Chapter 3 - Family

🛰️ That Night – Outskirts of a Classified Zone

Noah Díaz stepped down from the armored G.I. transport, his boots crunching against gravel and rusted metal. Behind him, two agents moved in formation. The air was cold, and the wind carried a scent of burnt circuits.

From his shoulder, a Spark scanner gave off slow, rhythmic beeps.

Blip… blip… blip…

Tyler Reeve's voice came through the earpiece, lazy as ever.

"You seeing anything spooky yet?"

Noah narrowed his eyes at the faint flicker of energy glowing down the tunnel.

"Just shadows. But this place... it's too warm for something abandoned."

He reached out, touching a wall etched in ancient Cybertronian glyphs—some of them glowing red, pulsing like veins.

"If this is what I think it is... then we're already late."

🍲 Cade's Home – Texas

Back at a rebuilt barn-turned-garage, Tessa Yeager was in the kitchen stirring pasta sauce. Cade leaned against the doorway, arms folded, grease still on his hands.

"Been a while since this place smelled like actual food," he said with a half-smile.

Tessa looked up, warm and nostalgic. "Feels good to be home, Dad."

Outside, Clampdown and Jolt were bickering over whose turn it was to patrol, their LED eyes glowing under the porch lights.

But inside the house, for the first time in years… it felt like a family again.

🛠️ Leandro's Backyard – Midnight

The stars blanketed the sky. Somewhere, a coyote howled. But in Leandro's backyard—a scrapyard the size of a football field—the night was alive with voices.

Leandro sat quietly on the hood of a wrecked muscle car, half-buried in weeds. Around him, the forgotten bots had made this place their home.

Two minibots argued over a chess match made with rusted bolts. Others played guessing games or tuned their glitchy radios. Scrapmetal turned into couches. Hubcaps became ashtrays.

Near the far side, Ironhide leaned against a stack of tires, a glowing energy stick between his fingers, mimicking a cigar. He gave Leandro a sideways glance.

"Still up, kid?"

Leandro shrugged. "Hard to sleep with all this noise."

Ironhide chuckled, gravel in his voice. "You're becoming one of us."

There was a pause. Then Leandro asked quietly.

"Ironhide… what was your leader like? Optimus Prime?"

That stopped everything.

Bots nearby fell silent. Even the chessboard froze. Radios cut to static.

Not far off, Bumblebee lowered his head, the glow of his optics dimming. His speakers remained quiet—a rare moment for someone who always spoke through music.

Ironhide exhaled, voice heavier than usual.

"Optimus wasn't just our leader. He was the last voice of reason when the world was falling apart. He didn't talk much, but when he did—every word felt like the final choice between survival... or extinction."

Leandro looked up at the stars. "Is he still out there?"

Ironhide slowly shook his head. "He left this galaxy. Said our future wasn't in the stars anymore. It was in your hands. Humanity's."

After a long pause, Bumblebee's radio crackled softly.

📻 "One day… he'll return. If the light calls him."

Leandro tightened his grip on the metal edge beneath him.

"If that day comes… I hope I'm ready."

Leandro was still sitting on top of an old wrecked car when a sudden clanking sound echoed from behind.

CLANG. CLONG. CRRRK—

Five large figures emerged from the shadows behind a mountain of scrap and tangled wires. Towering, rugged, and clearly not built for cuddles, these were once feared names on the battlefield. Tonight, they arrived empty-handed… and a little awkward.

Thunderblast, Deadshift, Rivetjaw, Hexbolt, and Scrapridge—five ex-Decepticons who were now... semi-retired and halfway reformed.

Thunderblast grinned, voice gravelly.

"Heard there's a convo about legendary leaders going on. Didn't wanna miss the nostalgia party."

Rivetjaw sat next to Ironhide, adjusting his squeaky neck.

"If Optimus was the god, then Megatron was the devil. Both of 'em chained us to war. I'd rather be sweeping oil spills now."

Deadshift leaned against a storage container and tapped Leandro's shoulder with a giant finger.

"You do realize, little human… you're kinda like our leader now."

Leandro chuckled and shrugged. "You guys feel more like family at this point."

He jumped down from the car and looked around at all of them, half-joking, half-serious.

"So… tomorrow we train, yeah? Military-style. Marching. Drills. Maybe a grenade or two."

—Silence.

The bots all looked suddenly uncomfortable.

Hexbolt: "Training like… real training?"

Scrapridge: "Uh… I think I've got a gear alignment appointment."

Thunderblast (nervously): "Can I… stay on kitchen duty instead?"

Deadshift: "I don't do uniforms."

Ironhide burst into laughter. "You clunkers used to kick warships into orbit, and now a warm-up has you panicking!"

Then ZIIIP—a jetpack fired. Wheeljack flew down from the roof, landing dramatically in the middle of the circle holding a glowing hologram tablet.

"DID SOMEONE SAY TRAINING?!"

All bots froze.

Wheeljack gleamed with excitement. "I've got a three-phase boot camp plan! We start with gladiator sim, move into forest VR tactics, and end with my favorite—tactical hide-and-seek! You run from a holographic Grimlock that's starving!"

Scrapridge let out a terrified shriek. "No way! I just got my back panel replaced!"

Leandro laughed, holding up his hands. "Okay, okay! Chill! Tomorrow's just a light drill. Basic teamwork stuff."

Wheeljack pouted slightly. "But my Grimlock sim roars and everything…"

And just like that, the night ended in laughter.

Under a quiet sky filled with stars, humans and machines—once enemies—shared stories, jokes, and warmth like an oddball family.

But none of them knew…

Tomorrow morning, everything changes.

The laughter had quieted. The air turned still, broken only by the soft hum of cooling engines and creaking scrap towers. A few bots sat around, while others gazed up at the stars—lost in thoughts they rarely allowed themselves to have.

Suddenly, Rivetjaw broke the silence, his voice rough from years of battle and breakdowns.

"You know… I think some of our friends—those still trapped in the scrapyards or buried under ruins—they might still be alive. And waiting."

Deadshift nodded, arms crossed. "If we can come back... maybe they can too."

Thunderblast leaned against a half-crushed bus. "I once caught a faint signal from the old energy refinery in Nevada. Maybe it was just static... or maybe someone's still down there, sparking alone."

Leandro slowly turned to Bumblebee, who had been silent, sitting by the edge of the yard like a sentinel in the dark.

Ironhide looked Bee's way and spoke quietly.

"How about you, Bee? You remember your old crew? Think they're still out there?"

All optics turned toward him.

Bumblebee was quiet. Then, softly, his radio crackled to life.

📻 "Some... gone. Some still flicker."

📻 "Jazz sent a signal from the north. It was never answered."

📻 "Sideswipe… last seen in Southeast Asia. I thought he drowned."

📻 "And Mirage... he'd never fall without a fight."

He stood, gaze locked with Leandro.

📻 "If you allow it... we can find them."

Leandro rose from the hood of the wrecked car, his voice steady.

"If we got a second chance... maybe they deserve one too."

Wheeljack's optics lit up. "Give me two days. I'll build a long-range Spark scanner. We'll start pinging every old Cybertronian frequency left."

Ironhide smirked. "If this is our mission now... count me in."

Deadshift slammed his fist to his chest. "Me too."

Even the sketchy ones—Rivetjaw, Hexbolt, Scrapridge—nodded in agreement.

Leandro glanced around, then turned to Bumblebee with a faint smile.

"Looks like we're setting up one hell of a reunion."

Bumblebee's optics glowed warmer. His radio voice was low but powerful:

📻 "Let's bring our family home."