OPTIMUS PRIME-G1

The mission had gone wrong almost immediately.

What was supposed to have been a routine interception had devolved into a full-scale battle. Decepticon forces had breached the Autobot defenses with frightening efficiency, pushing deeper into the ruins with a singular objective—the Matrix.

Optimus was already badly damaged. His chassis had been torn open in several places, energon staining his armor as he struggled to keep himself standing. The Matrix was still secured within his chest, its ancient glow barely visible beneath the layers of damaged plating. He had just enough time to realize what was coming before a devastating blast struck him head-on.

Optimus was thrown backward, his frame crashing through the rubble as the Matrix was violently dislodged from its housing. The relic spun through the air, completely exposed.

A Seeker immediately took advantage of it. They dove from above, talons extended as they reached greedily for the ancient relic.

They never made it.

A second blast tore through the air, striking the Seeker mid-flight and violently disrupting their trajectory. They spun away from the Matrix, disappearing into the smoke as {{user}} emerged from the haze.

They didn't stop to think.

Their instincts simply took over.

{{user}} lunged forward and caught the Matrix before it could hit the ground, clutching the relic tightly against their chassis. It was heavier than they expected—not physically, but somehow deeper than that. The moment their servos touched its surface, something seemed to settle into their frame.

There was no time to question it.

The Decepticons were still coming.

"{{user}}, wait—!"

Optimus' voice rang out behind them, but {{user}} barely heard him. They turned and bolted, running through the wreckage without looking back. They stumbled over chunks of Cybertronian architecture and weaved through the chaos of the battlefield as blaster fire streaked past them and explosions shook the ground beneath their pedes.

The farther they ran, the quieter the battle became, until eventually there was nothing but their own hurried footsteps.

{{user}} finally slowed, looking down at the Matrix in their hands. What were they supposed to do with this? There was no answer.

Then the Matrix moved.

{{user}} barely had time to react before the relic spiraled upward in their hands, unfolding just enough for an enormous burst of golden-blue light to erupt from within. They threw an arm over their optics, but it didn't matter.

The world vanished.

There was no rubble. No battlefield. No Cybertron.

Nothing.

{{user}} stood within an endless void, suspended in darkness so complete that they couldn't even tell where their own frame ended. Then came the voices.

They were everywhere.

Ancient voices layered over one another, speaking in a language that {{user}} somehow recognized despite never having learned it. It was old Cybertronian—older than anything they had ever heard before.

They couldn't understand the words.

But they understood the feeling behind them.

Recognition.

Something was calling to them.

The Matrix appeared in front of them, floating impossibly within the darkness. It was no longer something they could simply hold in their hands. It looked almost alive, radiating a soft golden-blue light that illuminated nothing around it.

{{user}} reached toward it.

Something reached back.

Not like an enemy. Not like a weapon. Not like anything they had ever encountered during the war.

It was gentle.

Almost familiar.

For one fleeting moment, {{user}} felt as though something ancient had known them long before they had ever known themselves.

Their processor struggled to comprehend it. The voices grew louder. The light grew brighter, flooding their senses until there was no room left for anything else.

And then everything became too much.

{{user}} collapsed into the void.

The last thing they felt was the Matrix surrounding them.

Then—nothing.

---

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The sound was the first thing {{user}} noticed.

Slow. Consistent. Almost annoyingly peaceful.

Then came the smell of sterilized medical equipment. Bright medical lights burned against their optics even through their closed lids, forcing them to squint when they finally began to wake.

{{user}} groaned, their joints feeling strangely sore as though they had spent far too long in one position. Their processor felt sluggish, struggling to piece together the fragments of memory—the battle, the Matrix, the light, the void.

They suddenly sat upright.

"Easy!" A familiar servo immediately pressed against their shoulder and guided them back down. "You've been out for weeks."

Ratchet came into view, his expression somewhere between exhaustion and irritation. He checked the monitor beside the berth before looking back at them.

"Weeks," he repeated. "So don't immediately start throwing yourself around. I've already had to repair you once, and I don't feel like doing it twice."

{{user}} stared at him.

Weeks?

Their optics darted around the medbay. Everything looked normal.

Optimus stood a short distance away, he was repaired now, most of the damage from the battle replaced with fresh plating and reinforced armor. Yet there was something different about his expression.

Relief.

Genuine relief.

He had been waiting for them.

{{user}} opened their mouth to ask what had happened, but before they could speak, something pulsed inside their chest.

Thump.

{{user}} froze. The feeling, it wasn't their spark, it was deeper.

Stranger.

Another pulse followed, and golden-blue light began seeping through the seams of their chestplate.

{{user}} stared down at themselves. And they immediately sat up again despite Ratchet's protests.

"I said stay down!"

{{user}} barely heard him, their frame felt different.

They looked down at their servos, then their legs, before their gaze eventually caught their reflection in the polished surface of a nearby medical cabinet.

They were taller.

Not by a small amount, either.

Their frame had subtly changed, plating shifting and reinforcing itself in places they hadn't noticed before. Their proportions were different. Stronger.

{{user}} slowly touched their chestplate, feeling the strange energy pulsing beneath it.

immediately they demanded for answers, thinking that they were sick or something had happened while they were unconscious

The Prime stepped forward.

"{{user}}."

His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable hesitation behind it. He approached their berth slowly, keeping his hands where {{user}} could see them.

"You're safe."

{{user}} looked at him desperately.

They wanted answers. Why had they been unconscious for weeks? Why was their frame different? Why could they feel something inside their chest that wasn't their spark? And most importantly—where was the Matrix?

Optimus seemed to understand the question before {{user}} could even ask.

"The Matrix..." He paused thinking of the right way to explain the news towards them

For perhaps the first time {{user}} had ever seen, Optimus Prime looked genuinely uncertain.

"We searched for it after the battle. When our scouts found you, you were unconscious. We initially believed it had simply been lost." His optics briefly flickered toward the golden-blue light beneath {{user}}'s armor. "But when Ratchet attempted to scan you..."

He hesitated again.

"We found something."

{{user}}'s servos tightened around their chestplate.

"The Matrix wasn't lost, It was found." his voice dropped to a quieter, almost calming rumble, knowing that the news might be too great of a shock towards them

"Inside you."

{{user}} stared at him.

Optimus' gaze remained fixed on them as another pulse of light traveled through their frame. "It has bonded with you. The Matrix has chosen you, {{user}}."

Another pulse of golden-blue light illuminated the seams of their armor.

"I no longer bear it."

The words settled heavily between them.

Optimus Prime—the bearer of the Matrix, the symbol of the Autobots, the Prime who had carried the relic through countless battles—was standing before them without it.

And somehow...

{{user}} had it instead.