across the garden like a flash. His footsteps quickly moved toward the source of the sound.
Sam stood by the window, eyes wide with panic. He reached out hurriedly, but it was too late to stop Mr. Ron. Desperation surged inside him as Mr. Ron started to approach the Autobots' hiding spot.
— Dad! Don't go over there! — Sam shouted, his voice pleading, but Mr. Ron either didn't hear or didn't understand the urgency in his son's words. His footsteps grew louder and closer.
At this point, Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide all froze, not daring to move. Ironhide stood still, not wanting to make any more noise. But Mr. Ron was getting very close. Just one more step, and he would discover them.
— Why is there a noise here...? — Mr. Ron whispered, the flashlight flickering, casting light into the darkness. His shadow was about to fall right where the Autobots were hiding.
Sam saw the danger but couldn't stop Mr. Ron. He could only watch as the shadows remained silent, waiting. In this tense moment, Optimus slowly raised his hand, signaling for everyone to stay quiet, knowing that even the slightest movement could give them away.
Ratchet beside him carefully watched Mr. Ron, his mechanical face tense. Ironhide, always strong and confident, now stood motionless, anxious.
All were still, while Sam felt as if time was passing in an endless nightmare.
Outside, Mr. Ron continued to get closer, closer still… Just one more step, and their safety would be gone.
Sam held his breath, praying that Mr. Ron would turn away before it was too late.
—-
End of Chapter 11